#FAST WEB STORIES

[oliverribeiromkt]

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[demonic-lair]

Someone interrupted a yautja while eating.

Ha'rcar, named also Butcher, is a water hunter, mainly hiding in sea caves and hunting in the deep ocean.

Water hunting was the specialty of his clan and he kept honoring such traditions despite being now alone and stranded far away from his home planet.

[easanderson]

i tried to make some more blinkies! they're not perfect but i tried lol! feel free to use if ya want

[massivechildtidalwave]

Its a terrifying scene. The camera angle revealing parts of a science lab straight out of hell. Kitchen knifes and scalpels lay dripping on a table.

On the dissection table- because thats all it could be- lays a small child. Small but noticable gills on the neck, the occasional fleck of scales and webbed fingers mark them as merfolk.

Viewers watch on in horror as the table is bloodied. A steady incision made in the left leg. The Justice League had been contacted but there was no indication they would make it in time to help.

A large Bang! went off in the background of the video, clearly catching the duo off guard. The man turned to his (wife?) with a weird moniter in his hands going off the charts and with an excited yelp they both took off running up the steps that were just barely in frame behind them.

A few long moments later, two teens sneak into the lab. The boy rushed over to unchain their parents 'test subject' while the girl kept watch.

Freshly released limbs had bloody wounds rubbed into the pinned down areas and quiet whispers of empathy were only just picked up by the audio. One of the viewers pointed out that the boy himself had scars in similar places.

The boy picked up the kid and the trio quickly slipped away out of camera view. Soft thuds mark their escape from the house, seemingly unaware of the Livestream their parents were apparently trying to make.

--------------------------

The story makes international news and leaves everyone on high alert. Government agencies scramble to prove they had no connection to the couple, the GIW undergos mass arrest when their names Maddie and Jack Fenton come up on their payroll. A channel is made to document any sightings of the kids.

The first one is posted after a day. It's security footage from a fast food restaruant. Four teens- the two from before plus a goth and someone named ''Tucker''- along with the comparitively tiny Mer sit in a booth. ''Tucker'' and "Sam'' argue about possible dietary restriction before seemingly ordering one of everything. There is soup, and a burger, the largest cup filled with water they could find in the back, chicken tenders and salad.

When the server goes to deliver everything, the four watch them like hawks, understandable given the previous day.

(Did any of them even know Half the world knew what went down? )

(Did any of them know how Aquaman was taking the news of one of his subjects being injured like that? )

( Did any of them realize that their choice to protect the kid was one of the main reasons war hadn't been declared yet on the human race?)

Jasmine is heard softly encouraging the tiny Mer to eat something, anything and eventually the soup is downed and apparently liked enough that she gets up to order more.

Right before they leave, while under the relative safety of a roof, they swap the bandages wrapped around most of the kids leg and arms and slowly tell them about future plans despite the fact that they probably can't understand the language.

(Jasmine points at a laptop screen filled with a view of the ocean. "We" she circles the group with her pinky "are going there to get you home." The atlantian can't speak english but the way their eyes light up and they relax further into Sams side shows they understand the basic message)

(The sight- of the child definitely scared but trusting them enough to get so close- helps calm the atlantians with access to the internet. Somewhere Aquaman finds himself able to breathe slightly easier.)

[labwebs]

🕸the nwh ending suit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[crowswarm]

🕷

[byhuenii]

From the Start

Pairing Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis They were best friends. She loved him quietly — from the start. But timing was never on her side. Now, between unspoken words, missed chances, and a love that lingers too long, she learns what it means to let go without ever truly doing so. Inspired by “From the Start” by Laufey — a slow, aching love story about almosts, always, and everything in between.

Word Count 4.8K

Themes + Warnings Unrequited love / yearning, Hurt no comfort, angst and longing, missed timings, Emotional Distress / hints of depression (not romanticized) , Quiet suffrage, Self-isolation, Bittersweet loyalty, tender, melancholic, bucky barnes.

— From the Start “If only you knew… I’ve loved you quietly, endlessly, from the start.”

It started with coffee.

You always made his the way he liked it — strong, a little sugar, no cream. Some mornings, he’d wake up from dreams he didn’t remember, soaked in sweat and shaking, and you’d be there in the kitchen already, waiting. You never said anything. You didn’t have to.

That’s how your love began — in the quiet moments. Brushing his hand with yours when you passed him a mug. Laying a blanket over him when he fell asleep on the couch. Listening. Always listening.

The light in the compound's kitchen was low — early morning blue, the kind that makes everything feel a little quieter. Bucky sat at the table, one hand wrapped around a chipped mug, his eyes soft with sleep, his hair half-tied back and falling into his face.

You knew that look. Dream-sick. Still caught in the web of the night. He didn’t talk much after the nightmares, not until the second cup of coffee kicked in.

So you sat down beside him, shoulder brushing his, and passed him a warm piece of toast, buttered just the way he liked it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “You always know.”

You gave a soft smile. Of course I do. You knew his tells. The way his jaw ticked when he was anxious. The pause before he said "I'm fine" and meant the opposite. You knew him better than anyone.

And somewhere along the way — between patching him up after missions and watching movies on the couch with his head on your shoulder — you’d started falling. Quietly. Without permission. Like slipping under water.

He’d rest his head on your shoulder during late movie nights, eyes half-lidded, breath steady against your collarbone. And you — stupid, hopeless you — would close your eyes and pretend, just for a second, that it meant something more.

You told yourself it was fine. You were fine. That being near him, even if he didn’t love you back, was enough.

But it was never really enough.

But Bucky never saw it. Or maybe he did — and just didn’t want it.

It happens on a slow evening, sunlight honey-thick through the compound windows, painting his face gold.

He sits on the kitchen counter like he always does, elbows on knees, talking to you with that crooked half-smile. But you’re barely breathing.

He’s telling you about someone. Someone new.

“Hey,” he said, almost sheepish, running a hand through his hair.

You looked up from your book. “You’re in a good mood.”

“So… I met someone.”

You looked up too fast, too hopeful, thinking for half a second — maybe —

But he didn’t look at you. His eyes were on the wall. Someone new.

“Oh,” you said, trying not to sound like you’d been gut-punched. “That’s… that’s great, Buck.”

He launched into it then — how she made him laugh, how easy it felt. You listened, nodding, smiling where you should. But all you heard was a roaring in your ears.

“She’s so perfect, you’d love her,” he says, laughing softly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this comfortable around anyone. She’s funny — smart. We stayed up talking until 3 a.m.”

You nod. Smile where you’re supposed to. Make a sound that’s supposed to pass for happy.

But inside? You’re cracking.

“She’s… kind. Makes me laugh.” He smiled again, almost bashful. “Told me I should take her to that bookstore downtown. You know, the one you like.” The one YOU liked.

You tried to smile.Tried to nod. But your heart felt like it had caved in on itself.

“Oh. That’s nice.”

That’s mine. That’s our spot. That’s… me.

He didn’t notice the way your hands trembled. Didn’t notice how you stopped breathing for a second. Or maybe he did — and just didn’t want to see it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You lay in your room, staring at the ceiling. The quiet was unbearable. You could still hear him laughing about her. Could still see the way his eyes lit up. And all you could think was: It should have been me.

“Listening to you harp on ‘bout some new soulmate — ‘She’s so perfect,’ blah blah blah…”

That lyric echoes like a broken record as you lie awake in your bed that night, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers. Your heart aches like it’s been wrung out.

You try to drown it out. But his voice — the way he said her name — is louder than the silence.

You remember how his eyes lit up. How easily he smiled. How he used to smile at you like that.

“She’s so perfect.”

You swallow hard. And the jealousy? It’s poison in your veins.

Not because she’s done anything wrong. But because you love him. And he doesn’t know. And worse — you don’t think he wants to know.

You wanted to scream. Instead, you whispered into the dark:

“I’ve loved you from the start, Bucky. God, I wish you knew.”

—

The next few days are unbearable.

You stopped showing up to the gym in the mornings.

Stopped sitting next to him at movie nights.

You took every mission they offered, even the miserable ones — hours in the cold, sleeping on floors, bruises blooming across your ribs.

You dodge him in the hallway. Skip breakfast. Stay in your room or train until your muscles scream — anything to avoid the sight of him grinning at his phone or humming under his breath like a man in love.

Anything to keep you moving. Numb.

You barely sleep. You barely are.

And still, the song plays in your head — like your own personal curse.

“Don’t you notice how I get quiet when there’s no one else around…”

You want to scream.

The pain hit hardest in the quiet hours. When the compound was still, and you sat on your bed staring at nothing, trying not to cry.

You want to ask him how can you not see it? How can you talk about her like that in front of me — like we weren’t something, like I haven’t held your hand through every breakdown, every sleepless night?

But you don’t.

You say nothing. Because saying something would ruin everything.

And so you rot in silence.

You’d see her name pop up on his phone. Hear him laugh through the walls.

And god — the jealousy. The burn of it. Ugly and sharp.

You hated yourself for it. Hated that you were mad at her — at him — for something you never even told him. Something you buried deep, like a secret you didn’t deserve to say aloud.

But you weren’t sleeping. Your eyes were always red-rimmed. And one night, Wanda passed you in the hallway and gently touched your arm.

“You look so tired,” she said softly.

You just nodded, eyes glassy, throat too raw to speak.

You stare at your reflection one morning and don’t recognize the person looking back: Baggy eyes. Pale skin. Glassy, defeated stare. You’ve been crying — you always cry now. Quietly. At night. Into your pillow.

He texts you. Again. Bucky: You okay? Haven’t seen you around lately.

You put your phone face down. You can’t lie to him again. But you can’t tell the truth either.

“God, I wish I could confess I loved you from the start…”

—

You find yourself sitting in the common room alone.

It’s the same couch he used to nap on. The same one where he would rest his head on your lap and mutter that your presence made the nightmares go away. You’d run your fingers through his hair and pretend you weren’t falling in love.

Stupid. Stupid you.

Because he was never falling with you. He was falling for someone else.

You close your eyes and whisper the lyrics into your hand like a prayer:

“Confessed I loved you, From the start.”

You used to sit beside Bucky during movie nights.

His arm would rest behind you on the couch — never quite around you, but close enough to pretend. You knew his laugh by heart, the way it started in his chest and pulled his shoulders forward. You memorized the sound. You loved it.

But now? You sit near Wanda. Head on her shoulder. A different couch, a different row. The distance is a wall. You smile — just enough to seem okay. But it’s tired. Fragile.

Your new spot is farther from him. He notices. He doesn’t say anything.

Neither do you.

Because what do you say to the man you’ve loved in silence for years?

“Please sit closer to me again, even if you don’t love me?” “Please don’t tell me how beautiful she is — I already know. I’ve imagined being her every night since you met.”

You just keep quiet. You always do.

“Don’t you notice how I get quiet when there’s no one else around?”

It wasn’t just what he said. It was how he said it.

You’d just finished a mission, still half-sweaty and bloodstained. You were pulling your boots off when he walked into the locker room, smiling in that way you hadn’t seen in years — like sunlight came with him.

“She texted again,” he said. “Told me she was nervous to meet the team. I told her she’d love you guys.”

You froze, mid-lace.

He kept going.

“God, she’s sweet. She sent me this picture of her cat in a Captain America hoodie—like, full-on cosplay. It was adorable.”

You smiled like it didn’t hurt.

But that night in your room, her name was on loop in your head. Not her fault. Not really. But you hated how it sounded coming out of his mouth.

—

You were sitting in the rec room, legs curled beneath you on the corner of the couch. Bucky walked in, looking happier than you’d seen in weeks. Hair tousled, a small coffee in hand, that boyish smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I had the best night,” he said. “We went to that vintage bookstore off 4th. She made fun of me for dog-earing pages. Then we spent hours in the philosophy aisle. Like actual hours.”

He paused, a little breathless with how sweet the memory was.

“She’s something else.”

You laughed, soft and short. Like something small had snapped inside you.

“That when I talk to you, oh, Cupid walks right through. . .”

You nodded. Pretended to be reading your tablet. Pretended not to notice the way his voice got gentler when he said her name.

“Sounds like she’s perfect,” you said, voice even.

“She really is.”

“‘And shoots an arrow right through my  heart…”

You smiled as if it didn’t pierce you. As if you hadn’t once spent hours in that exact bookstore with him, joking about Freud and arguing over which Austen character he’d be.

He didn’t remember. Or maybe he did. Just not like you did.

You went to your room that night and sat on the edge of your bed, arms wrapped tight around yourself, that lyric playing on loop in your head. You felt like you were watching the person you loved fall for someone else — from the front row, clapping with the rest of the crowd.

And that’s when you knew:

You were losing him. And he had no idea.

—

It started slow.

You said yes to fewer things. Movie nights. Game nights. The random 2 a.m. rooftop stargazing that used to be a staple — all of it, you started skipping.

No dramatic exit. No excuse.

Just silence.

And at first, the team assumed you were busy. Missions, maybe. Personal stuff.

But then you started taking every solo op.

You started volunteering for recon, double shifts, cold assignments in places where you could disappear without anyone asking why.

And the thing is — you were still good. Sharp. On time. Effective.

But you weren’t… you.

Clint notices first.

Not because you said anything — you don’t. But because you’re quieter than usual. You laugh, but it doesn’t stick. You go through the motions like you’re clocking in for a shift you didn’t want.

One night after dinner, he catches you washing your dish — alone — long after everyone’s gone.

“You alright, kid?” he asks.

You smile. “Fine.”

And that’s how he knows you’re not.

You’re using that voice. The one where you stretch your words to keep them from shaking. He doesn’t press. Not that night. But he makes sure there’s always a seat next to him at meals.

Just in case you ever want to stop pretending.

—

You stop showing up for things.

You miss three breakfasts. A debrief. Poker night. No one calls you out, not directly.

But Sam texts you a meme. “Missing you at game night.” Wanda brings you a coffee one morning and just sits beside you, not saying a word.

You tell them you’re tired. Overworked. But the truth is you’re grieving.

And grief doesn’t always come from death. Sometimes it comes from almosts. From being so close to being loved and then watching someone else get chosen instead.

You start waking up with tear tracks on your cheeks. You can’t even remember crying in your sleep.

“What’s a girl to do? Lying in my bed, staring into the blue. . .”

Your eyes stay glassy. Red-rimmed. But you smile when spoken to. Laugh when it’s expected. You wear heartbreak like foundation.

And Bucky? He texts sometimes. Bucky: You okay? Bucky: You’ve been distant. Did I do something?

You don’t answer.

You don’t have the words for how much he did.

“Unrequited, Terrifying.”

—

Some nights, when the silence was too loud and your heart was too heavy, you’d climb into Wanda’s bed and lie on your side — back to her, eyes open in the dark.

“She chose me,” you whispered once. “To meet. To fall for. To laugh with.”

Wanda didn’t respond right away. Just wrapped her arms around you from behind and let you breathe.

“She’s perfect,” you added, voice cracking. “And I’m—”

“You’re everything,” Wanda whispered into your shoulder. “He just couldn’t see it.”

You didn’t cry.

But your body shook.

Sam sees it in your fists.

The way you hit the punching bag like it owes you money. You don’t stop. Don’t pause. Don’t breathe right. You’re trying to beat something out of yourself — and failing.

“Take a break,” he says gently, tossing you a water bottle.

You nod, breath ragged. “One more set.”

But when he walks away, he doesn’t really leave. He leans on the doorframe and watches — helpless. You’re disappearing into yourself. One punch at a time.

Later, he tells Bucky: “She’s burning out, man. I don’t know why, but I know it’s about you.”

Bucky looks confused. And Sam wants to shake him.

—

You skipped the team lunch. again. Didn’t go to poker night. Wanda told you Sam noticed — “You okay?” he texted. You said “Just tired.” But Wanda knew better.

You weren’t just tired. You were unraveling.

The world moved without you. Missions, briefings, late-night drinks.

The next time you did show up — Movie night. You almost didn’t come. You never miss it, but lately, being in the same room as him is like pressing down on a bruise just to make sure it still hurts.

The lights are dim. The team is settling in. Someone saved your usual seat beside Bucky.

You walk past it.

Settle instead next to Wanda. She gives you a quiet look as you place your head gently on her shoulder.

You don’t say a word.

Across the room, you can feel his eyes on you. Like he doesn’t understand what changed.

And how do you tell him? How do you say:

“You must be blind if you can’t see…” “…you’ll never know how much you mean.”

You catch his gaze once — just once. And it’s enough to undo you.

He looks concerned. Confused. Hurt, maybe. But not the kind of hurt you feel.

Your smile falters. Wanda shifts slightly and squeezes your hand.

And you think: This is what it means to love quietly. To sit two feet away from the person who makes your heart ache and know you’ll never be enough.

Bruce doesn’t pry.

But he notices how your cortisol levels spike whenever Bucky walks into a room. He sees your biometric data from shared missions — the subtle signs of insomnia, elevated stress.

He runs diagnostics under the guise of “team wellness.” You thank him with a smile, but don’t meet his eyes.

You’ve always been emotionally intelligent. But lately, you seem distant from even yourself.

He writes it in your file: Subject exhibits signs of chronic emotional suppression.

Then deletes it.

Because this isn’t clinical. This is heartbreak. And science can’t fix that.

—

Nat watches you lie like a professional.

“Everything okay?”

You: “Yeah, totally.”

She doesn’t even blink.

She starts leaving coffee on your desk. Silent support. She doesn’t ask questions, because she knows if she did, you’d crumble.

But one night, she finds you sitting on the floor of the gym, staring at nothing.

“You’re grieving someone who’s still alive,” she says.

And you don’t say a word.

You just rest your head against her leg. And for a while, she lets you be small.

Later, she found Wanda and told her quietly, “She’s grieving something she won’t say out loud.”

Steve watched the space next to Bucky stay empty for the fifth team gathering in a row.

Bucky kept glancing at the door. Kept half-turning every time footsteps echoed.

But you never came.

And if you did — you sat near Wanda. Always Wanda. Curled into her shoulder with a tired smile. Laughing softly, but never loudly. Never like before.

“Have I done something to her?” Bucky asked Steve one night.

Steve knows why.

He sees the empty chair. The way you only show up late and leave early. The way your laughter used to echo through the compound and now barely registers.

“You ask her if she’s okay?” Steve says one night.

Bucky hesitates. “She says she’s just tired.”

Steve doesn’t say it, but he thinks it:

Tired of pretending you didn’t break her.

Steve hesitated. Then said: “Maybe not directly. But something’s changed. And you haven’t asked the right questions.”

Thor doesn’t understand at first. Your sorrow is quiet — too human. But one afternoon, he finds you alone on the balcony during a team BBQ, staring at the sky like it might have answers.

He approaches gently.

“Do you mourn, lady Y/N?”

You smile, brittle. “It’s complicated.”

He nods. “The fiercest battles are fought in the heart.”

He hands you a mug of something warm and honeyed.

“You are seen,” he says. “Even when you wish to vanish.”

You almost cry. But instead, you sip. And for a moment, it’s enough.

—

You hadn’t planned to go. You hated heels, hated faking a smile, hated pretending not to watch Bucky from the other side of the room.

But Wanda convinced you. “You’ll regret it if you don’t,” she said gently.

You arrived late. In black. Subtle. Safe.

The lights shimmered like champagne, and the air was full of polite laughter and perfume. You made your way through the crowd, heart tucked behind ribs like a secret, until you saw him.

Bucky. And her.

He looked different. Softened. Not as tired. Like he was finally breathing.

She was lovely. Naturally. Graceful. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t know it’s beautiful.

She smiled at you. Warm. “You must be Y/N — Bucky told me so much about you.”

Your stomach twisted. “All lies, I hope.”

She laughed. Genuinely. God, you couldn’t even hate her.

She laughs. She’s sweet. Kind. Confident without being cruel.

And it kills you with envy.

Just envy.

Because she’s not a villain.

She’s just her. And you’re not.

You watched the way she touched his arm, the way he leaned toward her instinctively. The way he looked at her like she was it.

And still, you smiled. Because you’re a girls’ girl. Because if your best friend is happy, you’re happy.

That’s the lie you tell yourself as your throat tightens and your drink starts to taste like metal.

“I miss the way you looked at me when we were seventeen…”

Wanda stays by your side the whole night. She doesn’t ask questions. She just knows.

You drink slowly. Smile carefully. And bleed quietly.

They saw everything.

Tony, watching the way your smile dropped when Bucky walked into a room with her.

Bruce, noticing how your hands trembled slightly when handling sensitive tech — how you blamed “caffeine,” but he knew better.

Steve, seeing the way your laugh faltered the second Bucky turned to someone else.

Clint, finding a forgotten hoodie of Bucky’s folded in your room, and quietly leaving it where you wouldn’t find it again.

They weren’t blind.

They just didn’t know how to help.

Because how do you comfort someone whose heartbreak is invisible to the person causing it?

—

You find yourself outside later — rooftop, heels in hand, cold air slicing through the open back of your dress.

You kick off your heels and wrap your arms around yourself.

You don’t hear him at first.

“You always disappear when things get loud,” Bucky says behind you.

You turn slowly. He’s watching you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Just leans beside you against the railing, both of you staring into the dark.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, voice low.

You don’t thank him. You just nod. The silence settles like dust.

You hum softly. “So does she.”

He glances at you. “She likes you, you know.”

“She should,” you say, smiling without humor. “I like her too.”

“I’ve missed you,” he adds.

“Have you?” you ask, not cruel — just tired.

He looks at you then. Really looks.

He studies you. “You okay?”

“I didn’t know things got so far between us.”

You want to scream. No. I am not okay. I have loved you every day for years, and now I have to stand still while you build forever with someone else.

“You were busy,” you say. “With her.”

He exhales, steps closer. “She’s great. But she’s not—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, looking away.

“I mean it.”

“Please, Bucky,” your voice cracks. “Don’t give me pieces now.”

The wind bites your skin. The city lights blur.

“I loved you,” you say, “from the start.”

His face crumples — just slightly.

And maybe it’s real. Maybe he means it when he whispers:

“So did I.”

“Confess I loved you from the start…”

But he doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t kiss you. He just stays.

Too close. Too far.

—

He watched you the whole night.

Not in a creepy way — not even deliberately. But his eyes find you like they always used to. Like muscle memory.

Except now, you're distant. You're with Wanda. You’re across the room in your navy dress, holding champagne and laughing softly.

Not loud like you used to. Not free like before.

You look… tired. Lovely, but dimmed.

And when your eyes catch his, you smile.

Not the one he knows. Not the one that used to light up your whole face. This one is polite. Like he’s a stranger at a party and not someone who once lived in every beat of your heart.

He feels something then. Not jealousy. Not guilt.

Just an emptiness. A strange, cold hollowness like someone removed a piece of the puzzle and left the gap permanently open.

They watch you move like a ghost of yourself.

Polite. Soft-spoken. Present but not fully there.

Clint squeezes your shoulder once as you pass. Sam brings you a drink, says nothing. Wanda watches you like she might cry. Peter’s fidgeting — he wants to hug you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Steve avoids your gaze like it’s sacred and he’s not worthy. Nat rests her head briefly against yours before slipping away again. Even Thor watches you with a furrowed brow, eyes sad.

You, the girl who once lit the room on fire just by being in it — Now you barely make a spark.

—

Peter is young, but not blind.

He used to joke with you. Now, you don’t smile the same.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he brings you little things: a cookie from the bakery, a drawing of Spider-Man you might find funny.

One day, he quietly says, “I don’t know what happened, but... I hope whoever hurt you knows what they lost.”

You blink fast.

He hugs you around the waist, mutters, “I miss your happy.”

And you do too.

Tony doesn’t ask.

He monitors.

Security footage. Training logs. Mission reports. He tracks the change — the late nights, the solo ops, the silence.

“Someone break your heart?” he asks one day, pretending it’s a joke.

You blink. Say nothing.

“Figures,” he mutters. Then he sends you a custom playlist called 'Heartbreak but Make it Badass’ and upgrades your suit with extra impact resistance.

“Just in case the next time you want to punch something harder than yourself.”

He never says more.

But the suit fits perfectly.

 Bucky finds you. Alone. again..

He doesn’t know what he wants to say. Maybe he doesn’t want to say anything.

“I didn’t know,” he offers. It's hollow. Empty. Pointless.

You nod. “I know you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“—you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice is so gentle it cuts him. “You were just… being loved. That’s not a crime.”

There’s a silence.

Then you smile — soft, tired.

“I’m happy for you.”

It’s a lie. A beautiful, brutal lie.

And the worst part is — he believes it.

—

You still show up. You still fight. You still help.

But you don’t laugh like you used to. You sit near Wanda now — head on her shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.

You avoid the spaces Bucky lingers in too long. You take more solo ops. You tell Peter, “I’m just busy these days,” when he asks why you’re not around.

But the truth is: You're still in love with someone who chose someone else.

And even if your heart isn’t bleeding anymore, the bruise never really faded.

Sometimes he remembers little things: The way you used to laugh at his dumb jokes. The way your eyes always found his in a crowd. The way your smile would bloom when he walked into a room.

And now?

Now you barely look at him.

And something inside him tightens. Not regret. Not longing. Just a quiet ache for a version of something he’ll never fully understand.

“If only I could tell you that I loved you from the start…”

The lyric replays in his head like a song stuck in the wrong key. He doesn’t know why it fits — only that it does.

—

A week later, he texts you a photo of a coffee mug you once broke in his kitchen, now glued together and full of daisies.

Bucky: Found this in storage. Couldn’t throw it out.

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t respond.

Instead, you sit in silence, heart aching in your hands. Because you could’ve been everything. Could’ve been her. Could’ve been his.

But you weren’t.

You never were.

You look at yourself again.

Navy hoodie this time. Dark circles under your eyes. A smile pulled tight with the thread of holding it together.

You still love him.

But love doesn’t mean staying.

Love, sometimes, means letting go. Quietly. With grace. While every part of you is screaming.

You loved him from the start. But maybe he wasn’t meant to be the end.

You step away from the mirror. You walk into the next day. You breathe. You smile at her. You smile at him.

And then you go find your spot beside Wanda again — safe and sad and real.

You see her again later.

She’s sitting in the compound kitchen, eating blueberries from a mug. She sees you and lights up.

“I was just telling Bucky he needs to stop trying to cook for me. You weren’t kidding — he really can’t boil eggs.”

You laugh. It comes easier now. But it’s still a hollow sound.

You like her. You really do.

And that’s the worst part.

You envy her laugh, the way he looks at her, the quiet rhythm they’ve fallen into.

But you never let it twist into bitterness. You don’t want to be cruel. You’re not that kind of girl.

If Bucky’s happy… you’re happy.

That’s what you tell yourself.

Even if it’s not true.

You walk away from the kitchen, smile fading as soon as you’re out of view. And under your breath, you hum the same quiet melody that’s lived in your chest for months:

“If only I could tell you that I loved you from the start…”

And the worst part? You did.

"And if he’s happy… I’m happy."

(That’s a lie. But it’s one you’ve learned to live with.)

(You've got mail) Sorry, yeah. I was listening to this song while making this and honestly. yeahhhhh. to me it feels so real and vulnerable, its just something i get. i wanted to do a happier ending but the ending to this song is not happy at all, and realistically would you of gotten with someone who was like that to you? i wouldn't personally but that's just why i relate deeply to this. and just the many times i have been lead on. its the quiet suffrage, the i don't want to bother my friends. its human.

Tag List (For Mr. James Buchanan Barnes is open!)

@herejustforbuckybarnes @bbsbrina @barnesandbouquets

[snoopyracing]

wanna be yours 2.0 // ln4 social media au // part one

part two | part three

pairing: lando norris X american!reader / mclaren photographer!reader and slight pato o'ward X reader

warnings: swearing

summary: a remix of my fic wanna be yours in social media au form. or basically lando and the reader both being in love with each other but being too stubborn and scared to say anything so they suffer in silence until one finally crumbles.

contains: best friends to slight strangers to lovers, pining, angst, jealous!lando, asshole!lando, clueless!lando, and perhaps a little lando or pato? situation.

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

may 5th, 2024

liked by landonorris, y/bsf, oscarpiastri and 100,000 others

y/n.jpg: miami baby! i think the guy in the second pic won some kind of race involving super fast cars but i could be wrong.

landonorris: who is that guy???? he's really good looking...

↳ y/n.jpg: i think his name is lando onewin.

↳ landonorris: bye. that doesn't even work.

user1: you always take such good pics of lando.. thank u queen

user2: lando always being the first to comment. dude's down bad lol

y/bsf: the kids miss you. please come home.

may 6th, 2024

may 8th, 2024

may 9th, 2024

liked by landonorris, mclaren, patricooward and 200,000 others

y/n.jpg: back at the mtc today for a very special reason! everyone was there to celebrate my amazing photography skills and editing on all the pictures from the season so far! lando was even kind enough to show up with a trophy to give to me! i love my job <3

in all seriousness. could not be more proud of you lando!!! it's been a long time coming, but we both know it's only the beginning!

landonorris: that awkward moment when you tried to take the trophy from me....

↳ y/n.jpg: DON'T SAY THAT PEOPLE ARE GONNA THINK IT'S TRUE.

↳ landonorris: i'll make sure they engrave the next one with your name too.

↳ y/n.jpg: ok but as long as my name is listed first.

mclaren: our favorite photographer ❤️ -liked by author

user1: ok but where is y/n's trophy fr??? she's hands down one of the best photographers in the game rn.

user2: y/n and lando you are so dear to me

user3: pato in the likes??

↳ user4: y/n used to work for arrow mclaren before working for mclaren f1. also pato is literally the reserve driver for f1 this season... honestly the web that is y/n, lando, and pato intertwines so much it's kinda crazy...

may 11th, 2024

may 14th, 2024

y/n.jpg added to their story

landonorris replied to your story

↳ WHY WOULD YOU POST THAT??? IT'S MORE THAN A JUMPSCARE!

oscarpiastri replied to your story

↳ why do you always catching me folding in front of lando like that :/

may 15th, 2024

may 19th, 2024

liked by y/bsf, oscarpiastri, patricooward and 100,000 others

y/n.jpg: imola 2024.

y/bsf: best photographer in the world. i love you!!! -liked by author

user1: not even a pic of lando's car.... oh no :/

user2: no funny caption... no lando like or comment... guys we are in the trenches

user3: we love you y/n! -liked by author

may 21st, 2024

y/n.jpg added to their story

landonorris replied to your story

↳ what the hell?

[bombiikki]

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.

[cobaltperun]

The Catalyst - Stronger On Your Own

WandaNat x Female Reader

Story summary: A peaceful life could never be an option, especially not when backing out of a fight means leaving your loved ones to fight. It still doesn't change the fact that you hate having these powers.

Chapter summary: A reunion with an old friend brings you back into the life you tried to leave behind. How do you deal with once again being in the same room with the woman you once loved? The same woman that left you to die?

Spotify Playlist

Masterlist / Next Part

Word Count: 4.5k

-Self-destruction is the name of the game, I say I've had enough, but still want it all again-

A dusty old warehouse? Check. A chair inches away from an edge a couple of floors above ground? Check. Ropes and standard tools that could be used for torture on the table? Check. Two thugs with barely functional brains guarding their old boss? Double check. Overall, boring, regular, perfectly average experience on these missions.

Annoyance, that's what this man was. Just another thug that got powerful enough to feel like he's untouchable. Just another man thinking he caught her, boasting to himself that he outsmarted the infamous Black Widow.

Typical.

Well, it certainly made her job much easier.

It wouldn't take long for Luchkov to start talking, feeling like he was in control, like he didn't walk right into her web. “I thought General Solohob is in charge of the export business,” Natasha faked being clueless, not being up to date on the information, feeding his ego in the process.

“Solohob? A bagman, a front. Your outdated information betrays you. The famous Black Widow turns out to be just another pretty face,” Luchkov taunted her, underestimated her, believed having her tied to a chair would be enough to be safe. He turned away from her with hands in his pockets, full of himself.

“You really think I’m pretty?” and she let him believe all of that. Even when one of the two thugs Luchkov brought along grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth open. Nothing they were doing would have scared her even when she was just starting out, let alone now. She’d just have to wash her face later.

“Tell Lermentov we don’t need him to move the tanks,” Luchkov took his sweet time getting to the table. Or rather that was as fast as he could move without running out of breath. “Tell him he is out. Well,” he took pliers and turned to look at her. “You may have to write it down,” he couldn’t even threaten properly, for all his effort he was as threatening to her as a fly caught in a spider web.

A phone suddenly ringing did catch her by surprise, especially when it turned out it was for her, and Natasha was fairly sure Coulson was the one who called and was now threatening Luchkov into handing Natasha the phone. She didn’t show it in any way, but she wasn’t happy with this interruption, she was on a job, and all this was doing was making the job take more time than necessary. Worst case scenario it could ruin the entire interrogation and she’d have to get her hands on the information needed some other way.

Still, she’d hear Coulson out. But it better be important. Luchkov handed her the phone, and she held it on her shoulder. Apparently, they weren’t stupid enough to untie her hands.

“We need you to come in,” she slightly frowned at that, the tone of Coulson’s voice worried her a bit, but perhaps that was just her paranoia.

“Are you kidding? I’m working,” surely it wasn’t that urgent. This would have taken her another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

“This takes precedence,” Coulson remained persistent, and for a moment Natasha was reminded of last year, where it felt like the whole world was turned on its head in one week. Aliens, monsters, technologies and weapons she had no hopes of matching even with the super soldier serum the Red Room gave her.

She pushed those thoughts out of her head. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. Instead, she pushed back against Coulson. “I’m in the middle of an interrogation, and this moron is giving me everything,” it didn’t even matter that he was right in front of her, hearing every word she spoke. By this point Natasha knew the job was finished, the flow of the interrogation was stopped, Luchkov was no longer in control, she wouldn’t get what she needed.

“I don’t give everything,” Luchkov stammered to the thug on his left and Natasha just looked at him almost unable to believe how stupid the man was.

“Look, you can’t pull me out of this right now,” maybe Luchkov was that stupid to fall right back into her trap if she played her cards right.

“Natasha, Barton’s been compromised,” in a single moment everything changed, and this job no longer mattered.

The decision was instantaneous. “Let me put you on hold,” she said and the moment Luchkov took the phone she kicked him in the leg and headbutted him. He went down, dazed and taken by surprise as she got up and, while still tied to the chair, made quick work of his two thugs, dodging their attempts to hit her and using the chair against them. She fought on autopilot, breaking the chair on one of the thugs. There was only one thing on her mind, Clint being compromised, and her not knowing anything, not where he was, not even if he was alive or for how long he would remain alive.

The lack of attention to the fight allowed one of the thugs to grab her, but it didn’t matter, she twisted his arm and knocked him out, focusing just for a moment on ending this whole thing and immediately heading back so she could rescue Clint.

As she tied a chain around Luchkov’s leg and pushed him over the edge she resolved to do anything to get Clint back. No matter what, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Natasha didn’t even spare the man a second look, she just turned around, took her high heels and phone and headed for the exit without even taking the few seconds to put her heels on.

“Where’s Barton now?” she asked, anxious to be caught up to speed as quickly as possible. From what she knew Clint was guarding the Tesseract, so something must have gone very wrong if he was compromised.

“We don’t know,” that was close to the worst answer she could get and that familiar dread set in once again. What would happen by the time they managed to locate Clint? The images of ruins briefly flashed in front of her eyes. That wasn’t an option in this situation, Clint didn’t have that kind of power.

She didn’t have the luxury to dwell on the possibilities or the past mistake that haunted her. “But he’s alive?”

“We think so,” yet another uncertainty. “We’ll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big guy,” Coulson told her in his usual calm tone, and Natasha figured this was it, the Avengers Initiative was being restarted. And that also meant being reminded of you once again when S.H.I.E.L.D. fails to get you to come back.

Still, she wasn’t the best person to talk Stark into joining, and as far as she was aware Fury would handle Rogers. “Coulson, you know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me.”

“Oh, I’ve got Stark! You get the big guy,” the moment Coulson said that she stopped, understanding exactly who the big guy was and what remained of the calmness in her mind vanished, though she managed to hide it well.

“My God,” she whispered in Russian, doing her best to suppress the last year’s incident from her mind.

Coulson didn’t hang up though, and Natasha didn’t like that one bit. “We also need you to get L/N,” she froze, nearly dropping her high heels.

She felt like something squeezed in her chest, but she pushed it to the back of her head. “She won’t come,” it was naïve of Fury to even consider you for the Avengers initiative. You wouldn’t even hear them out, and you especially wouldn’t hear her out. It’s been three years since she last saw you face to face, three years since that cursed mission that ruined everything between the two of you, and you abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D.

“She will if we send you,” Coulson was always too optimistic, too willing to hope for the best. Frankly, it should have been him going after you, after all he was the one who recruited you so many years ago.

Natasha was more realistic, aware that she was actually the worst person to go and meet up with you. Countless times she rewatched what little recordings there were of the mission, desperately wishing she could yell at her younger self to turn around, to go back and reach you, save you, everything else be damned, but there was no changing the past.

“Where is she?” she asked, willing to at least give it a try. You wouldn’t turn hostile, that much she could still be sure of.

Even if she genuinely believed you had every right to attack her and anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You know where,” she heard sympathy in Coulson’s voice, maybe even pity. It was true though, she knew where you were, she’s always known where you were, not that you were trying to hide. She just tried to suppress that information from her mind.

~X~

You frowned in your sleep, memories plaguing your mind once more. Always the same, always the same cold eyes, the same red helmet, the same purple cape, the same destruction and rage, unstoppable, focused solely on erasing everything in his path.

A monster driven by rage and grief, too powerful to be stopped by mere humans. Metal constructions twisted and broke apart, falling to ruin in his rage. The small town was on fire, burning down and disappearing in front of your eyes. He didn’t directly set things on fire, but he might as well have done it. He tore everything that had metal in it apart, breaking things and making them explode. As the flames came closer to you, you went and raised your hand toward the man, etching his face, his eyes into your mind.

"Stop!" you screamed, abruptly jumping to your feet, shaking as your hands lit up in blue flames. Your eyes widened, the flashes of the nightmare still fresh in your mind, as you extinguished the flames you unwillingly lit, and released a shaky sigh. There was no way you could go back to sleep now, your mind was too caught up in the nightmare, too restless, too affected by it all for you to just lie back down and sleep.

You glanced at the clock; it was barely past midnight. You sighed, ready for a sleepless night, the cabin you spent the past two and a half years in felt suffocating tonight even with most of the windows left open, so you went outside and sat down at the table on your porch. The dense forest looked ominously dark, with no lights anywhere around you, other than the moonlight, but you’ve gotten used to it. You appreciated the peace and quiet it brought, but tonight you just couldn’t find peace.  You were restless, and it annoyed you.

The sound of the night was suddenly disturbed by a familiar sound of a quinjet and you looked up just in time to see it flying toward your house and landing with perfect precision that ruled out damn near every agent.

You stood up, watching as the doors opened and Natasha Romanoff stepped onto the grass. You watched her, stuck between confusion and annoyance, but somehow it all vanished when she approached and you got to see her up close. It wasn’t the fact that she wasn’t in her uniform, or that there were clear signs of exhaustion on her face, it was her eyes that told you everything.

You didn’t greet her though, you just turned around, opening the doors and going inside, but the doors kept open were enough for her to get the message.

“I need you to come in,” Natasha said as she walked inside, immediately and instinctively taking every detail of your cabin in. The ways out, the distance to the nearest weapon, the small signs of life left everywhere, a nicked glass of water you didn’t finish before going to sleep, the newspaper neatly folded on the side of the table, the glaive hanging on the wall, always close enough for you to grab.

“You do?” you asked, the tone of your voice harsh, but not as harsh as you intended. You were leaning back against the table with your arms crossed, putting up all the walls between the two of you. You studied her, feeling the tension already rising between you. She was uncomfortable and you were… happy because of that. This wasn’t how you imagined your reunion after three years, not that you imagined anything. You would have been perfectly content with your life if you never saw her again.

“I do,” she didn’t explain it any further. Some things never change, especially when it came to Natasha.

“I’m not in the mood to be depowered again, Romanoff,” you went through it once, it nearly cost you your life. Maybe it would have been better that way. The way it was right now, it cost you a lot more than your life. You were alive, but you lost the life you built, betrayed by the people you trusted and the woman you loved.

“That isn’t Fury’s intention,” you tried resisting her, you wanted so desperately to resist her, yet that look in her eyes, that desperation and fear, the storm inside her mind, they all made it difficult not to give in to whatever she demanded. This wasn’t Natasha you knew. She was frightened. And despite every fiber of your body telling you otherwise your heart still ached at the thought.

You should have kept questioning her, should have argued against coming with her, but you knew the decision was made the moment you saw that look in Natasha’s eyes. “Bathroom is to your left, I need five minutes,” just to grab essentials, change into something more appropriate for potential combat and then freshen up yourself to properly wake up.

Natasha looked like she needed a moment to herself a lot more than you did, and perhaps a bit of cold water would clear her mind enough.

There was no need to know exactly what was going on. Natasha was desperate enough to come to you, even if it was likely an order. Still, she came to you, after everything that happened, and you couldn’t ignore that.

You didn’t put on your old uniform, you no longer had it, instead you just went with civilian clothing, simple, though a bit worn-out, jacket, shirt and pants, and the moment Natasha stepped out of your bathroom you went in.

You finished freshening up a bit and grabbed a towel, and it immediately hit you. The familiar comforting scent of Natasha’s perfume, subtle, yet so definitively her own. “Fuck,” you cursed, giving up on drying your face with it and throwing the towel in the basket. You watched the towel with disdain, as if it was the towel’s fault that you suddenly felt at ease. You huffed, pushing the old feelings aside and just wiped your face dry with a clean towel.

When you stepped out you saw Natasha was already outside, not wanting to intrude on the peace you tried to build in this cabin with her presence, and you did your best to ignore how, despite the surface-level tension, right it felt when she was in the cabin with you. You took your bag and glaive and joined her in front of the cabin. “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, letting Natasha take the lead. And she did it, without a single unnecessary word spoken.

~X~

To your surprise you didn’t go straight to where the helicarrier was at the moment. Instead you went to India. Still, it gave you enough time to get caught up to speed with things that happened. The Avengers Initiative, including Natasha, Clint, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner and Thor, as well as you. You paused when you reached the data on Banner, remembering last year. While you and Natasha didn’t meet up, Clint did pull you back into this whole mess and you went, keeping your distance but you were there in case Natasha needed backup.

You glanced toward her, wondering what was going through her mind, what got her to seek you out instead of sending Clint, or hell, Coulson. Whatever it was, it had to be bad for Natasha to be like this.

“I doubt you’d be this concerned over the Cube,” sure, she cared, but this was more than that. This was desperation, this was something you weren’t used to seeing from her.

Natasha sighed. “Clint’s been compromised,” and it all made sense now. You stood up on instinct, approaching her and reaching for her shoulder, but you stopped, turning away at the last second.

“You’ll get him back,” you left it at that, returning to the files and not speaking another word, even though the silence was deafening at times. Neither you nor Natasha said a single word for the rest of the flight, or as she met up with other agents in Calcutta and set up a plan to convince Banner to come with her.

You just stood by, taking note of the tension everywhere around you. This wasn’t just because of the dangers that came with trying to convince the Hulk to come aboard, this was more than that, this was the reality of being utterly outmatched hitting every single agent all at once. You sat near the comms and yet again your eyes found Natasha. She changed into a beautiful black dress and you forced yourself to look away, fearing the old emotions would reemerge, pushing aside the anger you felt because of her betrayal.

She went inside the old house, waiting for Banner to show up and you chose just to listen, to not get involved even if a fight broke out. You wouldn’t fight. You wouldn’t do anything unless the whole world was in danger.

About five minutes later Banner entered the shack and you listened to Natasha talking to him. Calm, steady, but with just the tiniest hint of fear buried deep under the mask she put on. None of the other agents here could have possibly caught it, Clint and Fury could, and you, apparently, still could, but no one else.

Unless she let someone else in over the past three years.

“Just you and me,” you heard Natasha saying, lying to Banner who correctly guessed the shack was surrounded.

“And your actress buddy? She a spy too? They start that young?” there was no animosity in his voice, not yet, but there was something a tiny bit eerie about his tone. It was too calm, like a calm before the storm, or a quiet rage waiting to be unleashed. Yeah, maybe that was more appropriate for his case. The night wasn’t cold, but you still felt a shiver run down your spine as the air became thick with anticipation and anxiety.

“I did,” Natasha replied, and you got caught up in memories for a moment, remembering her opening up to you about the Red Room. And then, not even a month later, it all fell apart. The conversation between them continued, a back and forth that for once had Natasha putting in all of her effort to keep the situation under control. Armor piercing bullets wouldn’t even scratch the Hulk. “I’m here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? How’d they find me?” you heard a hint of that rage slipping through and sat up, now more alert of their conversation. The entrance to the shack was directly in front of you.

Yet Natasha regained control over the situation, at least for now. “We never lost you, Doctor. We’ve kept our distance, even helped keep some other interested parties off your scent,” her voice didn’t waver, almost as if she was trying to soothe him. Even if it probably affected you more than it affected Banner.

“Why?” or maybe it worked on him too, as that rage turned more into confusion.

Clearly Banner still hasn’t met Fury, that man was in a league of his own when it came to his own methods and reasons. “Nick Fury seems to trust you. But now we need you to come in.”

Bullshit. Nick Fury didn’t trust anyone, but he did see their use to his cause.

“What if I say no?” Banner asked, once again proving he didn’t know Fury, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking such questions.

“I’ll persuade you,” she just… you knew that tone, the same seductive tone she used on her targets, and you glared at the comms, annoyed a lot more than you had any right to be.

“And what if the Other Guy says no?” you once again got alert against your will, waiting anxiously for even the smallest hint of danger.

You weren’t going to fight.

You weren’t going to fight.

“You’ve been more than a year without an incident. I don’t think you want to break that streak,” Natasha remained as in control as she could be, given the situation.

“Well, I don’t every time get what I want,” there was a clear threat in those words, a warning, and an acceptance of the circumstances he was in.

“Doctor, we’re facing a potential global catastrophe,” Natasha chose to plead to his sense of humanity. His empathy, or what was left of it. Considering what he went through you’d be surprised if he had any desire to help or protect people. And yet he was a doctor in a poor part of town. Necessity? Certainly. But you weren’t quite sure what kind of necessity drove him to do it.  

Banner chuckled, though it wasn’t out of amusement. “Oh, those I actively try to avoid.”

“This is the Tesseract. It has the potential energy to wipe out the planet,” and then there was that. The stolen Cube, Tesseract. Fury was desperate. From what you read this team, if it even got formed, would be volatile, clashing ideals, big personalities, tensions. Nothing short of a miracle would get all of these people on board.

A miracle or…

You glanced toward the shack for the first time, approximately to where Natasha could be. Maybe that was Fury’s miracle.

“What does Fury want me to do? Swallow it?” despite the tension you felt you still smirked a bit at that.

“He wants you to find it. It’s been taken. It emits a Gamma signature that’s too weak for us to trace. No one knows Gamma radiation like you do. If there was, that’s where I’d be,” Natasha explained in an indifferent tone, cold and calculated. Basically stating that this was a meeting caused by desperation, and that it had nothing to do with Banner being the Hulk.

That didn’t sound like Fury. Sure, Banner could be the best person for the job, but the Hulk wasn’t something Fury wouldn’t take into account.

“So, Fury isn’t after the monster?” Banner questioned, almost unwilling to believe that.

“Not that he’s told me,” even if all the signs pointed toward the opposite.

“And he tells you everything?” no, Fury barely says anything to anyone. No one but Fury can know everything.

“Talk to Fury, he needs you on this,” Natasha didn’t answer, she didn’t need to, the answer was more than clear.

“He needs me in a cage?” Banner immediately countered.

“No one’s going to put you in a-“ Natasha tried to reassure him.

“Stop lying to me!” Banner yelled, slamming his hands on the table.

You moved without thinking, crossing the distance and reaching the entrance in less than a second. A cloud of dust was left behind you as you looked Banner in the eyes. “Don’t move,” you pointed your glaive at Banner, ready to fight. You didn’t take your eyes off him, you didn’t notice the tears in Natasha’s eyes, but you could hear the subtlest shift in her breathing, and it was enough for you. “Unless you want me to fry your brain,” you kept your weapon raised as you closed the distance and pushed the table to the side, putting yourself right between Natasha and Banner. He seemed more amused.

“That’s not a good idea,” he told you, but he didn’t move. And it wasn’t for his sake, it was for your own and Natasha’s, because the Other Guy, as he called the Hulk, wouldn’t let you kill him.

“The best I can come up with,” you weren’t stupid. You knew you had nothing that could stop the Hulk, that you had no chance of beating him in a fight. You could still probably stall enough to get Natasha out of here. Even if Banner had all the advantage at this distance. You had no idea how quickly he could transform, but chances were that you and Natasha were both a split second from being blood splatters on the walls, even if you were both alert and ready to react.

“Stand down, L/N,” Natasha warned you, and you wanted to, you really did. You made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t get involved yet here you were.

Before you could answer Banner raised his hands. “I’m sorry, that was mean,” he actually smiled and looked over your shoulder at Natasha. “I just wanted to see what you’d do,” he took a few steps back, giving Natasha and you a slightly bigger window to react. “Why don’t we do this the easy way, where you don’t use that,” he pointed at your weapons of choice and then at himself. “And the Other Guy doesn’t make a mess? Okay? Natasha?”

You dared to look back at Natasha, finally noticing the tears in her eyes. “Stand down. We’re good here,” she spoke to the rest of the agents.

“Just you and me?” Banner seemed almost amused by the situation.

“Does it make a difference?” you asked and he shrugged, as if agreeing that, no, it really didn’t make a difference. He stepped outside, giving most agents slight panic attacks as they tried to stay calm and headed toward the agents, silently accepting to come along.

“That was reckless,” Natasha scolded you and you looked to the side, not quite willing to look her in the eyes. “L/N,” she raised her voice just a tiny bit, just enough to show you that she was actually angry at you for putting yourself in danger. “What if something happened to you?”

You slowly looked back at her, not quite sure you heard her correctly. “You did not just say that,” you laughed, even if your laughter was hollow, almost mocking her. “You know what, I don’t care,” you shook your head and magnetized your glaive to your back before heading back to the quinjet.

A/N: That's the first chapter. So... anyone interested in a taglist?

Masterlist / Next Part

[oliverribeiromkt]

Como Criar Conteúdos Ilimitados para WEBSTORIES com Prompt de Comando do...

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 25/02✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@esmailsadeh ha chiesto: Kyri I have a question...please don't end your amazing masterpiece (LMK AU) there are literally a ton of people that love it , so why must you end it? please reconsider for your fans >.<

The question is... why must I end it? Well cause it's a story and I don't like unfinished fics ahah.

@oddogoblino ha chiesto: Sorry, random dumb thought Think that Wukong or MK would go "kachow" when they're tryna look attractive for their respective partners? 😭 Imagining Macaque or Redson being really into admiring their partners just for their idiot to go "aha, ✨ Kachow ✨ " when showing off intentionally LMAO

haha well they could!

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto: Are shadowpeach switches?

Macaque is mostly the top

@anidiotkid ha chiesto: So, does Wukong or MK ever get cramps? And if so, how do they deal with it? (...totally not projecting here 😭)

yes they do! Wukong is a drama queen. MK will neglect his meds until he faints. (and then proceed to be scolded by Mei)

@captain-space-kin ha chiesto: Okay so, I happened upon the Shadowpeach bio parents au update today and then binge read the whole thing instead of doing college work. And I just wanted to say watching your art grow and change is really encouraging to me as an artist. I often times get stuck thinking my art isn’t improving “fast enough”, but seeing the progress you’ve made over the course of comic is really cool! And it also kinda making me want to try out making comics finally. Anyway! Love your art, and I’m very excited to see how the rest of goes!

Thank you!!

@itzlilith32 ha chiesto: Hello kyri, I just came here to say that I really love your Au. Lmk was already consuming my life since I discovered it like a year and a few months ago. And now I also have your Au consuming my everyday, but I wouldn't have it any other way. :3 I've discovered your au like between part 2 and 3 I think, so a while ago. And it's been the most fun rollercoaster of emotions I've been on. I like everything about it, from your art to the storytelling, I honestly can't put into words how much I love it ^^ Since we're in part 9, and the final from what you said, I wanted to say this. These past months have been wonderful, from discovering this au and seeing how it evolved, to now, where we're near the end. Although, correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a tiny bitty feeling that this is just the end of a big chapter. And I can't wait to see what happens next. :D 🫶

Awww thank youuu!!

@virtualjellyfishcolor ha chiesto: uh kyri…. did macaque hear all that…?like uh mk and redson..

Luckily his powers were still too weak. He most likely WILL hear what might happen in the future

@busterwarrior2099 ha chiesto: So what's going to happen to Li Jing and heaven now? Because I bet mk and the others are not going trust them again after the stunt they try to pull by kidnapping the guy who defeated the bull demon king,the lady bone demon,azure lion and prevented the world to end all because they learn about his heritage so yeah not a good impression at all

I have... plans.

@kid-of-chaos ha chiesto: Kyri will we get to see the mini monkeys at the Coronation or just around in general again I miss my gremlin friens :d

aww we can bring some of those little guys yes

@blairjojo ha chiesto: yo Kyri are u gunna make this into a full comic and publish it edventioaly (I need to buy it) @amyrosewithoutshadow ha chiesto: Hello! Brazilian fan here! How are you? First of all, love your art. Really, it makes me fell so safe and happy when I see it. Second, do you plan on doing a book or a web comic book with all the parts together when you end the Bio Dads au? I Would die for having the comic in hands and read it when I want and can. Thank you 💕

maybe, not now though (I don't have the time). I need mods and people who help me with the logistic first and a lot of planning

@lordmushroomkat ha chiesto: Your art is so genuinely great that I accidentally got invested in these fictional characters that I don't know just so I could see more of it. So like yeah, good job. I stumbled into it a few days ago and have re-read it like at least 3 times now and every time I get to the giant-kaiju Shrek 2-reference song-sequence I just feel an emotion that is very intense but that I have no idea how to quantify. I think the emotion is positive but there's also such a deep incredulity to it. It is glorious and unhinged and I am absolutely here for it. Loving whatever the hell this whole AU is, you have made me care very intensely about characters from a show I did not know nearly anything about. I've pieced together enough lore to understand enough of what is happening but you have made me want to actually watch the show.

awww tysm!!!

@gtuguzbuzbu ha chiesto: Will Wukong ever know what happened down there? Like he sorta knows that Mama got himself hurt but he doesn't know what exactly happened.

yeah Macaque eventually told him everything and he was condemned to 2 days in the hug-prison

@lordmageofart ha chiesto: Wait.. this instantly hit me but I have to ask! Is Macaque gonna Courtnap Wukong again? Will Wukong try yet fail to courtnap just to show Macaque he loves him? Or is it just going to be like a normal conversation like their normal people? (Probably won't be the last one but I still have to ask)

nah this time they just want to go straight to the point

@metalheaded-freak ha chiesto: Kyri, I just wanted to say… thank you, for creating the Bio Parents Au, it’s been such an emotional journey and honestly? If it wasn’t for you then I wouldn’t have gotten into the fandom the way I did. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you were the gateway for me to fully embrace this fandom and not be afraid to show what I do, so once again thank you!

Thank youu!!!

@classystudentmugdonut-blog ha chiesto: Hello I just want say I love your work I keep rereading it from the beginning even though I should be resting I got sick but anyways I want to who is YOUR MOST favorite in this lmk

MK. he is baby

@cranberrychaos ha chiesto: Considering you now got red bubble merch of the shadowpeach au... would you ever consider us paying to you to color in our favorite scenes from the comic? I got a couple I'd like to see colored and have in my house or wallpaper 😭

I don't take commissions

@redsontheredbull ha chiesto: Do you have a lady bone demon design?

mmm not really.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Do you think Red (or DBK) would get offended if people used cow/bull terms? Like bullshit? Or if they are driving and pass by a cow farm? Stuff like this pops into my head a lot and I wanted to know what you would think because all I can imagine is Red Son come face to face with a cow and it being so awkward 😭😭 Bye <3

mmm i think so.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I honestly think it would be funny to see how confused people would be if they just started being nice to each other, with no context as to how or why (Not like all their problems are fixed nice but just treating each other a bit better after their talk)

LOL i think everyone is either confused or glad they finally resolved their sexual tension

@roseltelle ha chiesto: Since Wukong is trans can he get pregnant too?!? Is this something he and Macaque have to worry about?!?

yes he can get pregnant.

@vivian-devoid ha chiesto: "kilani-123 ha chiesto:Does Mk know that Wukong and Macaque are still engaged?👀" WAIT WHAT?! I nearly choked on my water(stay hydrated) when the hell did this happen!?

the day before the brotherhood tried to take over heaven

@sleeo-goos10 ha chiesto: Hi kyri! Thank you for everything?! Just wanted to ask if you have other comics you plan on making once lmk is over aside from sky❤️

first i finish the sky comic, then I'll see

@violetcookie2007 ha chiesto: Do you personally have anymore nicknames for Shadow peach or Spicy noodles? I like all the ones you have in the comic and think they are all very cute and was wondering if you have any more. Also I love you art!

mmm not really. im open for suggestions

@gaybirdlovescrackers ha chiesto: How does it feel to singlehandedly keep a fandom afloat. To keep it trending by pure gay.

it feels illegal to hold this power

@steadylandface ha chiesto: Are we gonna get a Spicynoodles child in the future 👀

Yes, go watch Ninjago Pilot episode 1

@lonelydarkrai ha chiesto: Is there anyone dubbing your comics?

lots of folks are dubbing my comic.

@lordmushroomkat ha chiesto: I suppose now is as good of a time as any to wonder if this means Red Son has accidentally left his jacket with MK. Just like, as a concept.

oooohh yes

@nocturnaldaydreamer ha chiesto: Oh no, realized this a little while ago... But MK is not only the son of the Monkey King, but is gonna be crowned a Celestial Prince. Red Son and MK better be careful, there might be some crazies out there trying to Courtnap him...

Red son will be hissing like a cat to anyone who tries to come closer

@leve4ever ha chiesto: If season 6 comes out will you make more shadowpeach bio parents au?

yeah why not.

@nomadiclegends ha chiesto: 四耳孫小天 ...so is it pronounced "Sì'ěr Sun Xiǎotiān" ??? my mandarin's pretty weak sauce and I'm curious 😶

yes

@this-one-gay-person ha chiesto: For the LMK bio parents au is there like a specific post schedules?

every other day at 1Pm ET

@anxiety-beans ha chiesto: I need you to know that this comic is what converted me into a Shadowpeach shipper. It altered my brain chemistry, I swear.

let's goooooooo

@bonbonfoxyton ha chiesto: A little late asking this buut I'm curious, how did courtnaping go between macaque and Wukong exactly? Is it okay if you'd explain it, it's a 100% okay if you don't want to since I read your boundaries thing and everything to make sure your good with this question

I'll let the fans picture how it happened

@cutvdo ha chiesto: Have you thought of putting your fan comics ISAT: Sky CotL AU and LMK: ShadowPeach Bio Parents AU, on a different website? like tapas

you can't publish fan-comics on Tapas

@the-immortal-restless ha chiesto: Do you think that Macaque or Wukong’s hair ever falls forward? Like MKs does on purpose because style but like… Wukong and Macaque both have the longer fur so does it stay out of their face or does it fall forwards something in your au/opinion? (Petition for Wukong and Macaque to be Mukong… because if sun Wukong is swk then Mukong is MK!)

I think it could, maybe they use gel?

@wolfsbanex-x ha chiesto: KYRIII!!! Hello, I love your art so much. I just want to say that stream where you talked about motivation was very inspiring! I LOVE your comic so much, it’s been a shoulder for me whenever I have had a rough day. I hope you continue to gift us with even more amazing art (sorry if I’m rambling here). YOU CAN DO THIS!!! WHOOO!!!!☺️🥳

Thank you!!

@eneska31 ha chiesto: so we know when MK got his court napping thoughts, when did Redson get his? and can we see what happens in his POV in like a small comic at some point? p.s I absolutely love your art and this comic has brought me so much joy ☺️💛🐵

After MK called him beautiful

@factmeegg ha chiesto: Okay question, When first made this fan comic or whatever. What were your thoughts on this when you first started up to now?

that it would have been a really short and silly thing

@mischiefmelody ha chiesto: Question! Will MK be in his monkey or human form for his coronation? Either way he'll be gorgeous but I wanna knowwwww

He'll be in monkey form

cherrummi ha chiesto: After reading the latest update, I made an animation, but apparently asks don’t support video sooo here’s some key frames instead (I’m going to post my full animation in my blog, so if you’re interested you could check it out): Also: Will something like this happen in the story? 👆 How traditional is DBK and PIF would you say, comparing them to traditional human families? Could you give more insight on demon etiquette or courtnapping? Thank you so much for making art! It’s incredible! ❤️

uhh yeah in a way

they are very traditional, but they know when to put some traditions aside in sake of Red Son happiness

Courtnapping rooms are a must, old schools courtnapping usually last around a year but now days it's at best 2 weeks. The courtnapped person must consent and if not they can leave. The courtnapper must provide everything for their partner, including their hobbies, favourite food, family visits, etc… (it's basically a pre-dating very complex honeymoon

@huntershyperfixation ha chiesto: Your art is beautiful and the lmk fandom adores you ☆

ADFZBFD AGAER THANK YOU

@ithinkimprobablyweird ha chiesto: What is mk in the au? Like gay bi pan or something else?

Demisexual, trans masc, bi.

@cryptoknightpatch ha chiesto: Hi lol I’m curious did you come up with the court-napping idea by yourself or was it actually anything referencing Jttw?

it's a fan headcanon of the LMK fandom

@axtonorian ha chiesto: First up, I LOVEE YOUR ART Its really fun to look at and aesthetically pleasing in my opinion. Second I know Wukong had/has nightmares about Mk but what about Mac? And even if it all worked out in the end would his nightmares about those two get worse after everything that just happened?

he sometimes dreams of hurting him. a lot of cuddles ensue everytime he wakes up with wukong close by

@jinxdrawsstuff ha chiesto: Hi Kyri! Just wanted to pop in real quick and say thank you for your Shadowpeach AU <3 it’s getting me through my first college year, every update makes my day a lot better!

you're welcome!

[nemesyaaa]

from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

[unboundprompts]

do you have any tips for writing mermaids? i love your work ^-^

How to Write Mermaids

-> Things to Think About and Consider When Writing Merpeople and Mer Fiction

-> How to Write a Mermaid (anc writing resources)

These are just some suggestions! Feel free to pick and choose based on what best fits your story.

Physical Appearance

Tail Variations: Instead of a uniform tail type, consider different adaptations: sleek, dolphin-like tails for fast swimmers; large, strong tails with iridescent scales for deep-sea mermaids; or frilled, flowing fins like a lionfish for camouflage. Some might have tails resembling eels or sharks, giving them a menacing or streamlined look.

Scales and Coloration: In deep-sea areas, mermaids might have dark, bioluminescent scales with patterns that mimic the stars or the sea floor. Shallow-water mermaids might have brighter, coral-like colors to blend in.

Scars and Symbols: Scars from battles with sea creatures, markings from coral, or even bioluminescent tattoos could add depth.

Eyes Adapted to the Ocean: Mermaids’ eyes might be unusually large, with reflective layers to enhance night vision. They could have vertical pupils like a cat’s or even multiple layers of eyelids, including a transparent one to protect them from salt and silt.

Webbed Hands and Clawed Fingers: Webbed hands would enhance their swimming ability, and clawed fingers might be used for self-defense or hunting. Some might have retractable claws or spines to protect themselves from predators.

Culture

Language and Communication: Consider how sound works underwater; it travels faster and farther but differently. Maybe they use gestures, a sign language, or even musical calls to communicate. Their language might be melodic or full of trills and hums that are difficult for land creatures to understand.

Beliefs and Myths: Mermaids would likely have their own stories, rituals, and superstitions. Maybe they worship ocean gods, the moon, or view shipwrecks as holy places. They might believe in omens from ocean currents, the arrival of rare sea creatures, or changes in the tides.

Social Structure: Decide if they live in schools, pods, or solitary. A royal family, councils of elders, or a group of shamans could govern them. Do they form alliances or rivalries with other sea creatures or even human sailors?

Hierarchy and Elders: Older mermaids or those with powerful magical abilities may hold significant respect and authority. These elders could be responsible for rituals, storytelling, and maintaining the balance of magic within their community.

Seasonal Gatherings and Ceremonies: The ocean has its own rhythms—tides, moon phases, migrations—and mermaids might gather for ceremonies tied to these events. For instance, they could honor the arrival of certain fish schools or perform rituals under a full moon for strength and unity.

Jewelry and Artifacts: Mermaids might decorate themselves with jewelry made of shells, coral, pearls, and items retrieved from shipwrecks. Certain pieces may symbolize rank, magical prowess, or family lineage, with specific stones or materials believed to channel energy.

Tattooing and Body Art: Many mermaids may tattoo themselves with ink made from squid or octopus, using markings that indicate status, clan, or achievements. Bioluminescent tattoos or body paint could glow at night or during important rituals.

Magical Abilities

Special Senses: Consider heightened senses, like echolocation, the ability to detect changes in water temperature, or a heightened sense of smell for tracking prey or sensing danger. These would add to their unique oceanic identity and give them a slight advantage over surface dwellers.

Control over Water and Weather: Some mermaids can call storms, manipulate tides, or create currents. This might be a rare gift, often feared for its destructive potential. Using such magic could leave them physically or mentally drained.

Healing and Transformation: Certain mermaids could have powers to heal wounds or diseases with seawater, or transform sea creatures into protective spirits. However, each healing might weaken them temporarily or require offerings to the ocean in return.

Song and Illusion: Siren song is a classic power; mermaids could enchant, hypnotize, or create illusions through melody. Overuse might leave them voiceless or mentally scarred, with some even risking losing themselves to the song forever.

Shape-Shifting: For those able to take human form, transformation might come at a great personal cost. Perhaps they can only transform for a limited time, or their time on land drains their magic, forcing them to return to the water to recover.

Physical Depletion: Magic use might be physically taxing, aging a mermaid slightly or sapping their strength. Frequent magic use could make them appear older or leave permanent marks on their body, like scars or discolored scales.

Price of Blood or Offering: Magic might demand a price—whether in the form of a personal sacrifice or a blood offering to the ocean. For powerful spells, mermaids may even need to leave behind something they value, such as memories, emotions, or treasured artifacts.

Risk of Transformation: High-level magic could alter a mermaid’s physical form temporarily or permanently. They might grow extra fins, become partially transparent, or even lose their voice after certain spells.

Mental Toll and "Ocean Madness": Overuse of magic could lead to a condition known as "Ocean Madness," a state in which mermaids lose touch with reality, becoming isolated or forgetting their own identity. This is particularly feared among mermaids, as it might mean permanent exile or being lost to the ocean.

Forbidden or Dark Magic: Some magic forms might be considered taboo or forbidden due to their dangerous nature. Practicing dark magic, like curses or soul-binding, could bring severe consequences, both in physical tolls and social exile.

Character Motivation and Conflict

Relationship with Humans: Decide whether mermaids are fascinated by or wary of humans. Some might be drawn to them out of curiosity or romantic allure, while others might distrust them due to pollution, fishing, or old tales of betrayal. Their interactions with humans can reveal a lot about their personality and worldview.

Desire for Land or Home: Consider what might tempt a mermaid to leave their watery home. Do they long to experience human life, seek revenge for an oceanic wrong, or retrieve a lost artifact from a shipwreck? This longing could add depth to their character.

Struggles with Transformation: If your mermaids can shift between human and mermaid forms, consider how this affects their identity and relationships. Transformation could be painful, rare, or come at a high price, adding dramatic tension and giving their character arc extra weight.

Quest for Authority: In a hierarchical society, some mermaids might crave power or authority, seeking to rise through the ranks or challenge an elder. Such ambition could lead them to take risks, learn forbidden magic, or ally with powerful sea creatures.

Personal Pride or Legacy: Some mermaids might want to establish themselves as legends, known for feats of bravery or wisdom. This could involve dangerous quests to recover lost artifacts, hunt rare sea creatures, or explore dangerous parts of the ocean. Their pursuit of legacy might set them at odds with their peers, especially if it leads to recklessness.

Torn Between Worlds: A mermaid who can transform and walk on land might struggle with a dual identity. If spending time on land slowly diminishes their powers, they could grapple with the desire to stay connected to both worlds, fearing losing either part of themselves.

Conflict Between Duty and Desire: Many mermaids might feel a sense of duty to their family, tribe, or ocean gods, conflicting with their personal desires. They could be pressured to fulfill a prophecy, protect a magical artifact, or avoid contact with humans, even if it clashes with their true passions.

Past Mistakes or Betrayals: A mermaid who has broken societal rules—whether by consorting with humans, using dark magic, or violating clan boundaries—might feel guilt or face exile. Redemption could become a strong motivator, pushing them to right their wrongs, often at great risk or personal cost.

Haunted by Family Legacy: If a mermaid comes from a family of notorious outcasts, warriors, or traitors, they might struggle with the burden of redeeming their family’s name or rising above that legacy. This could lead them into difficult choices about loyalty and personal integrity.

Hunters and Captors: Humans might hunt mermaids for their scales, powers, or knowledge, forcing mermaids into hiding or guerrilla-like resistance. A character driven by a desire for vengeance against humans could lead to morally complex actions and choices.

[revelboo]

Crying over your tarantulas story, I binged it all in one go 😭😭😭 The way you write him is just immaculate and I can't wait to see where the story goes!

He’s a sweetie in Earthspark and just want to be allowed to live even if it’s living a lie

Disappear Pt 11

Tarantulas x Reader

• You’re just staring up at him as his spark constricts. Saying nothing at all in answer. “We’re not the same. I know that,” he manages even as it hurts. Even as he’s aware that he could just keep you regardless of what you want. That he’s stronger than you are, bigger. But that he doesn’t want you as his prisoner anymore. Is he really still so frightening to you that the monster is all you see? You’d touched him so gently and he’d thought that you’d seen him. Maybe liked him, but no one likes him. They only pretend to so long as they need him.

• “No, we’re not the same,” you agree, fingertips brushing his chassis, watching his biolights pulse in response even as his visor dims at your words. And your heart aches with it, because the sane thing to do is to put an end to this, stop this infatuation with him now. Before it hurts you both later when you realize this can’t work out. Head lowering until it brushes your forehead, his clawed servos rest on your throat. “You’re still scary,” you admit, lips twisting into a tired smile. “Sometimes when you come at me too fast, I can’t help but cringe.”

• “A monster,” he murmurs, spark aching as he draws his extra limbs back away from you. Leaning back to send the web nest bouncing to give you some space. And you reach to cup his face in your hands, stopping him. Hand lifting to catch your wrist and then hesitating. Not wanting to spook you, not wanting you to stop touching him. Just let him have this moment and pretend you said something different. That you could love him.

• “You scare me sometimes,” you repeat as he vents on a soft hiss that makes the fine hair at your nape prickle. “But I still like you.” And maybe it could be love eventually. You’re not sure, but right now? You’re more scared of losing this chance. If you walk away, who knows if he’d stay here or if he’d he move on because you know where his lair is? “I want to find out,” you manage, leaning to brush your mouth against his mandibles. “If it could be love.”

• Shifting slightly, to prop himself up, three of his extra limbs hook against your side and leg to drag you closer. So he’s looming over you. The feel of your soft mouth against his mandibles, warm and real as he slides a hand under the back of your head. And your hands land on his chassis. A chance. You’re giving him a chance to win you, court you and it’s honestly more than he’d expected. Brushing his cheek against yours, mandibles feathering against skin as he slides a thigh between yours. “I’ll do whatever you need.” Anything to not be alone ever again.

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[satanxklaus]

♥︎ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 | charles leclerc x reader smau

✦ pairing : charles leclerc x fem!wife!reader ✦ summary : in which charles is a proud soccer dad and he got too enthusiastic during his daughter soccer match ✦ content warning : use of yn, badly translated french, attempted humor, crack fic ✦ faceclaim : girlies from pinterest

a/n: henlo !!1! idk why but i just feel like charles would be that type of soccer dad who gets too competitive and heated for no reason. had this idea randomly popped in my head while i was at work lol. lemme know what u think! enjoy~ (requests are open)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

yninstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, pascale.leclerc.355, scuderiaferrari and 187,937 more.

yninstagram not to be that soccer mom, but look!! fleur's already a star player!! xx

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charles_leclerc ✓ ma fille! ma fierté et ma joie, regarde-la!! (my daughter! my pride and joy, look at her!!)

❤️liked by yninstagram

user1 fleur is not even my kid but im crying,, shes so cute in her little soccer jersey 🥹

user4 wow the talent in sports must run deep in the family

❤️liked by charles_leclerc ✓

scuderiaferrari ✓ Fleur Leclerc for the next AS Monaco Football Féminin's star player 🙌🙌

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text messages

*time skip to thursday*

charles_leclerc posted a story

user7 replied to your story ⤷ shes growing up so fast

maxverstappen1 ✓ replied to your story ⤷ thankfully you're not the one playing ⤷ one leclerc that can actually play football 😂 ⤷ charles_leclerc ✓ bro get off my page fr

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charles_leclerc

liked by pascale.leclerc.355, yninstagram, maxverstappen1, scuderiaferrari and 2,454,387 more.

charles_leclerc ✓ the sport genes truly does run in the leclerc family 😏😉 so so proud of my fleur, you will always be my number one champion 🫶🏻

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maxverstappen1 ✓ yes she gets the genes from yn. certainly not from you 😂😂

⤷ charles_leclerc ✓ you do not want to play that game with me, mate. ⤷ maxverstappen1 ✓ is that a threat??? hello?? ⤷ user6 😭😭 soccer dad charles is not playing any games w anyone

user8 yall saw that vid of charles beefing with a 5 year old over a damn soccer game?? LOL

⤷ user34 he was serious abt it too LMAOO

yninstagram CHARLES LECLERC PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE

⤷ charles_leclerc ✓ oh no we gotta go.. 🏃‍♂️💨💨 ⤷ user34 nahh aint no way ur getting away with it bruh 😭

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insta

charles_leclerc ✓

liked by yninstagram, pascale.leclerc.355 maxverstappen1, scuderiaferrari and 4,769,387 more.

charles_leclerc ✓ in all seriousness, i apologize for the misunderstandings i have caused and the video that has been circulating around on the web. after hours and hours of apologizing to my beautiful wife (im forgiven thank god), i just wanted to say that my fleur and yn are both the greatest gift i've ever received in my life, no championships can ever compare. Papa sera toujours fier de vous deux et sera votre plus grand fan jusqu'à la fin des temps. (daddy will always be proud of you both and will be your biggest fan till the end of time)❤️❤️

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yninstagram je t'aime, mon monde entier 😘🩷 (i love you, my whole world)

⤷ yninstagram papa, je t'aime mais s'il te plaît, ne viens pas au prochain match de football - fleur xx 🩷 (daddy, I love you but please don't come to the next football game) ⤷ pascale.leclerc.355 les amours de ma vie 😂❤️ ⤷ charles_leclerc ✓ 😭😭pleurer et dormir sur le trottoir ce soir (crying and sleeping on the curbside tonight)

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꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

⚠ 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⚠ : 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

© 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘅𝗸𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰. 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱. 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗳𝘆, 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻