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toxic-libra · 2 months

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moth to a flame pt.2 - csb (m)

pairing: soobin x fem!reader word count: 6.6k genre: friends with benefits-ish (he helps her with dating tips and stuff), angst if u squint really hard, smut, fluffy, inspired a bit by moth to a flame - the weeknd warnings: 3rd person pov (as always), mentions of reader in love with another guy (haechan <3), slight fwb dynamic, mature content (big dick!bin ofc, oral sex, brief fingering, mirror sex hihihi, protected sex bc yeah important) tagging: @once27, @pageriviera, @gyuzlover, @kookley77-blog, @sendhelpiloveyeonjun, @bunnyspeach, @pagesoobinie, @acidsoju, @cheekycountesschoi, @pinkbabi

[a/n]: part one here, for those who want to read.

Feeling his stomach swirl as he entered Y/N’s apartment wasn’t common, but so wasn’t having a heart-to-heart with Beomgyu minutes before going to a party… And both happened.

Soobin cursed his gullible mind and male weakness. All those weird thoughts and flutterings had nothing to do with real emotions, they were just his head clouded after crossing the line between friends and something else, plus a good blowjob – Beomgyu’s words, minus the ‘good blowjob’, for Soobin preferred to be ran over and buried alive than telling his best friend about his sex life.

Yeonjun was laying on the couch, reading something on his phone. “Y/N’s in her room.”

“Alright.”

The muffled music made him hesitate in knocking. She was listening to some old EDM tracks, something she did whenever getting ready to go out. After the third knock, the noise stopped and he heard the low ‘Come in’.

Opening the door, he put his head inside. “How long until you’re ready?”

Turning around, she smiled. “Oh, hi Bin! And, uh… Five minutes at max.” She pointed to her jewellery box. “Just deciding on accessories. Why?”

“We’re all waiting for you.”

“Mimi too?”

“Yeah.”

“Good Heaven’s, I’m late then.” She chuckled. “Just give me a second.”

He stared at her dressing table, noticing an open bottle of soju. “Drinking already?”

“I’m quite nervous, so...”

“Just try to relax, everything’s gonna be fine.”

If by ‘going to be fine’ Soobin meant ‘dancing instead of trying to flirt with Donghyuck’, then yes, everything was fine. Because from the moment she arrived, until then, Y/N had barely talked to Hyuck, resorting to her own cowardness and seeking refuge at the safety of the dance floor.

It was too soon.

She wasn’t ready for it yet.

She’d probably never be ready for it.

Walking towards the bar, she asked for a shot of vodka. It was her third, and maybe by the fifth she’d be a bit more confident. However, while waiting, a pair of pretty hands rested on the counter by her side, the slender fingers and pale skin catching her attention.

“Choi Soobin.” She forced a grin.

“What are you doing back there? I thought we were supposed to put our plan into action!”

“I kinda… Chickened-out last minute.”

“I already told Hyuck a thousand times how pretty you look today, and how plump your ass looks in this dress, but if you’re not around, there’s no way he can see it!” Soobin rolled his eyes.

Y/N’s breath caught, cheeks warming. “You said that?”

“Of course I did! Wasn’t this the main…”

“You think I look pretty today?” She cut him off, wanting to sound cheeky, teasing even, but it came out shaky, laced by that unwanted shyness and self-doubt.

He frowned. “Of course I do.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Isn’t it for the plot, then?”

Soobin moved before his mind calculated the pros and cons of doing such. Hand on her chin, he tipped her face up, thumb trailing her lower lip. “Not everything I do is aiming at our plan, Y/N. You look pretty every day. You are pretty.” He stated as if telling her the sky was blue.

They stared at each other, atmosphere changing and charging with confused, risky thoughts. The way his palm smoothly flattened on her cheek, his finger still on her lip, eyes tender but darkened, and the absolute warmth that came with Choi Soobin himself… Y/N wanted to dive in so bad.

He was her safety-pin.

But before she could act on any emotion, someone tapped her arm, breaking their connection.

“Your shot, miss.” The bartender didn’t look guilty for interrupting.

“Oh, thank you.” Y/N cleared her throat, putting some distance between her and Soobin. Taking a deep breathe, she downed it and turned to him again, holding his hand and intertwining their fingers. “Ok, I’m good now. Let’s go. I’ll try to talk to him a bit.”

Soobin hummed, swallowing an annoyed sigh at the impulse to tug her closer.

First, they stopped by the dance floor so Y/N could tell her friends she’d rest for a while. Walking there wasn’t easy, for the crowd kept blocking their path. Twice, Soobin got elbowed for trying to protect Y/N against the dancers, who moved carelessly to the rhythm – each time, the feeling of her body pressed against his was enough to make the pain of being hit worth it.

Their table was pretty close to the side they got out, but Y/N felt the pang of insecurity again and dragged Soobin to the bathroom area, saying she needed a minute.

Knowing better than pressuring her, he stood at the hall, calmly waiting.

Once alone, she took a deep breath and went for the sink, where the mirror was.

“Get a grip of yourself.” Y/N murmured to her reflection. “Focus on your goal. You got this. Go there, bat your lashes, crack some jokes, smile prettily and go home.”

With Soobin.

She scowled, telling her mind to shut the fuck up.

However, it made sense. If she left with Soobin, they could sleep together and she’d be ready to finally pursue Donghyuck. It was exactly the reason she sought his help, wasn’t it?!

All her resolve crumbled when the first thing she saw after opening the door was a girl all over Soobin. As if on cue, his eyes found hers and he frowned in annoyance, silently pleading to be rescued. Y/N’s mouth twitched in some unexpected anger and possessiveness, jealousy slowly boiling up her blood. The nerve of some girls!

“I’m back, baby.” She smiled wickedly. “Did I take too long?”

“Not at all, love. Let’s go?” Barely looking at the girl, Soobin offered a bowl. And not missing a beat, he took Y/N’s hand.

“She looked like she was bothering you.” Although she didn’t need to explain, she did it anyway.

“She was.” He nodded, fingers intertwining hers. “Are you ready?”

“You want the honest answer or the expected one?”

“Hyuck’s a good lad, you two already talk, so no need to fret.”

“We talk, yeah, but we don’t flirt… I don’t know how to flirt!”

“He’s gonna do all the work, trust me. You stay there just being pretty, looking at him with your starry eyes and perfect mouth and he’ll be sold.”

Soobin thought she was pretty!

Though her eyes starry and mouth perfect!

God, why was her heart racing?! Why did she feel so proud of herself?!

Taking a deep breath, Y/N tried to push those sensations away. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

“You make it sound like a penitence.”

“Being insecure sucks.”

“Just try to relax, I’ll be by your side.” He squeezed her hand tenderly.

“Give me a second, then. Just a second.” She stalled, still quite far from their table.

“You’re overthinking again.” Soobin murmured. “You don’t have to jump his bones, love, but just... Try to interact a bit more, touch his arm while you talk, brightly smile at him and stuff.”

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that? You do it with me, with Yeonjun…”

“It’s different.”

“Because Yeonjun is your kindred spirit and I’m a mere best friend?” He jested, though his face was slightly serious. She rolled her eyes, recognising the banter.

“No!” Y/N groaned. “I mean, in Yeonjunnie’s case, yes. But in yours… It’s different too. A good different.” She quickly added.

“Such as…?”

The same words she uttered to Yeonjun not a day ago floated on her mind. Saying them to Soobin was a risky move – he shouldn’t be her focus here. However, Y/N hated when he acted like Yeonjun was more important to her.

“With you, things are easy. I don’t feel anxious, nor insecure. On the contrary.” She stared at the floor, quite embarrassed of herself. “I feel… Seen. Cared for. Special. It makes sense.”

Soobin blinked, surprised by her words. He never expected that whatever they were doing would affect her this way – she seemed so sure it would help her with Donghyuck and not change anything between them. He knew he’d prefer an easy, calm love over any turbulent feeling, but…

Oh, fuck.

He shut the thought before it fully took form.

“Well, love…” He cleared his throat. “It’s easy because you don’t have a crush on me.” It wasn’t a 100% true, for there were people that fell in love quietly (his parents, for example), but it didn’t apply to their reality. “So, naturally, since you do like Hyuck, you feel more pressured.”

Their eyes met, and her gaze didn’t hold the same assurance it did when she first asked him for help. No, it held a foreign emotion he had yet to see on her – it looked like a mix of confusion and agony… Like she was trying to decipher what she was really feeling.

Like she was second-guessing her crush on Donghyuck.

“How can I help you get more confident to face him now?”

Y/N knew it wasn’t ideal, but he’d proved her once that it didn’t mind how inexperienced she was. She just needed… Reassurance.

“Would you give me a kiss?”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s cringe, but whenever we kiss, I get that adrenaline rush as if I’m actually a femme fatale or something like that… I don’t know. It stuck in my head ever since you refused my blowjob…”

Thankfully, before she could utter more nonsense, Soobin covered her mouth with his.

The mention of the night he fingered her, but the recent memories of the perfect blowjob, and whatever weird emotions brewed between them were enough to get him into action.

His tongue found hers immediately, a satisfied sigh leaving her lips as her fingers caressed from his long arms to his shoulders and neck, wrapping around his nape. He crowded over her, too tall that even being on her tiptoes wasn’t enough to ease the distance, so he needed to bend a bit more. He circled her waist, pressing her body against his and relishing at her warmth.

They kissed until her mushy brain gave in, deciding she wasn’t ready for Hyuck yet. But she was ready for Soobin. She had been since that night in his kitchen.

“Take me home.” Y/N murmured against his swollen mouth.

Putting some distance, he frowned, unsure if he heard right. “What?”

“Take me home.”

“Are you sure? What about…”

“Home, Bin. Now.” She cut him off, her clipped tone indicating only one thing.

He couldn’t refuse her. Not when the confusion on her pretty eyes had dissolved into lust.

They preferred to leave quietly, mostly because both were trying to ignore what that ‘impulsive’ move actually meant. The silence wasn’t heavy, but it did bother them a bit.

Instead of going to her apartment, Y/N went to his.

Through the darkness, they walked to his room and Soobin thanked God the city lights peeking through the window were enough for them at the moment. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise (not exactly a surprise, but anyway).

She turned to him, vexed, confused and desperate.

“Choi Soobin, I really, really want to sleep with you tonight.”

Although he felt the blow of her confession on his whole body, the only thing he did was suck a breath, letting each word perforate his heart like sharp claws.

“Are you sure, love?”

“Yes.”

And if he was keen to melodramatics, he would’ve fallen to his knees at her consent.

He closed the distance, mouth on hers before she got to say anything else. Before she could even think of regretting what she said. It was manipulative and wrong, but Soobin wanted her too much to give her enough space to think thoroughly about their situation.

Her head fell back mid-kiss, body limp and pliant to his ministrations. Lips closing on the skin of her neck, he prayed the marks would last for weeks. And at the thought of seeing them, he was reminded of the new decoration of his room… The whole reason why he kept themselves in the dark until now, standing at the door like two fools.

Soobin’s hands trembled a bit as he took her dress off. Her skin was ablaze, although goosebumps rose everywhere his fingers touched. He kissed her shoulder, cupping her boobs and pinching a nipple – the moan she let out was pornography, reaching his dick and making it twitch. “Lay down and close your eyes, love.” He ordered, reaching for the lights. When she thumped on the soft mattress, he took a deep breath, expectant. “Now open.”

Y/N was met with her reflection on the ceiling. “A mirror?”

“Got it installed yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because I liked it?”

“That’s… Very kinky of you, Choi Soobin.”

The dimples showed up, warming her heart at the sight of his boyish smile. “You’re the first one to see it. I didn’t think much when I bought it, but you’re here and it makes sense now… You were right. Everything makes sense with you.” His knee dipped the bed. “Wanna try it?”

Thank God she was laying down, or else her wobbly legs would give in.

Everything makes sense with you.

“Of course I do.”

He gave her another one of his cute smiles, those that didn’t mirror any of his naughty intentions, and took off his shirt, throwing it on the floor. “Then keep looking up and see the magic happen.”

She giggled, for his words were a bit cheesy, but her smile died as soon as his mouth touched her collarbones. He left some tender bites while his hands kneading her boobs, then, as her fingers threaded between his dark locks, his lips circled a nipple, sucking and licking the hard bud. Y/N moaned, eyes begging to close, but too entranced by their reflection to do so. She could see his tall frame over her, the way her legs rested at each side of his hips, her own face filled with pleasure.

Soobin kept trailing her body with kisses, until he reached her navel. His teeth scraped near her panties’ waistband, his large hands fondling her chest before coming down to her thighs, grabbing them and keeping them open. Y/N held her breath, attention fixed on the mirror – his head was so close to where she wanted it, she could even feel the warmth of his breath. Then, he sucked her over the fabric, and her back arched, heart fluttering at the sensation… But it still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck, Bin.”

“Is everything ok, love?” His voice was tinted with mirth.

“It’ll be when you take my panties off.” She confessed, too hypnotised by him and blinded by her neediness to be bothered of expressing it.

“So impatient.” But his fingers rolled them down, tossing them somewhere on the floor. Before Soobin could dive in, he glanced above, seeing her now naked body splayed on his bed. “Isn’t it such a nice view?” He mused. “I wish I had eyes behind my head to witness everything.”

And then his mouth was on her, not wasting even a second.

His tongue rippled against her clit, soft, curious. His fingers dug into her thighs, pushing her legs as open as he could. Pleasure sparkled on her veins, the feeling of his lips on her pussy so good, so annoyingly good. She moaned, eyes glued to the mirror above, entranced by the erotic sight and caress. She could see his head moving, could feel his smart tongue bumping her needy bud, drawing figures and learning what she liked, what she tasted. Her hips found enough strength to move together with his ministrations, making one of his hands detach from her plump thighs and force her belly down, trying to keep her still.

Y/N’s eyes couldn’t stay open, no matter how wicked and delightful it was to see everything reflected. Her mind went blank at the buzzing of his mouth on her cunt, lapping and coaxing her orgasm. It was all too much – the weird night they had, being with him, the desperation she felt for him, the need to let him rearrange her insides if he wanted to.

A small cry escaped her lips, mixed with his name, body moving as the high crashed on her like waves at the coast. Soobin groaned in pure satisfaction when her thighs closed around his face, suffocating him a bit, but her release was too sweet of a death for him to mind. He kept licking her, drinking every drop, pussy drunk on her ectasis… Until she forced his head up, pulling at his hair with a painful but delicious tug.

“Fuck, sorry, I–”

“I’m good, love.” He purred in reassurance, knowing he couldn’t give her insecurity any space. “You good too?” He grinned sheepishly.

“Shut up.” She couldn’t help but chuckle, despite her racing heart.

“Is this the kind of treatment I get after making you cum?!” He tsked. “Maybe we should stop, then, if you’re going to be rude…”

“No!” Her eyes widened. “No, I’m sorry.”

His adorable dimples deepened. “Well, if you want to keep going…”

“Please! Please, I’ll be good!” Y/N shook her head like a little girl.

“You really want me to fuck you, huh?”

“Desperately.”

“Or else you’ll go berserk?”

“Exactly.”

“We can’t let that happen.” He moved a bit, lips touching her belly, then the valley between her breasts. “Think you can take my fingers now, love?”

“I can take anything you want me to.”

“Just two fingers, then, or if you’re feeling generous, three.”

Y/N softly hummed. “Anything you want, Bin.”

“Here, suck it for me.” He patted her mouth with his index and middle finger. “Get it wet.”

She obeyed, holding his wrist while her tongue coated his skin with glossy, warm spit.

His eyes never left hers, drowsy and hungry. And when he sunk his digits inside her, without as much as a warning, Soobin couldn’t help but get hypnotised by the way her breath hitched, head falling back on the mattress and legs trying to close around him again. She looked so pretty like that, all pliant to his ministrations, vulnerable and desperate for him.

He was rather uncomfortable in his trousers, but stretching her was his priority – it had to be good for her, she couldn’t get hurt or feel any pain that didn’t hint at pleasurable. He knew he’d feel amazing regardless, so there was no need to rush.

Their figures reflected on the mirror made Y/N’s skin tingle with need. She blinked, dazed by the overstimulation, her belly coiling at each steady move of his hand. Her mouth hung open, lewd moans and whines of his nickname leaving her ever so often.

“Feeling generous?” Soobin kissed her ear, then her neck.

“Magnanimous.” Her voice came out hoarse.

He grinned against her collarbones, inserting a third finger and feeling the immediate clench of her wet cunt. It took his breath away, too. “So fucking snug.” His dick twitched, impatient. “You want to cum again, love? Want on my hands now?”

And as much as she appreciated a second orgasm, she wanted to cum together. Finding his gaze, she shook her head. “Want it with you.”

“With me?” He echoed, biting another smile. “How magnanimous, indeed.”

“Please, I’m ready. I know I can take you!”

There was her clipped tone again, and Soobin knew he had her where he wanted. Brows furrowed in frustration, Y/N stared at him like a princess on the verge of a tantrum out of sheer pettiness. He slowed down until stalling completely, not holding back his smirk.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Y/N supposed that being called ‘cute’ after begging for a guy’s dick wasn’t exactly the most flattering eulogy, however, her heart warmed at the compliment. She didn’t get to comment, though, for he left the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and dropping them on the floor, briefs coming along. Going for his nightstand, he took a condom off – although he knew Y/N offered him no danger (and vice-versa), it’d be better if they kept it wrapped for the time being.

She tried not to ogle him while he put the condom on, tried not to feel wetter at the expectation of having him inside her… And failed miserably.

When Soobin hovered her again, cradling her jaw and tilting her face up, stealing a slow kiss, any inch of doubt for the decisions she took that night left her like lightening.

It had to be Soobin.

It made sense, indeed.

And she wanted that more than she wanted a lot of things before.

He rolled around, bringing her body with his, putting her on top and ending the kiss with a bite on her neck. “You want to ride me? That way you can control how much you’re gonna take and I won’t hurt you.” He suggested, a hand pushing her hair off her shoulder so he could kiss there better. “And I get to enjoy the view a bit.” His chuckle was wicked.

“Hmm… We can try…” Her heart soared on her chest as he laid down against the headboard.

Well, they were doing that.

She was finally having sex again after ages.

Y/N spat on him over the condom and smeared it as she pumped his shaft. Frowning slightly, she wondered how he’d fit – yes, he was the famous cliché ‘big and thick’, not at all like the other two guys she had slept with. With wobbly legs and a pinch of insecurity, she circled his hips and aligned him on her hole. Soobin tried to keep his attention on the mirror, but as she sat on his dick, his focus diverted – he couldn’t help the deep groan that left his throat at her snugness and warmth. He was only past the tip when she stopped.

“Too big.” She gulped. “It hurts.” Her eyes weren’t teary, but they stung.

“Slow down, love. Don’t rush.” He gritted his teeth, remaining quiet despite the urge to thrust fully in. “Look up, it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.” Maybe the visual stimulation would get her wetter and make it easier for him to slide in without the pain. She obeyed, her head falling a bit as she faced above. Before she could move again, one hand rested on her waist and the other on her boob, pinching a nipple. “How’s that?”

“Good.” Her voice came out breathy.

“Maybe if I…” His mouth landed on the beak, sucking it.

Y/N immediately moaned, sinking a bit further on him. “So good.”

He changed sides, and her fingers threaded on his hair, tugging at the locks. She was mesmerised by the sight, as he predicted. There was something rather intimate in seeing themselves on the mirror – his face buried on her bosom, her sitting on him, her pleasured expression…

“It’s taking everything in me…” Soobin swallowed a groan, hands now on her ass, groping the flesh with too much strength. “Not to thrust in fully.”

She let out an airy chuckle. It was painful for her, but he probably was having it way worse. So, gathering the remains of courage she still had, she forced her hips down, trying to get most of his length in. “Maybe if you weren’t so big…” Her voice came out strained, bottoming down. “God, this hurts. It’s like I’m a virgin all over again.”

Soobin moaned, dick twitching at the primitive idea of being her first. It was quite an outdated thought, but he was quite possessive and romantic himself, so he couldn’t control his own mind.

“Hi.” He murmured against her jaw, leaving small bites there, hoping they would distract them both – for completely different reasons.

“Hi.” Y/N smiled.

“You’re unbearably so tight, love.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t say that. It’s not a bad thing!”

“Just hang in there for a second, please? Just until the burn goes away.” She stole a peck, thumb caressing his cheek. “I promise it won’t take long.”

This time, instead of a peck, she kissed him. Their tongues met in a sensual dance, her torso pressed against his while his hands didn’t know whether to stay on her plump ass or go back to her waist. His digits left fire where they touched, and Y/N melted on the kiss. Instinctively, she rocked her hips just a bit… Soobin’s grip tightened on her.

“Love, don’t. If you’re not ready, don’t.” He warned.

“I think I am. Eventually, it’ll get better, right? So...”

They looked up briefly, grinning at the sight. Her moves were sloppy, slow, only testing how to work that out, how to ease the pain so it would become pleasurable. Then, Soobin kissed her neck again, leaving purple marks without caring about the aftermath. She found more stability, hips going up and down as he helped her, pushing her ass in sync.

“You’re driving me insane.” Soobin groaned, searching her mouth.

That made Y/N smirk. It was so weird how he made her feel this good. At his every reaction, she felt her confidence awakening, felt some sort of inner power brewing together with pleasure. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongues clashing unnaturally, while she tried to conceal her pace and the caress. She tugged at his hair, nails burning his scalp and making him see stars.

“Help me go fast.” Y/N begged. “H-How?”

“I’ll take charge now, ok? Feeling good?”

“Ok, yes. Please. Fast.” She panted against his lips.

Soobin let his weight on top of her, hands at each side of her face, the good ol’ missionary. The new position offered a perfect angle to hit her sweet spot, not to mention how intimate it was. Sure looking at their reflection was hot, however, witnessing her expression of pure bliss was hotter. And knowing it was him who made her feel that way was… Surreal. Picking up his pace, he tried to go as fast as he could, tried to make every wish of hers command.

She held onto his forearms, back arching with each thrust. It had been so long since she felt this good, and later on she’d regret wasting so much time with her ‘celibacy’ – but right now… Right now, she didn’t want to think of anything other than Choi Soobin.

She couldn’t.

Everywhere she looked, every breath she took, every one of her cells were filled with him. Pleasure boiled together with her blood, buzzing through her body, raw, conquering. Their gazes locked, her name leaving his mouth in that husky timber he had, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead, lips swollen from the millions kisses they shared…

It was too much.

“Bin,” She panted. “I’m coming.”

God, he almost collapsed at her words. Sneaking a hand between them, he found her clit, circling it and rubbing it just right. Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, legs trembling as her pussy clenched repeatedly when she reached her climax, moaning his name like a prayer.

Hypnotised, Soobin followed like a moth to a flame. If Y/N was the deathly light, he’d perish proudly, peacefully. Lost in her, he spilled inside the condom, thick, strong, intense. Her name on his lips like the only language he knew, her face the only memory he would dare to remember.

And in the afterglow, he secretly wished it could last forever.

Y/N didn’t know much about ‘morning after’s to act like a normal adult woman would. As soon as she woke up, with Soobin’s tall frame pressed against her back, she started scheming how she could flee to her apartment without raising too much suspicion. If Beomgyu was already awake and at home, she was doomed – however, if he was asleep, she still had a chance.

Untangling herself from Soobin’s embrace, Y/N cringed a bit at her sore muscles. He stirred in his slumber, a delicious groan escaping his throat as he turned to the wall’s side.

Oh, dear Lord.

Not even aiming to the bathroom first, she opened the door and poked her head out, looking to both sides and listening to the quietness of the flat. Walking on tip toes, she reached the hall, noticing neither Beomgyu’s nor Mimi’s shoes and coats were there.

Excellent.

She couldn’t go back home because they were there.

Locking herself on the bathroom wasn’t her smartest idea, but she needed to pee and wash up. When she looked at the mirror, her reflection told her everything she didn’t want to know. The glow on her face, Soobin’s marks on her neck, her dishevelled hair… What a fantastic, dangerous night she had. How was she supposed to get back on track?

Was it even possible?

Turning on the shower, she ordered herself to breath. People had one-night-stands, there was no need for her to fret. Actually, when she asked for Soobin’s help, she had that in mind… So why was she so… Antsy? Confused? Dazed?

And then, after the kitchen episode, they agreed to talk about whatever made them awkward. How could she talk about last night?! When ‘awkward’ was absolutely the last thing it was, but…

She needed some time alone.

She needed to think.

Turning off the shower without even getting inside, she decided dealing with Beomgyu was easier than dealing with whatever was going on with her right now. Gathering her dress and panties from the floor, Y/N made to the door, wrapping herself on her coat and putting on her shoes.

It wasn’t the dreadful ‘walk of shame’, however, it wasn’t a prideful one either.

She knew Soobin would be disappointed at her for running away first thing in the morning. Well, he’d have to let her off the hook for this one.

Typing the password, Y/N made way to her bathroom, safely locking herself up. Drawing a bath would be better than showering, and so she did, promising to deal with happened later on.

The cold, short replies on their chat made Soobin’s belly churn unpleasantly. Well, he only had himself to blame. Was it too soon to push her to another man’s arm? Maybe. But if he didn’t do it now, he’d want her all to himself… And she didn’t want him the same, as his empty room so kindly illustrated when he woke up alone near lunch that Sunday (not even a goodbye message left!).

In trying to play cupid, he scheduled another PC Bang meeting. And as they walked there, side to side, avoiding to touch each other, Soobin realised he lost her. The nonchalant girl by his side wasn’t his best friend anymore, and he didn’t know what to do with all the emotions that brewed inside him – from last night, from this night, from the tragic but obvious future…

The PC Bang was too crowded for their liking, so they ditched it for fried chicken and beer. Instead of taking her usual place between Yeonjun and Soobin, this time, Y/N waited for Soobin to sit and sat in front of him. Although the distance was inexpressive, she felt a bit… Safer.

It was already difficult to focus on Donghyuck when Soobin was nearby. And now that she had slept with him, it was ten times worse. Before she could get a grip of herself, her restless mind was flooded by flashes of last night; and when their eyes met, she felt her stomach tighten.

Was he thinking about it too?

Was he aware of her uneasiness towards him?

Was he trying his best not to touch her at any given chance?

Because she felt like fighting a lost battle.

“Yeonjunnie texted.” She looked up from her phone. “They’re almost here. I’ll wait outside!”

“It’s quite cold, stay inside.” Soobin reached for her hand, stalling her.

“He’s a bit sour that we left yesterday without warning, so I want to appease him.” She explained, hoping the goosebumps were from the chilly air. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“You spoil him too much.”

“I spoil everyone I care for, Bin.” She held his gaze for a heartbeat later, then forced a giggle and left – hoping they haven’t noticed how desperate she was to be alone.

Going there was a mistake.

Soobin’s attention remained on Y/N until she disappeared through the entrance door. With a resigned sigh, he took a sip of his beer and relaxed against the booth.

“You two could stop eye-fucking each other in public.” Hyuck chuckled next to him.

“What?”

“Y/N and you. I get it’s the beginning and everything’s quite out of control, but I’m feeling weirdly shy here. Like I’m intruding.”

“What about Y/N and I?” Soobin frowned, somehow knowing where that was going.

“Dating, duh. Everyone knows it already, you two aren’t exactly subtle.”

God, that was so wrong. That was so, so wrong and it would come to bite him in the ass later, but Soobin couldn’t help it anymore. “Everyone noticed, then.”

“I don’t know how you planned to keep it a secret when you two are going on dates non-stop, and I saw you making-out next to the bathrooms yesterday.”

“Oh, fuck. Sorry you got to see that.” His chuckle was forced, since he fought against despair for ruining Y/N’s plan and the unwanted triumph for people thinking she was his.

“Nah, it’s ok. I thought something was fishy when you started bringing her to our meetings often, and you just couldn’t stop talking about her… I just had to put two and two together.” Hyuck shrugged. “She’s a nice girl, bro. I’m glad you found someone good for you.”

“Thanks.”

He was so, so fucked.

Three days later

Y/N had given it enough thought. For the past three days, she witnessed Beomgyu arriving at her flat with brownies, cookies and another Nutella bread… Apparently Soobin was thinking, too. About what? She wasn’t so sure. As for her, she went through all the pros and cons of ending their agreement, of still pretending to want Donghyuck. She knew maybe that was all she would get from Soobin – maybe her mind did play tricks and he actually didn’t like her back. She knew she probably would end up with a broken heart, however, she couldn’t keep that going.

It made no sense anymore.

Not when her feelings for Soobin bloomed like ivy, getting her covered in them.

That’s why, like the day she suggested their agreement, mid-Anime episode, she muttered:

“I think we should stop.”

Soobin didn’t react at first. He was so enthralled by the story, fingers mindlessly playing against her thigh, drawing figures and reminding her why that conversation was necessary. “Mhmm. The episode is almost finished, we can do something else later.”

“No, Bin. We should stop.” She put some distance between them. “Us.”

“What?” He looked at her, confused. “Why?”

“I… I think we should stop seeing each other for a bit.”

Dread pulsed through Soobin, turning his body rigid. Her face dropped, and he read all the wrong emotions there. Shaking his head, he forced himself to stand up, rage and guilt finding their way to his mouth. Before he could articulate any proper thought, his impulsiveness got the best of him.

“You promised nothing would change between us!” He quipped. “You promised we’d still be friends after everything, Y/N. You swore!”

She felt her eyes burning, but as always, she didn’t cry. “I know what I said, but…”

How could Soobin come clean, anyway? She wanted to stop seeing him, probably because after letting him fuck her in the best way possible, she really noticed how strong her feelings for Hyuck were… Although Hyuck thought she was his girlfriend.

They were doomed from the beginning.

“Now I’ve lost you twice.” He turned around, ready to flee from that overwhelming bubble of unsaid feelings. “I knew things wouldn’t end up good, but I still did it… And now I’ve lost you again.” Not even a step was taken when he felt her fingers on his arm.

“Bin, wait.”

“I don’t have the energy to deal with this now.”

“But if we don’t talk, then how…”

“He thinks we’re dating, Y/N.”

“P-pardon?” She froze.

“Donghyuck thinks we’re dating, that’s why keeping this is pointless. He won’t be interested in his friend’s girl.” Soobin looked at her over his shoulder. “But we’re not dating, are we?” He knew exactly what was going through her mind, knew those turbulent eyes better than anyone else. “And I didn’t correct him.” The words came out heavy, poisoned. “Aren’t you asking me why?”

She gulped. “Why?”

“‘Cause yeah, he might be a good match for you, you might have something in common and he’s a nice dude… But will he help you out of your shell like I do? Will he be alright with Yeonjun’s place in your life like I am? Will he…” ‘Love you like I do?’. It was on the tip of his tongue, however, Soobin remained silent. It was too soon for that. “I’m sorry things ended up this way.”

The hand around his pulse tightened. “Aren’t you going to fight for me, then?”

“What?”

“So you tell me all this, but don’t say the only thing that matters?! And you expect me to do what?! How can I feel safe enough to confess my feelings for you when you’re about to leave with a lame ass ‘sorry, I can’t deal with this’, as if it wasn’t obvious I feel the same?!” She sounded angry, and Soobin turned around, finding her scowling at him. “God, Bin, it stopped being about Donghyuck the moment I had your fingers inside me! I get I was kinda slow to notice, but you could’ve guided me to the right path! You’ve been guiding me all along anyway!”

“You realise you just confessed to me, right?” He was half amused, half confused.

Y/N hesitated. “I do.”

“You don’t get to take it back.” He shook his head, coming for her.

“I don’t.” She agreed.

“Say it again, full words now.” Soobin held her chin up, eyes locking with hers.

“I’m not being the one to take the first step again, Bin. I did it twice, it’s your turn now!”

He had some cheesy lines on the tip of his tongue, but she was right. She deserved something genuine after being brave enough for both of them.

“I love that you trusted me to take you off your shell, to help you find confidence and bloom. I love that you were crazy enough to cross the line for both of us, because if you haven’t… I wouldn’t be here now.” Without warning, he stole a peck, relishing on her surprised moan. “I love that you showed me all your versions and let me fall in love with each of them. I love that it’s you and that I get to tell you that it’s you, Y/N. I love you. For real.” She blinked, and Soobin’s eyes winded. “W-Wait a minute! Is this… A teardrop?”

Y/N chuckled, feeling the wet drop on her cheek. “Well, you can’t get all poetic and expect me to be unphased by it! Not after trying to give me up like the hero of a sappy book would!”

“I didn’t know, love.” He shook his head, wiping another tear. “I didn’t know you felt the same. You’re so good at channelling everything, I misread it.”

“I can’t hide much when it’s about you. You make sense, and you make me special.”

“You are special, love. To me.”

“You’re special to me too, Bin. Thanks for deciding on helping me despite the risks.”

“To have you in the end, I’d do it all over again.”

“I love you, Bin. Sorry it took so long.”

“It didn’t take long, we both were just… A bit blind.”

She smiled, agreeing and kissing him again. Now, with honest feelings out in the open, she noticed that the anxiety from before had disappeared. It wasn’t that she was insecure and shy, she was just focusing on the wrong gamer guy.

thank you all for reading <33

as always, english is not my first language, so any mistakes please feel free to tell me!

#soobin scenarios #soobin smut #txt scenarios #txt smut #txt #marieverso

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spid3namy · 11 months

Text

— DIFFERENT UNIVERSE PT.1

pairing : e!42 miles x mixed!female reader

summary : miles was being weird, not how he usually acted. he somehow found himself in the wrong universe, unbeknownst to you.

contains : a little angst, fluff, kissing, implied cheating??, cussing, they are in their late teens, happy endings i promise

word court : 1142

notes : i rewatched atsv for like the 4th time and for some reason i decided that i wanted to write about what would happen if e!42 miles and e!1610 miles switched places like how it is at the end of the movie except nobody is like tied to a punching bag LMAO. this was my attempt at writing a longer fic too 😍

How did he end up here?

This wasn’t his earth. He didn’t understand how or why he was here but all he knew was that this was the wrong place.

He couldn’t help the way that he felt stupid for allowing himself to get into this whole situation.

“Miles..? You okay?”

Miles blinked and looked over at you, furrowing his eyebrows to try and adjust to his new surroundings. How did you get into his apartment? Or… what he thought was his apartment? He really had no idea anymore.

Everything was confusing him at this point. He didn’t know anything anymore.

“Miles.”

You snap your fingers in front of his face to gain his attention, not understanding why your boyfriend was acting so weird. Miles blinked once again and shook his head, running a hand over his face.

“Yeah.. yeah, ‘m fine.”

Okay. That was definitely weird. Since when did Miles have an accent? And since when did he have braids in his head?

“Uhm.. okay?”

Miles let out a puff of air and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. How the hell was he even supposed to get home? How did he even get here? He had no idea.

“Qué pasa, Miles? You keep starin’ off into space.”

“‘M fine.. I promise”

Miles gave you an awkward smile and cleared his throat awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. You looked familiar to him, like he’s seen you somewhere before. He wasn’t really sure. Maybe it was in his universe. Whatever it was, it was weird.

Miles flinched slightly when you touched his face.

“What? You mad or somethin’?”

“Huh..?”

Okay, so that was definitely weird. Why was he acting this way? Have you done something wrong? You didn’t really know. But all you knew was that Miles, or whoever the hell this was, flinched when you touched him. That never happened.

“Miles, quit fuckin’ playin’ around with me right now.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about..”

You let out a sigh and shook your head, your thumb caressing his cheek lightly. Miles couldn’t help the way that he felt comfort from how you touched his face. It was wrong, he knew that much, but it still felt so nice.

He couldn’t enjoy it for too long though.

You pressed a kiss onto his lips, not one that was long, only a peck but Miles flinched back a little too fast. It made your eyebrows furrowed together at how he was acting. He couldn’t kiss you. Couldn’t even be with you because this wasn’t his universe and you weren’t his girlfriend.

“Estás bien? You’re fuckin’ actin’ weird, Miles”

Before he could even get a word out, the front door suddenly swung open.

“Ay, Y/N.. you’re still here? I thought you would’ve gone home by now?”

“Sí but I figured I would keep Miles company ‘til you came home.”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

Miles blinked and looked over at the woman that was supposed to be his mom.

What happened to her eyes? Why weren’t they green anymore? It was weird to him.

Well, he already knew why her eyes weren’t green. This wasn’t his earth. This was someone’s earth. It wasn’t his and he hated it.

“Woah, Miles, what’d you do to your hair?”

“Huh..?”

“You like braids now? You’re no longer tender-headed?”

Miles blinked and squinted at Rio, almost like he was confused on what the hell she was talking about. And he was.

What the hell did she mean tender-headed? He had been tender-headed a day in his life!

But to make himself seem less suspicious and weird, he just nodded his head. The best thing he could do right now was blend in.

“He’s been actin’ weird since he got here”

Miles looked over at you as he talked about him like he wasn’t even there. That annoyed him. He hated when people did that.

“Oh.. well I’m sure me and Jeff will be able to figure out why. Thanks for staying Y/N.”

“Of course.. Let me know if you need anything”

Miles watched as you left the apartment. It was weird. Jeff? That didn’t make any sense to him. Jeff was… dead. Had his mother found another man with the same name? That couldn’t be.

He knew his mother; she would never find someone else.

Rio suddenly looked over at her son and took a step towards him, inspecting his hair and the way he looked. He was much shorter than before.

“How did you get here so early? Your father said he was gonna take you home.”

“Uh.. Uncle Aaron took me home?”

Rio stared at him and blinked before she shook her head, moving her gaze away from him. This wasn’t a time for him to be bought up.

“Son, you know that ain’t possible.”

“Huh?”

Rio sighed and shook her head, rubbing her temples and walking into the kitchen. She had no idea what was up with him but she knew that something was definitely wrong.

He was being so weird.

“Miles, I know you miss Aaron.. We all do but that doesn’t mean you can just say stuff like that.”

“Sorry?”

Rio sighed heavily and shook her head, clearly fed up with her son’s antics. It was a little annoying how he was acting. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. She was too tired for all this.

Miles seemed to notice how annoyed she was and turned on his heels, walking further into the apartment and into ‘his’ room.

The moment he opened the door, he saw so, so, many fucking posters. God, the room was a damn pigsty. How the hell could anyone live in this filth?

Miles notices a sketchbook laid on the bed, his body now peaked with curiosity. At least they had one thing in common. He walked over and grabbed the book, flipping through the pages. A lot of them were so random. He took note of all the drawings he had of Aaron and some.. girl.

Wow. Must’ve been the girl that was there earlier. There were also a few drawings of some other girl in some stupid superhero suit. Apparently this Miles is a fanboy. Totally not weird at all. He had to admit though, his counterpart was really good at drawing. Well, of course he was.

They were the same person, just a different universe.

Miles could hear talking from outside the door. He slowly opened it and peeked outside, his eyes scanning around the apartment as he saw some guy, presumably Jeff, walking in the front door.

His.. his dad was still alive? Was he not captain here? He didn’t know for sure. He saw another figure behind the man. He was taller and had a wack ass ‘fro.

The other Miles was also here.

Shit.

#☆ namy writes #spiderman across the spiderverse #e42 miles #earth 42 miles angst #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x mixed!reader #earth 42 miles morales #e42 miles morales

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linnienin · 1 year

Text

~ S i r e n e ⁕ M a s t e r l i s t ~

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓ Y o u r ⁕ S e d u c t i v e ⁕ E n e r g y ⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

O r i g i n a l ⁕ P o s t s:

⁕ Sirene through the signs/degrees/aspects

⁕ Sirene through the houses

S i r e n e ⁕ i n ⁕ t h e ⁕ s i g n s :

c e l e b s ⁕ e x a m p l e s

Aries/aspecting Mars

Taurus/aspecting Venus (pt.1)

Gemini/aspecting Mercury (pt.1)

Cancer/aspecting Moon

Leo/aspecting Sun

Virgo/aspecting Mercury (pt.2)

Libra/aspecting Venus(pt.2)

Scorpio/aspecting Pluto

Sagittarius/aspecting Jupiter

Capricorn/aspecting Saturn

Aquarius/aspecting Uranus

Pisces/aspecting Neptune

S p e c i a l s :

⁕ Asteroid Sirene in 1st house

R a n d o m ⁕ A s k s :

⁕ Sirene conjunct Venus (Aries-6th house)

⁕ Sirene conjunct Uranus (Sagittarius)

⁕ Sirene square AC (Scorpio-10th house)

⁕ Sirene conjunct Venus opposite Saturn (Capricorn-10th house)

⁕ Sirene square sun

⁕ Sirene conjunct sun (Libra-5th house)

⁕ Sirene conjunct Vertex + Lilith conjunct Aphrodite (Cancer-8th house)

⁕ Sirene square moon

⁕ Sirene conjunct chart ruler

#asteroid sirene #astrology masterlist #asteroid sirene masterlist #astro notes #astro observations

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starscatteredsky · 1 month

Note

H i! ! ! I w a s w o n d e r i n g i f y o u h a d a n y t i p s f o r o n e o f m y k i n s .

I ‘ m j u s t l o o k i n g f o r s o m e t i p s a n d h e l p f o r m y s p a c e k i n . I ‘ m j u s t a g e n e r a l s p a c e k i n , a k a a s p a c e e m b o d i m e n t . A n y h e l p w o u l d b e g r e a t !

- Y o u r l o c a l s p a c e a n o n

[Translation:

Hi!!! I was wondering if you had any tips for one of my kins.

I’m just looking for some tips and help for my spacekin. I’m just a general spacekin, aka space embodiment. Any help would be great!

-Your local space anon]

tips for space!

pt: tips for space! end pt

get those glow in the dark plastic stars and put them everywhere! ceiling, door, walls, bed frame, dresser/desk/closet, whatever type of surfaces you can stick them to!

wear lots of black, lots of deep blues and purples etc, with tonnes of white or silver jewellery!

glitter!! wear lots of glittery things!

get plastic planets to hang from your ceiling!

do space inspired makeup! glitters, deep tones, galaxies, cool star freckles, etc!

keep up to date with what we're learning about space! cool news is always coming out!

put lots of candles around your living space, so when you turn the lights off, your living space is full of stars!

go stargazing!!

get an app that alerts you when interesting celestial events are occurring!

hope these help!! -👾

[ID in alt!]

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cornie-heesan · 5 months

Text

Cherrygirlxx

STARING| Nakamoto Yuta x fem!reader

PROMPT| of creator!reader

DESCRIPTION| After the incident that happened at the house with Mark and Yuta, the Japanese man had been scarce around the house. Only coming home long enough to grab a fresh change of clothes. No more lingering stares, comments or slightly unsavory touches between Yuta and Mark’s girlfriend. Yuta has found himself a little play thing of his own that has been occupying his time.

WARNINGS| Dubious content my friends, perv!yuta, dom!yuta, sir kink, corruption kink, spitting, rough sex, unprotected sex [don’t, you’ll get pregnant and d*e], piv, spanking, fingering, oral [m and f recieving], AFAB body description, spanking, hair pulling, face sitting, choking, name calling [affectionate], if any of the previous statements bother you, or you don’t like it- don’t read it

WORD COUNT| 1,409

A/N| I have no idea where this came from lol

A/N| Pt.2 I've been MIA because I moved 30 hours across the country and had to drive lmao, here's something even if it's not much ;)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT- read at your own discretion

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

Yuta had made himself scarce around the house after the incident a few weeks ago- not because he was ashamed- more, curious to venture out and do something exciting on his own- preferably with a partner. He spent long nights in the library studying, watching movies, hell even sleeping- when there was one night that he’d me you, Y/L/N Y/N. All frills, ribbons, pretty nails and a devious smile.

For a few days the two of you shared flirty smiles and heated gazes- then the next Yuta’s eyes follow you around the library where he hops he could get a little glimpse under the short little skirts you wear. He takes note of your favorite drink order, the way you cutely nibble on the end of your acrylic nails as you read through some texts.

One day he sees you leaning against a bookshelf thighs continuously rubbing together. He watches as your chest heaves, cheeks a wicked shade of red and little gasps leaving your plump lips. He didn’t think you were going to be sick- his head cocks slightly as he glances around the practically empty basement level of the library.

Eyes land on a man, sitting only a few meters away from you- baseball cap partially covering his hair, a phone propped against a water bottle and another phone with an app open, that the mystery guy is currently dragging his finger against. Yuta’s eyes widen slightly as he recognizes the app- it controls a wireless vibrator. A high pitched whine draws his attention back to you- teary eyes focused on his own.

Your hips are twitching, you try to keep the noises down but you can’t help it- a squeal leaves your lips as your eyes roll back and your lips take an O shape. Yuta can’t help but hungrily roam your body- he can see the flex of your lower belly as your orgasm surges through you. Thighs twitching, nails digging into the grain of the bookcase you learned on- and he definitely didn’t miss the trickle of slick running down your thighs.

He packs up his things quickly, retreating to the single use bathroom before he got transfixed on watching the afterglow overtake your body. He was as hard as a fucking brick in his loose fitting gym shorts- a small dark patch of pre stating where the head of his cock was settled. He makes quick work of locking the door and shoving his shorts down to his ankles before gripping his cock tightly.

A hiss slips past his bared teeth at the contact, whole heartedly wishing it was your warm pussy wrapped around him. Yuta didn’t care that he didn’t know your name, he didn’t need to when just the mere thought of you made his balls heavy and stomach clenching with need. Honestly your reminded him of his favorite only fans creator- cherrygirlxx

He can’t help the debauched groan that leaves his lips as he fumbles to pull his phone out of his bag opening the app and pulling your account up- where he sees a newly posted video on your account. A very familiar shade of green is behind you along with several bookcases as the little microphone you wore picks up the little whimpers and cries that leave you only captioned

‘Please, sir 🥺’

Yuta can’t help but speed up his hand. His favorite fucking creator goes to his school and has been sending him ‘fuck me’ eyes every day in the library for the last two weeks. He subconsciously matches your frequencies- fucking his fist along with the recorded whimpers leave your lips. Dirty words leaving your lips as you beg and plead for ‘sir’ to fuck you, to make you cum. It only eggs Yuta on, pushing him over the edge as cum leaks from his reddened tip, dripping around his fingers until his balls feel completely emptied.

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

Yuta avoids his normal area in the library for a few days, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in real life without popping a chub like a prepubescent boy. After the fifth day he decides that he can’t keep himself from seeing your pretty face in person any longer- that and the fact that and some of the younger brothers had figured out where he’d been hiding the last couple of weeks.

He doesn’t say a word to you- until one day you sat pertly on the chair next to him, Shining lip gloss coating your lips, skirt barely gracing your thighs, that were partly covered in stocking with little pink bows that dug into the fat of your them. Yuta’s brain short circuits, almond shaped nails ghosting over the skin of his arm where his lock and chain tattoo sat.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re taken,” the pout of your glossy lips draws his attention away from your pink painted nails- he’s able to give you the most charming smile “No cherry girl, it doesn’t” you don’t shy away from his silent confession instead your eyes sparkle with mischief. Confidently you move closer to him, your breasts pushing against his arm, sticky lips ghosting his ear

“Would you be down to film some content with me?” Your breath causing tingles to shoot down Yuta’s spine but he tries to cover it up with a husky laugh “Do you always try this with guys around campus, princess?” He hums sliding his hand to rest lightly around your throat “No sir,” you sigh dreamily wishing he’d put just a little more delicious pressure around your throat.

“Who was the guy last week, hm?” His lips teasing along your jaw nipping at the skin “You know him,” you giggle sliding even closer to him- not like that was possible. Yuta thinks back to the man he saw with you last week- realizing on the way out he got a look at his face.

Ten Lee

How had he not recognized his frat brother? Better yet, how did Ten not notice that Yuta was sitting right there? The universe must be out for him at this point.

Your nails scrape along his thighs as he watches you sink down on to your knees staring up at him with those same fuck me eyes you had been giving him weeks ago.

“Can I please, please, please suck your cock sir?” Yuta couldn’t deny how pleasing you looked begging him to bring his cock out. The Japanese man smirk, subconsciously spreading his thighs wider

"Since you've been such a good girl, I don't see why not."

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

“Why are you guys always watching someone fuck in this god damn living room?” Johnny groans kicking his shoes off hearing the unmistakable sound of skin on skin slapping. First with the Mark bullshit and now Jaehyun, Haechan, Jeno, Jaemin, Ten and Yangyang have only fans pulled up on the tv.

“You know how Ten is friends with that creator ‘cherrygirlxx’? She has a man on her account now. He’s been trying to figure out why she hasn’t had him help with content lately.” Jaehyun explains like it’s some kind of research project “Ten, why are all your friends outside of this house into recording themselves?” John questions only to receive a shrug for an answer. Giving up Johnny just gives in and joins the watch party.

The videos change after the last one Ten helped with, using a wireless vibrator to get you off in the middle of the library. Next is a video of you was filled with that unmistakable ugly orange carpet in the basement of the library and the thighs of some mysterious man who’s cock you were currently choking on. Wonton whines leave your lips as drool trails down your chin as you happily swallow the guys cum with a smile on your face.

Next you were still in the library but now positioned on a table face down ass up, camera focused on your fucked out face with the lewd sounds of your pussy fill the air. The camera angle changes to your pussy being finger fucked by this man, gushes of slick leaving your body as you whither and moan for sir to let you cum.

“Jesus Christ what I would do to fuck that woman..” Haechan whines awkwardly moving his hips “Bro, ain’t no way she’s gonna let your pencil dick anywhere near her pussy.” Ten snorts “What? You hit it?” Jaehyun pipes up only to receive a smirk from the Thai man and no other answer. Ignoring his distracted brothers Jaemin swipes to the next video- where there was finally a change of scenery- albeit an outside scenery, a change none the less.

The guys pants shoved halfway down his thighs as his hand wraps around your hair arching your back as he fucks you against a tree that’s not too far from the frat house. It’s dim but the familiar shrill of music from a speaker. They sat analyzing the video trying to figure out if they could figure out who the guy was when the door opened to the front of the house.

Skin slapping and moans reach Yuta’s ears as he toes off his shoes pausing before remembering it’s not Mark because he’s got a late lecture today. His eyes find the TV where the familiar scene of his pelvis rhythmically slaps into the fat of your ass- begging him to fuck you harder on his cock. He doesn’t speak to the guys as he flops into an armchair scrolling through his phone.

The next video is the one you had only just posted a few minutes ago- you’re on your back, head dangling of the edge of an unmade bed. The man is only showed from the naval down- you have tear stained cheeks as you mindlessly babble about how good the cock inside you feels. If someone’s paying enough attention they can see the slight bulging movement of where his cock is hitting your insides.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” Yangyang speaks suddenly causing Jaemin to groan and pause the video “Doesn’t that tattoo look familiar to anyone!?” Yangyang shrieks pointing his finger aggressively to the tattooed hip “Bro, I was too busy watching her get fucked- not that guys dick?” Haechan whines before freezing finally noticing the bellybutton ring in the guys naval. Where has he seen that before?

Yuta ignores their comments on his tattoos- that is until Yangyang screamed smacking Haechan on the shoulders. They exchange eye contact before Haechan joins in on the screaming as the shake each others bodies aggressively “What the fuck are you two on?” Jaehyun grumbles peeling his eyes open to look at what they see “BUTTERFLY…TATTOO… BELLYBUTTON RING!!!!!” They scream in gasped breaths.

Yuta takes this as his sign to exit the room before everyone starts to realize they’ve been watching him I dick down the baddest [affectionate] only fans creator. Ten’s eyes catching the movement of Yuta slinking out of the room catching a quick glance of a familiar butterfly tattoo adorning his hip- a panicked scream leaves his mouth

“YOU’RE THE ONE FUCKING CHERRY?!?!?”

#smut #nct smut #nct yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #nct 127 #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct #nct mark #nct ten

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spider-stark · 1 year

Text

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.

Well, almost fruitless.

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work.

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.

He refused to withhold a lead from you.

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.

But trauma was a peculiar thing.

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him.

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.

It was new.

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.

“How so?”

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone.

“Columbia.” She spoke.

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.”

You frowned at her, confused.

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?”

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So, we’re splitting up?”

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.

That would never happen, of course.

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.

But you weren’t done missing her.

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.

You wasted no time in looking away.

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!”

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.

It worked.

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.

It was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”

Please say no-

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.

”Great.”

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.”

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it.

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it!

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.

When did that change?

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.

“Peter?”

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”

Once again you were met with silence.

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it.

”y/n?”

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.

This wasn’t easy.

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.

It seemed best to do neither.

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.

There was no escaping him.

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job.

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?

No, of course not. It was impossible.

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.

That came with its own dangerous implications.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.

”Helen Stacy.”

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”

Your mouth curved into a smile.

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.

Almost—but not quite.

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.”

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning.

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

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pokemonheritageposts · 8 months

Text

Been thinking about how I'd rank each of the new pokemon introduced in each generation and I'm curious what the consensus is, so I'm running two polls.

Including Megas, Regional Variants, GMaxes, etc in the generation those new forms were introduced in, not the original Pokemon:

#pokemon

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aoteyam · 2 years

Text

Avatar | ATWOW : FIC RECCOMENDATIONS

This is for anyone else who is searching for certain avatar (wotw) fics; I’ve got you.

note: if you’re a minor please remember to read warnings and authors notes, majority of them should be sfw blogs; Also apologies to the authors of they’re getting a lot of notifications from me - your works are just that good.

**will keep updating this **

Main library

Second : AONUNG FANFICS | Categorised: A-Z

(This banner sucks, so I’m going to re do it later)

• A •

Abience @sereisstuff

Actually the worst @mcdonaldsplayground

Alive @netegf

All mine @gloryy-vs

Ao’nung 1, 2 @marvelsage

Ao’nung is frustrated @cordyce

Aonungs little rival @eywascall

Artic @ilici

A long way home & pt.2 @riverlikethelake

A Necklace @neteyamslovrr

• B •

— BASKETBALL PLAYER AO’NUNG HEADCANONS ! @livelaughloak

Best pillows, @/eywascall

Beauty| Ao’nung x fem reader @aonungstsahik

boyfriend ao'nung headcannons! | ao'nung @eclipseatsea

But your so much more than that… @/aonungstsahik

Being Ao’nung’s Sully Mate - @nyctophicbtch

• C •

Ceasefire @refiwrites

Confess @/aonungobession

• E •

enjoy the silence | ao’nung. @aboutescapism

• F •

Fish Boy @/ ilici

Fish lips (1-6) @eywathemother

• G •

Going back home to the forest @/eywascall

Getting over it @m-oddinsdottir

• H •

Hair Fixing @zynxwrite

Hidden feelings @sweetpeas-serpent-princess

• I •

If You Want to Live Here... @aonungsz

It’s over @/theycallmesia

I Love you more than any @/aonungyou-shit

i only need you | ao'nung @/eclipseatsea

I see you. @/aonungobession

I wanted to ask you that @rottingspoiledmilk

• K •

Knowing before you, @/eywascall

• L •

Love song. @pand0radreamland

• M •

Mixed feelings @/neteyamslovrr

— Modern Boyfriend Ao’nung @/yawntutsyip

Movies? You mean crying time? @/aonungyou-shit

• N •

Necklace @meowcatsposts

Not in my eyes @hrtleo

No ordinary love @loakism

New ways to sleep @/eywascall

• O •

One love, two mouth @fleurmiss

our breath burns in the shadows of the deep. @viinieroxide

• P •

Pride @/neteyamslovrr

Punchable @/neteyamslovrr

• Q •

Quiet time ruined @dawnwritez

• S •

Silly little Things @/aonungsz

Stars in the ocean @/angelltheninth

Sun and Moon @janners

Surprising tactics @boinitwdidthat

Sweet nothing @aonungapologist

• T •

Tardy Volume 1,2,3 @seashelldom

their favourite places to kiss you @heartdenks

| The Governor's Son | Ao'nung x F Reader | Human AU @lexstara1

The tree - Ao’nung @/marvelsage

the true beginning? @/sweetpeas-serpent-princess

The weight of your words @adrunkskeletonsduck (1-3)

Tree hugger girlfriend @thaliathewriter

˚ʚ ᗢ. ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴏʀ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ₊˚✧ @lorre-verie

• W •

Weakened by Eywa @shkudss

When you cry during an argument @lo-aksgf

WIFE PROTECTION SQUAD DEPLOYED @/eywascall

• Y •

you couldn’t swim @notkody-ig

You simply hate me @/aonungapologist

Your beautiful features @nanakouu

# -123 - REQ

3.24 pm @/adrunkskeletonsduck

Aonung x fem!sully!readers @maxiebat

Ao'nung x Sully!reader @strawberryys-stuff

Aonung x Sully!reader @yunaloona

Req (Aonung x Omaticaya fem!reader) , Request.2 @angelltheninth

Aonung Headcannons @/seashelldom

ao’nung x reader! @livelaughloak

ao'nung x Metkayina! reader @hearts4neteyam

#avatar the way of water #aonung x reader #ao’nung x reader #aonung imagine #reblog #aonung #headcanon #aonung headcanons #library #avatar 2 #avatar fandom #avatar fanfiction #avatar recommendations #fic rec

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mountswrld · 1 year

Text

✫彡 R A N D O M T E X T S ミ★ — PT 2

Pairing: Mason Mount x wife!fem!reader

s u m m a r y : just random texts between mason and his wife.

w a r n i n g s : i dont think theres any.

# ★

#mason mount #mason mount x you #mason mount x oc #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n

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justoneday-namjoonii · 6 months

Text

It burns, doesn't it? [Pt.22]

genre: mafia!au, angst

warnings: mature, mafia activity, illegal business activity, non-explicit sexual/sensual content, toxic relationships, mentions of drugs, smoking, m*rder, language, and suggestive language, an attempt at a slow burn. If this content could potentially trigger you, please proceed with caution or do not proceed♥️

pairing: jungkook x reader x (yoongi)

authors note: It has been a long time, but I'm back☺︎ will come back to edit this later ! Please see my master list for previous parts <3

word count: 6k+

summary: The mafia tore your life apart, if it wasn’t for your will to live, it would have taken you out a long time ago. After everything, the heartbreak, betrayal and lies, you’ve emerged with a purpose—you’re apart of a family now. They won’t let you lay down and die—no matter how much you want to

━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━

He was ripped from his sleep by the corrections officer who hated him the most. Couldn’t stand that attitude, that body full of ink and a grimace forever plastered on his boyish face.

“You have a meeting with your lawyer, get presentable,”

A few months ago, he would have shot back a snarky remark or maybe even stayed in bed. That rebellion simmered out not long ago, there’s not much fight left in him now. When he was let out, given a roommate, and left to socialize amongst the other inmates—he got into a bad fight. He took more damage than the other guy.

He found out that a notorious arms dealer was shot and killed. Word on the street is, it’s Jeon Jungkook’s fault.

Jungkook went into shock, numb. He got hit in the head so hard that he went unconscious. He would learn to be grateful for that state of unconsciousness. It was either that or erupting in a hysterical fit.

Now, sometimes he cries in his cell at night and sleeps all day. He never ate the provided meals before, but now, he at least picks at it. It’s evident in his just slightly hollowed cheeks, he’s lost some weight,

He simply nods at the grumpy officer and drags himself up and out. This is not a reality he ever prepared himself to experience, he took his family for granted. Namjoon was there, he would always be there, that’s what he thought. He did not want to grieve here, not in this hell—maybe it’s what he deserves.

The officers take him to shower alone while the other inmates are still locked down, he’s become a sort of target. For his safety, this is what has to be done. He gets dressed in the same dingy outfit and they take him to the room.

Junghyun shortly after.

“Jungkook, are you okay? You look,” He scans him over, “not good—like shit to be honest.” Jungkook only glances up briefly.

“They told me you were in an altercation and got beat up pretty bad,” He takes a seat, eyes scanning him over, “Are you okay?

“I’m fine,” He mumbles.

“Alright,” He sighs, “Mr. Choi will be in soon, he thinks you have a good chance of getting out.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook calls him by his affection title for the first time in years, eyes trained on the table, “Don’t do this.”

“I’m going to help you, whether you think you deserve it or not, you’re my brother,”

The silence pangs, and Jungkook doesn’t even look up.

“Look,” He rests a hand on Jungkook’s bruised knuckles, “I just want to get you out of here, okay? And maybe we can find Kim Y/n-“

“Sorry I’m a bit late, had a few documents to submit,” The lawyer walks in with a nice suit and slicked back hair, “it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon,”

“Likewise,” Jungkook replies in a dull tone.

“First, let me ask you a few questions,” The lawyer takes a seat, snatching a few papers out of his briefcase before setting it aside, “I know you have mafia affiliation but to what extent?”

“What do you mean?”

“Could we say that you’re associated or an active member? And if so, how long?”

“I-…I don’t want to do this,” He stands to his feet, cuffed hands pushing him away from the table.

“Jungkook,” Junghyun gives the lawyer an apologetic expression as he goes to whisper something in Jungkook’s ear, “what is going on with you? He has to know these things so he can build your case.”

“I don’t care about the fucking case,” He grits his teeth, “whatever deal you’re trying to make with me, it’s gonna screw me over in the end, and you both know it,”

“Excuse me, but Jeon has a call,” one of the administrative officials peeks in.

“From who?”

Both Jeon’s say in unison.

“He says he’s an uncle of yours.”

They look at one another, both their father was an only child and their mother had one sister. They don’t have an uncle.

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━≾

3 months ago

His hands fell from your face, leaving your skin bare to the cool air, “I need to get back out there.”

He steps away from you, unlocking the bathroom stall door. You place your hand over his larger hand before he can fully open the door.

“You probably shouldn’t be seen with me like this…” You trail off, not wanting to further explain. You look at him with weary eyes, and the idea of someone seeing you two walk out of the bathroom together crosses your mind. “I’ll stay-“

“I don’t care who sees us,” He corrects you without hesitation, “let’s go.”

He walks out anyway, leading you out of the cramped stall. The states you get churn your insides. You force yourself to ignore the curious stares from the women inside. No one pays you any mind once you leave the restroom. If anything, they act like they don’t you.

When the hostess notices Yoongi approach with you by his side, she opens the doors with much haste.

“We got the last bid, I went 5 over but it was worth it,” Taehyung is the first to speak and he glances at you. Yoongi nods, ensuring he sits beside you despite your stiff body language.

The night went on and you remained quiet.

Feelings of regret crept their way into your mind. You proclaimed your love to a man before, who said he would die for you, the man you once lived for. But you’re not bound to him anymore, it’s hard to get used to. He abandoned you, he made you feel like a liar—he was insecure, and so were you.

The drive back home was painfully awkward. You rode back with Yoongi and the consequences of your actions started to eat you alive. He won’t even look at you, it just embarrasses you further, forcing you to perseverate.

"About earlier, in the bathroom," You begin, not prepared to say much more than that.

“It was just a kiss,” He speaks low, to keep this conversation from the driver, "don't look too deep into it."

“Ok…” You gaze out of the window, the engine and the occasional passing of streetlights distract you enough. ≿ ━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━≿

The house had fallen into a hush over the past few months, and security heightened significantly. More members were assigned as round-the-clock guards. They patrolled around with vigilant eyes, their fingers never far from the cold metal of their guns.

Yet, amid this fortress-like home, you found peace. The house staff have embraced you as if you were a long-lost member of the family. They treat you too well, providing clean linens like a hotel, and tasty meals, making you feel like royalty.

Ayeong has especially made this transition easy, she's the reason you're able to get up every morning and find purpose in something.

When you arrived at the estate, you grappled with a sense of loneliness and haunting thoughts. It was Ayeong's compassionate and motherly nature that extended a gentle hand to pull out of that dark place.

With ample free time at your disposal, you found yourself shadowing her through the day, mainly in the kitchen.

She listened to you, not out of pity, but because she wanted to know you. In the delicate ebb and flow of conversation, she provided insights into the complex dynamics of the household. Yet, the lessons extended far beyond cooking; they touched on life, love, and, most intriguingly, the enigmatic figure who led it all, Yoongi.

You’ve unintentionally given much of the kitchen staff a break, making yourself her designated sous chef. It’s been nostalgic to get scolded when you over-season the dish she left you alone with, to get praised when your spontaneous flavor combinations taste good. She’s warm with you, taking you in like a granddaughter.

“Oh wow, this is so good,” Boyoung, her 10-year-old grandson who accompanies her every now and then smiles brightly, “how can you cook so well? This is better than nanas!”

“Boyoung, don’t say that!” You laugh, a bit flustered, “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“But it’s true! It’s better-“

"Ok ok, thank you," You shake your head, "Go wash up and I’ll fix you a bowl before you go.”

“Ok!” He runs to the bathroom with haste.

Just as he runs out, Ayoung comes back into the kitchen. “Between you and I, that little boy is going to be spoiled rotten,”

“He won’t be a kid forever,” You stir the pot gently, “it’s ready by the way,”

“Perfect, I was just about to let Yoongi know,” She notices how you always look a bit disinterested at the mention of him, “maybe I can get him to eat outside of that cave of his for once, I swear he’s a spitting image of his father, bad habits and all,”

“Yeah,” You agree awkwardly, “well, I’ll go wash up and I’ll be back,”

“Could you let him know? Tell him he needs to come out, I’m not bringing it this time,” She shakes her head, adamant, “he needs to come up for air,”

You grit your teeth, “You want me to tell him?”

Ayeong has tried to get you two alone for the last few weeks. She seems to want to see him loosen up a bit, the stress he’s under tends to pull him away from what’s good for him she says. But he hasn’t said more than a simple greeting. You haven’t pursued a conversation either, he’s been too busy. Uninterested in anything that could even be close to a distraction, that includes you.

“If you could, I need to make sure Boyoung washes up this time,” She walks off to the washroom, leaving you with that daunting task.

The leather office chair knows Yoongi better than anyone these days. He’s been buried deep in the contracts, numbers, and logistical crap. Hoseok normally does this but he’s out on a short leave, a family emergency. So he’s doing it all, taking it all on his shoulders—it hasn’t been easy.

A knock on the door takes him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he expects to see Ayeong so he only glances up briefly, but he does a double take. There you stand, stepping through the door, and he softens at the side of you.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” He repeats, “is everything ok?”

“Yes, everything’s fine, dinner is ready,”

He's still in a dress shirt but the tie is long gone, as well as a few buttons unclasped. You forget that despite the illegal discrepancies of this job, it's still a business, they have to look the part.

He fixates on you for a moment, this is the first time in a while that he’s just looked at you. That dress, one he hasn't seen in ages. Of all the things you could wear, he would have never expected to see this.

He's brought back to his childhood for a blink. When his father was happy to have a son, not just a successor.

His mother would put on this dress sometimes, his father said it brought out her eyes. This dress—he remembered her in it when they were happy. At this moment in time, he remembers what it was like to feel real happiness.

"What?" You question, bringing attention to his gawking.

"Thank you," He breathes out, eyes dipping down into his papers again, "can you ask her to bring-"

"You look tired," You cut him off, "You should come out and eat with us, it'll be nice, plus Ayeong said she won’t bring you anything if you don’t agree."

He cocks his head to the side. "Us?"

"Her grandson, she had to watch him after school," You grin to yourself, "I'm surprised you didn't hear him running down the hall,”

"Right, right she told me about that," He sighs, glancing at the piles of paper that he'd rather not spend any more time with, "I'll join you, just let me close this up, I'll be out shortly."

"Alright," Your eyes brightened a bit and he could swear you were hiding excitement, "I'll let her know."

When you enter the kitchen, Ayeong notices your attempts at hiding a smile. “What did he say?”

"He'll be out shortly," You head to the sink to clean up the remaining few dishes, and that's when you notice her seating arrangements.

"Ayeong, you only set the table for two?“

"I completely forgot! I have to take Boyoung to his mom, she won't be able to pick him up tonight,"

She planned this shit. You bite your inner cheek, keeping your irritated remark to yourself. "But I promised Boyoung he could have some of what I cooked, he's gonna be upset-"

"Already packed him a bowl," She definitely planned this, "I can't believe he agreed to come out, do you know how many times I asked him to come out of that stuffy office? He's as stubborn as a mule that one," She removes her apron, hanging with the others near the pantry, "I never thought it was possible—he must have a soft spot for you.”

Before you refute any of her nonsense, she's out the door with Boyoung waving goodbye with that adorable smile.

"Sorry, it took me a minute," Yoongi appears around the corner with rolled-up sleeves, "everything smells great." He takes a look around, surprised to only see you, and only two seats set up at the dining table.

"Ayeong just took Boyoung home, she didn't tell me they weren't joining…” You try to hide your disappointment with a nonchalant tone, "if you want to take your plate I'll just eat in my room-"

"I don’t mind having dinner with you, I could honestly use the break from work,"

"Oh, ok…” You nod with a timid smile, "You can sit, I'll fix the plates,”

"You don't have to do that,"

"It’s alright," You persist, "I don’t mind,”

He does as he’s told and sits at the head of the table, patiently waiting for you.

“Here you go,” You sit his plate down after yours, “sir,” You joke, trying to lighten the mood, “is it weird that all of the staff call you that?”

“No,” He looked amused, not expecting your playfulness, “it’s protocol, except for the elders of course,”

Quickly, you say your grace and take your first bite. It’s safe to say this is the best meal you’ve ever made.

“Wow, this is good,” Yoongi takes another bite with furrowed brows, “what did she put in this?”

“I cooked,” You stammer a bit, “do you like it?”

“Did you?” He gives you a look of approval. “It’s good, better than Ayeong’s if I’m being honest, but don’t tell her I said that,” He makes a playfully serious expression, causing a genuine laugh to spill from your lips

“Thank you,” He can see the blush forming on your cheeks, you're grateful he doesn't bring attention to it, “I’ve been helping her for a few weeks, it’s been nice getting to know her,”

“She told me, you’ve been a nice change for her and the other staff,” He sets his fork down, “they’re happy to finally have a normal person to dote over,”

“Normal?”

“Oh, I guess I’m getting back to my normal self then,” You’re proud to say that out loud, there was a point where you never thought you’d say that.

“Your dress,” He comments on the last thing you thought he’d be interested in, “is it new?"

“Oh,” You subconsciously touch the fabric, “Ayeong told me I could pick something from one of the closets, was that ok?”

“Of course, I only ask because- ” He stares at the necklace on your chest for a moment, his heart jolts, “it looks nice on you.”

“Thank you…” You blush, not having expected the compliment.

When Yoongi speaks, you’ve learned that his words are his true feelings. He doesn’t care to sugarcoat much and he doesn’t talk a lot, but what he does say is meaningful.

Dinner continued in comfortable silence. Surface conversation would come and go in between bites, keeping any awkwardness from settling. Soon, the plates were empty and before you could get up to take the dishes, one of the staff came by to take them during conversation. You furrow your brows, wanting to clean up after yourself.

‘Ana, I’ll get it-‘

“Miss, it’s my job,” She smiles, eyes pleasing for you to let this go, it looks good for her to be insisting in front of the boss anyway. You give in, not wanting to make her feel obsolete in front of Yoongi.

“The food was great and you were,” He pauses for a moment, “you were good company.”

“You too,” You grin from ear to ear, “we’ll have to do this again,”

“Definitely,” He offers a real smile before disappearing back to his cave.

As you make your way back to your bedroom, you’re met with the youngest of the housekeepers, Yaerim, Ayeong’s niece. She’s taking the rest of your dirty clothes from the bathroom basket. A task you’ve warned her to stop insisting on; it’s the least you can do.

“Oh, hi Y/n, I’ll be out of your way! I was just getting your clothes washed up.”

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” You exasperate, “if you show me how to use the washer, I can do it Yaerim,”

“With all due respect, the boss asked me to take care of you, so that’s what I’ll do,” She offers a kind smile, “I wouldn’t want to upset him, I’m fairly new so this is my first time meeting him…”

“He asked you to do this?…”

She nods.

“You should have told me sooner, you don’t need to do this for me, I can do a lot for myself actually, I don’t have anything better to do.”

“To be honest,” She sighs, leaning against the wall, “there aren’t many people my age working here so…It’s nice to be around you- I’m sorry, is that weird to say?”

“Not at all, I like being around you too,” You smile, “I don’t have any girlfriends, I haven’t for a while,”

“Well, we can be friends then!” She exclaims, “I’m 19 and this is my first job, auntie was nice to offer this to me, I don’t have experience doing much else,”

“I used to clean with my aunt before she went back to nursing, I enjoyed it,” You take a seat on the edge of the bed beside her, “I eventually found something I was passionate about and went to college.”

“Did you graduate?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Her expression turns grim. “Oh, was it a financial thing or was it just not for you?”

“Neither, it’s a long story,”

“I’m not too busy, are you?” She makes a valid point.

That night was the first time you had ever told anyone about your life. There were moments where she looked stunned, others she had to push her tears down.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

The news ran rampant on the streets. Notorious arms dealer, Kim Namjoon, was shot and killed in an ambush. Jeon Jungkook was there, he was supposed to die, not their leader. There was a price on Jungkook’s head, it was something everyone knew but no one spoke of. Every day, tensions grew between Jungkook and the group. It was unsaid but painfully obvious, that he was the boss’s favorite even with his wavering loyalties to the job.

Namjoon’s memorial is today.

The family came and you could see where he got his looks from, as well as his demeanor. They all mingle, but Yoongi spends a particularly long time with Namjoon’s mother.

“How could this happen?” She presses a hand to his shoulder and Yoongi purses his lips, looking down solemnly. “I feared this would happen one day,“ She began to weep and you stayed far from the group after that.

After a while, you find yourself outside to get some fresh air, the woman beside you must have had the same idea.

“How did you know him?” She pulls out a cigarette, not bothering to light it yet.

“It’s a little complicated.”

“Hm, he was my brother…” She glances at you, the cigarette lit In between her fingers. “I knew this might happen one day, but I could have never prepared for it—it doesn’t seem real.”

“Can you ever prepare for losing someone? I’ve lost a few people in my life and I’ve never felt prepared…not even a little bit.”

“Comforting.” She scoffs.

“Y/N,”

You look back and see Taehyung lingering in the corridor and beckoning you to come to him. With a heavy sigh, you walk over, excusing yourself politely.

“What?”

“You’ve met Geongmin,” He stares, as the woman from another life blows puffs of smoke in the air, he never knew her to be a smoker. “I need to talk to her, privately,”

You glance back at her and just as soon as you open your mouth to say something, he’s making his way over to her. That’s a relationship you never knew of. Namjoon’s sister and Taehyung, you could see that—perhaps.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,”

“He’s my brother,” She turns to him with a scowl on her face, she wears red lipstick and her cheeks are just as red from the cold, “I didn’t hate him.”

“We haven’t talked in a long time,” He leans up against the patio railing, “it’s been too long, I think,”

“The last time we talked, you were off your meds,” She drops the cigarette in the ashtray, “Namjoon can’t make excuses for you, now both of our favorite people are gone.”

“I’ve missed you,” He confesses, staring off into nowhere in particular, “even more now.”

“Don’t,” She frowns, “I just happen to be the only one left…it’s only convenient to miss me.”

He’s in the car, sitting across from Akane.

“It has to be some elaborate joke…”

“The shot wasn’t at close range, from what I heard, it could have been a misfire,” Yoongi concludes, “either way…he’s gone, I was with him when he left us.”

“How are you handling that? You’ve known him since you were kids…”

“In this world,” Yoongi sighs against the phone, “it’s just another work day.”

“Who’s taking over the arms business?”

“It can run itself with a few signatures from me, I’m thinking about Taehyung, he knows the business well, he was an understudy,”

“Hm, well, I heard about Jeon Jungkook, what do you plan to do about him?”

“Nothing.” He takes out a cigarette from the case in the drink holder.

“Cold,”

“He got himself in that situation, he can get himself out. He caused a lot of problems, for innocent people,”

“I didn’t know you cared that much about innocent people,” She scoots close to the door, resting her hand on the handle before showing him an amused smile, “didn’t think you had a heart for people like that.”

She exits the car and he signals the driver to head out.

He glances at the driver who nods, preparing to pull out of the parking space. That’s when Yoongi glances out of the window and sees you approaching the moving vehicle. You were supposed to come with him earlier, you’re late of course.

“Stop the car,” Yoongi scoots from one side of the back seat to the other, to make space for you. He quickly opens the door, letting you slide in.

“Hey, I didn’t see you walk out,” You let out an uneasy breath, "sorry,"

Yoongi puts out the cigarette and you glance at him, knowing if it was for you.

“You’re fine,” He doesn’t say anything after that, he instead takes out a folder and starts reading. You glance over at it, reading a few names.

“We’ll be there within the hour, sir,”

Yoongi seems a bit solemn, that’s a usual sight to see lately. Soon, you arrive at the destination and you still have no clue what you’re doing here. When he neglects to invite you into where he’s going, you simply watch him leave the vehicle and disappear inside.

“Miss,” He looks at you through the rearview mirror, “don’t be worried, the Min’s have to make difficult decisions and they can be rather quiet, they always have, no need to worry.”

You offer him a smile. He wouldn’t know that your feelings for Yoongi are mixed, that you worry about him in a way you probably shouldn't. In no time at all, you see him walking out with a woman by his side. Yoongi abruptly opens the car door.

“What is this?” You frown.

“I’m dropping you off,” He glances at the woman he brought out, “Sal will pick you up later.”

“Who is she?” You eye the woman.

“Heize, she’s doing me a favor,” upon hearing that, you ease out of the vehicle, “she’ll take care of you,” He presses a reassuring hand to your back, guiding you towards the woman.

“Let’s go ahead inside, the tests are going to take a while.”

Tests?

“What do you do exactly?”

“I work in identity,” She walks you inside a small office space, “did he not tell you why you were here?”

“He doesn’t tell me much,” You shrug, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all, “I also didn’t ask.”

“We’re making a new identity, as a precautionary measure.”

You didn’t expect to be giving blood, urine, and saliva samples today. After waiting a considerable amount of time, Heize dismisses the girl she had drawn your blood and leads you back to her office. She’s a quiet person. She doesn’t say much, doesn’t look too long, doesn’t move too fast—she sort of a book-nerd type, unsuspecting.

“How long have you known Yoongi?”

“Years.”

She neglects to look at you, too busy typing away at her computer.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“A long time.”

You nod to yourself. “Has it ever…Failed? Has someone’s identity been revealed even after all of this?

She pauses, finally looking up at you. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Shouldn’t I know what the risks are? It is my life,”

“There are risks to everything, it’s no different than being issued a passport, what are the chances of getting your name misprinted?”

“Not high… but not zero.”

“We'll, can’t argue with that,” She shrugs.

You had no clue, but Yoongi had this all planned out.

Your way out, your final departure from this life.

You’ve adjusted to some sense of normalcy at his family estate. You read, you cook, clean, and take care of little things around the house. It feels natural, normal. Life here is never too fast or too slow.

It felt reassuring to have someone around, to have stability—and consistency. After a hard day, his comfort was normally found in a glass of whiskey or the next readily available alcohol. Cigarettes, once a reliable source of solace, had dwindled into a boring pastime. After the memorial, he lit one for the first time in what seemed like ages, extinguishing it swiftly as you joined him in the car.

Now, he prays to heaven for grace, knowing that this new coping mechanism would ignite Jin's wrath if ever unveiled. Grace or no grace, deep in his heart, he knows Jin would have his head if he knew the truth.

You step into the office after a gentle knock, knowing your entrance would be granted either way.

“Hi,” You wave, seeing that his tie is still tight around his neck, and cuff links are still secured and shiny.

“Hey,” He offers a half-hearted greeting, “did you have dinner yet?”

“No, is that the only time you want to spend with me?” You ask a genuine question, your expression timid as you avoid direct eye contact.

“Course not,” He gently closes his laptop, reaching up to pull off his slowly suffocating tie, “but it is a bit of a routine now, isn’t it?” His gaze dips down, seeing that you haven’t changed out of your formal dress.

“You should get changed, I should be done by then.”

“I think I’ll wait a bit,” You purse your lips, l don’t get to dress up very often,” You rub the hem between your fingers, “I like to enjoy it while it lasts, don’t you?”

When he neglects to give a verbal response, you step closer to his desk, leaning up against the side closest to him. He shakes his head, an endeared expression on his face, now fiddling with buttons on his collar shirt.

“Well, don’t you?” You tilt your head.

“Hm,” He leans back with a deep sigh, “never really thought about it, I suppose it’s nice,”

The longer he’s gotten to know you, the less he desires to be alone.

His life has been everything nonstop, all the time. No time to wade in his thoughts, and daydream about a better life. He used to chastise himself for even thinking about a life without the mafia. He’s never lived a peaceful life, free from strife and trauma, so much fucking trauma. If he were honest, even a taste of it used to scare him. If he were to indulge in even a glimmer of a normal life, he would desire it. He’d kill for it. But he can’t enjoy a life like that. He doesn’t deserve peace, how could he? He’s stolen it from so many people. And here he is, trying to return it to one of his many victims.

There’s another knock at the door.

“Supper is ready,” Ayeong says from outside the door.

“Ayeong, can you come in?” He beckons her inside, “I need to speak to you for a moment,”

You quickly get the message to give them some privacy and you slip out, closing the door behind you.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow,” He gets up to stretch his legs and roll his sleeves to his elbows, “take her out for a bit, she can get clothes, anything she needs.”

“Of course,” Her face lights up, “she’d like that, but Yoongi in all honesty, this doesn’t seem like it needed to be a private conversation.”

“It’s not necessary that she know I’m having you do this,”

“I’m sorry,” She regrets this as soon as it leaves her mouth, “but why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Fine,” She huffs, not hiding her disappointment, "I’ll take her out in the morning.”

“Stay out until after 9, and I only need essential staff here tomorrow.”

"Very well," She turns to leave but stops to look at him. He's already staring down at one of his contracts. "…You know, it wouldn't hurt to tell her how you feel, a woman deserves at least that-"

"Don't," His tone is stern but mindful to be respectful, "don't start that."

"Yoongi, I can’t want better for you?" She stares, disappointed in his avoidant antics. "All I’m saying is, think about letting your guard down and enjoying someone for once, while you’re still young, your father missed out on that-“

"Is that why you put her in my mother's dress? Do you want me to reminisce on the past, give her up to delusions like my father did to my mother?” He quips.

“Your mother loved your father and he changed,” She defends, “she happened to choose that dress, I had nothing to do with that-“

“And the necklace?”

“Necklace?” She pauses dumbfounded. “Yoongi, I don’t even know what you’re talking about, I’m not trying to trick you into anything if that’s what you think-”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not arguing about this…” He presses his temples, “I know you mean well but she's not going to be here forever, as soon as I can get her out she's gone, and she’s not coming back. Don't get attached, I only say this for your sake,"

She grits her teeth, holding her tongue for what she really wants to say. The last thing she needs is an angry Yoongi. "I care about her, I just want the best for her, after all she’s been through.”

"You don’t think I want that too?” He steps over to the window, looking over at the pristine garden and pool that he rarely touches, “I know what she’s been through, better than anyone...”

“I know you probably don’t believe it, but you are capable of experiencing love-“

“You’re dismissed,” He ends the conversation with a sharp command, already having given her tremendous leeway in this conversation.

You sit at the dining room table, moving your Brussels sprouts around, sipping your wine. This routine of having dinner with him almost every night, it's something you look forward to.

You knew the subtle looks, the lingering gaze when the other wasn't looking, the laughs—it was a calumniation to something.

"Ayeong," You catch her trying to dash through the kitchen, "is he coming? I've been waiting, my food is cold..."

"Oh," She forced a smile, "I'm sorry dear, I’m not sure, he didn’t say," She leaves the kitchen with a swiftness.

You drop your fork on the plate—suddenly you've lost your appetite.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

You waited until most of the staff finished their shifts when the guards left the inside of the home and only patrolled the grounds. That’s when you snuck out of your room to confront him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Yoongi's gaze lingered on you when you emerged from the doorway of the dimly lit room. It’s drafty, the window cracked slightly and you see Yoongi there, sitting with not a care in the world.

You continue. “You didn’t come to dinner, so I thought maybe I did something wrong…”

"I didn't come to dinner because I got caught up," Yoongi explained, his voice low and measured. "You didn't do anything wrong."

The silence that followed was full of tension, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt. A sense of displacement gnawed at you, but you pushed it aside, not wanting to show it.

"You could have at least said something," you retorted, crossing your arms in defense. "Ayeong had to tell me."

“I apologize…Now can you come here,” He beckons you over, gesturing to the couch, “we should talk.”

You do as he says, walking over to sit a small distance beside him. "About?"

“How are you liking it here?” He throws out his question. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, I like living here,"

“Good, I’m glad.”

On the coffee table beside him, you see cigarettes and a lighter. Impulsively, you reach across him to grab the lighter, and the cigarette box and slip one out. You stare at it for a few seconds, twisting it between your fingers, with the lighter in one hand. Albeit awkwardly, you ignite the flame and hold the white stick to it. The flame danced as you lit the cigarette, it caught fire, and his eyes cut to you, finally curious.

You bring it to your lips, heart racing and nose scrunching at the smell alone. You open your mouth and inhale, very quickly coughing like a first-time rebellious teenager.

“Don’t finish that,” He takes the cigarette from your hands as you struggle to catch your breath. “I avoid doing this shit around you, now you want to try it?” He takes a drag like a pro, blowing the smoke away from you. "It’s a bad habit."

“I know,” You look at him with a playful smile, reaching for it again. “you used to do it all the time,"

“What did I just fucking say?” He smothers it in the ashtray, his displeasure evident, “It’s not funny, don't touch that shit,”

“Why?” You counter, “I’m no different than anyone else here, so can smoke if I want to,”

“Not with me,” He scoffs, almost amused, “there are other ways to relieve your stress,”

“Yeah I’m sure,” You mumble, eyes tracing over his grumpy features. “But I don’t think you would know of any,”

Without a word, he makes his way over to the bar cart. There’s a decanter sitting on the top and one thick crystal cup. He reaches inside a drawer and pulls out another glass. It’s hard to tell what the drink is but when he brings both glasses, his nearly full over to the couch, you question his method of stress relief.

He hands you the cup and goes to walk back and forth near the window, casually sipping his.

“Seriously?” He nods, predictably. You bring it to your lips.

“You don’t have to drink it,” He sighs, taking a quick sip. He walks back to sit back beside you, black strands cascading around his face like silk curtains when you look over.

"You think alcohol is better than a cigarette?" You questioned, a wry smile playing on your lips.

“It’s the lesser of the two evils, to me.” He picks his glass up, nursing it his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass.

As you started to rise, ready to escape the uncertain atmosphere, Yoongi's hand closed around your wrist, holding you in place. "We're not done talking," He stares up at you, hand not losing its grip.

Reluctantly, you take your seat back beside him. “What is this about?”

“I want you to know,” He stands to his feet, strolling over to the window, “I’m traditional, that’s how things are supposed to be done in the mafia. Whatever the fuck Namjoon and your brother have done, it’s not like that, even I got a little slack.”

"Okay,” You walk over stand beside him at the window, glass in hand, “why are you telling me this?”

“The family you choose comes before anyone else,” He empties the contents in his glass in one chug, then takes yours, “I defended your brother for a long time because of that code, he defiled it and took advantage of me,” He continues, “now I consider you family, in your brother's place.”

“Oh…what does that mean exactly?

“I’ll make sure this organization supports you, I’ll provide protection for you as long as you live," The weight of his words linger in the air.

"Whatever you decide to do with your life after this," he added, "even if it's against your brother, your relatives, anyone—you’re protected." the finality of his statement sends a chill down your spine.

“Even if I’m not with the group, you would still be there for me?…”

“Absolutely,” He downs the rest of your drink and sets it on the window sill, “without question.”

"You’ll be there?” You scoot to stand between him and the window, wanting further clarification.

“Yes,” He gazes down at you and his palm finds its way to your lower back, “I’ll be there for you, in a heartbeat.”

Your eyes dip down to his lips before landing back on his eyes. But only a few seconds, you expression shifts, and the sparkle in your eyes dims. “Jungkook used to talk like that..."

Yoongi's demeanor shifts subtly, a shadow passing over his eyes.

"Did he?" He knows very well that Jungkook spoke like that.

“Yeah,” You step away from him, “I still think he has those feelings for me..." You look down in thought, "I find myself thinking about it, what he would say to me if he wasn't in prison,”

"You're not bound to him anymore, you have to start living like that,” He says gently, “he doesn’t control you, not anymore.”

"Honestly, I miss him sometimes...” You admit, your voice tinged with regret. “That's crazy, isn't it?"

"It’s not crazy Y/n, he was a major part of your life," He sighs, accepting that whatever heat that might have been kindled is long gone. "it's not easy to forget about someone like him,”

“Yeah, it’s not…”

“But it’ll get easier,”

When you stare at him with a look of relief and naivety, he begins to sober himself. You’re not just anyone looking for attention, not a one-night stand he’ll never have to see again —you’re much more than that. You have a pre-existing weight in his life now. Anything that happens gets carried into the future of the relationship.

It would be nice to have this, wonderful even.

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