#rust lecture

[carnalcrows]

UNDER THE SEA

summary: When a voiceless prince of the sea washes up on shore, the last thing you expect is to fall in love with him. But Suguru is nothing like the legends — sharp-eyed, wild-hearted, and hiding more pain than he lets on. As your world turns upside down with stolen glances and forbidden touches, you're both pulled into a storm of old magic, royal wrath, and the kind of love that changes everything. In the end, the only thing stronger than the tide is the bond between you.

pairing: ariel! suguru geto x prince eric! male reader

content warnings: 18+, top male reader, the side characters are originally sea creatures but get turned into humans at the end (for the plot), shapeshifting, thoughts of suicide (implied).

word count: 8.0k

The coast was a living thing.

It breathed salt into the air, stirred the waves with invisible hands, whispered secrets through the sea grass curling around the rocks. You knew the shoreline better than you knew the royal gardens, better than the throne room where your future was supposed to be waiting. Here, at the ragged edge of the kingdom, you could pretend the world was yours alone.

Megumi barked at the foam licking the sand, then trotted back to nudge your knee with a wet nose. You smiled, absently scratching behind his ears as you watched the ships bobbing out on the horizon — pale ghosts against the setting sun.

Tomorrow there would be meetings. Talks of alliances, marriage contracts and duty. You had been reminded of it a hundred times this week alone. A prince's life is not his own, they told you. A prince lives for his people.

You tipped your head back and let the wind steal the breath from your lungs. Maybe that was true. Maybe that was why you spent so much time down here, pretending you could forget.

The first night you saw him, you thought he was a dream.

A figure cutting through the dark waves, black hair slicked back from his sharp, beautiful face, a flicker of something silvered and strange at his waist where legs should have been. He didn't speak. He only watched you from a distance, half-shielded by a jagged rock outcropping — until the tide rose too high and you had to retreat, pulse thundering like a drum.

You didn’t tell anyone. You weren’t even sure he was real.

But you came back the next night anyway. And the night after that.

⋆｡°✩

The sea above was never quiet.

It pressed against Geto's skin like a second heartbeat, a steady drum of currents and whispered storms. He learned long ago how to move with it, how to let the world pass around him without leaving a mark. Down here, nothing changed. Down here, he could be anything except free.

His father's court was endless: treaties with the southern pods, patrols against deepwater threats, lectures on duty and bloodlines. The weight of it wrapped around his ribs tighter with every passing year. One day, Gakuganji told him, the crown would be his. One day, he would lead their people. One day, one day, one day.

None of it ever felt like it belonged to him.

Only the surface did.

Only the wind-struck light dappling the upper currents, the forgotten shipwrecks rusting like bones, the songs carried down from the world above. Only the days he risked everything to rise to the rocky cliffs near the human harbour — to watch them, to imagine a life where he could breathe air and walk wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without permission or fear.

It was on one of those days that he saw you.

A boy standing barefoot on the rocks, hair tousled by the wind, face turned toward the horizon like he was searching for something he hadn't found yet. You looked out at the world the way Geto did from below — aching for it.

He should have swum away. Should have gone back to the safety of the deeps.

But he stayed. And he watched. And for the first time in a long time, the ocean around him didn’t feel like a cage.

⋆｡°✩

The night the storm hit, the harbour bells rang too late.

You had been aboard one of the trading ships by then, half-listening to the captain grumble about incoming weather and ignoring the pit twisting in your gut. The sky was already bruising purple when the first gust hit — tearing sails, snapping rigging. Men shouted, scrambling to reef lines and lower anchors, but the sea didn’t care for human hands.

It swallowed the ships one by one.

The deck pitched under your feet. You stumbled, slamming against the rail just as a wall of black water rose above the stern. Megumi barked once, sharp and terrified, before something wrenched you backwards — the mast, splintering free and crashing down.

You didn’t have time to scream.

The ocean yawned open and dragged you under.

⋆｡°✩

Geto felt it before he saw it.

The current shifted — sudden and wrong — churning with debris and panic. He surfaced just in time to see the human ships breaking apart like toys, to hear the distant wail of horns and voices swallowed by thunder.

And you.

Sinking.

He didn't think. He never thought, where you were concerned.

Geto dove, cutting through the wreckage, ignoring the jagged shards that scraped his arms. He found you drifting down like a broken-winged bird, limbs slack, hair fanning in the dark.

The ocean wanted you. It always wanted the beautiful ones.

Not this time.

He caught you around the waist and kicked hard for the surface.

You were heavy with soaked clothes and fading warmth. Every second dragged like chains. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but he held onto you like you were the last real thing left in the world.

When they broke the surface, the storm was still raging. Waves tossed them like driftwood. He scanned the dark coastline — spotted the jutting rocks near the harbour mouth — and swam.

He didn’t know how long it took. He didn’t care.

He hauled you up onto the slick stones, shielding your body with his own as the rain lashed down. You coughed weakly, choking on salt, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

Alive.

You were alive.

⋆｡°✩

The sound of human voices echoed from the cliffs — search parties, flashing lanterns between the rocks. Geto looked down at you, memorising the line of your jaw, the stubborn set of your mouth even in sleep.

He wanted — stupidly, selfishly — to stay.

Instead, he pressed his forehead briefly against yours, whispering something he would never have the chance to explain. Then he slid back into the water and vanished with the tide.

By the time the villagers found you, the only trace of him was the salt drying on your skin.

The throne room shimmered with trapped light — columns carved from coral and salt-stained marble, banners heavy with the weight of generations. Geto stood in the centre of it all, dripping seawater onto the polished floor, heart hammering against his ribs.

"You endangered the whole pod!" Gakuganji’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip. His crown tilted slightly with the force of his rage. "You think the humans would hesitate to capture you? To carve you open and mount you on a wall?"

Geto said nothing.

There was no point arguing. Not when his father’s anger was loud enough to drown the entire ocean.

Beside the dais, Nanami stood stiff-backed, arms crossed. He didn’t look triumphant about reporting Geto’s surfacing — just tired, like he hated this as much as everyone else. It almost made it worse.

"You're heir to the throne!" Gakuganji thundered. "You have responsibilities beyond your childish fascinations."

Geto's hands curled into fists. He could still feel the weight of you in his arms, the raw terror of losing you to the storm. "I saved him," he said quietly.

"What?" The king leaned forward, incredulous.

"I saved a human boy," Geto repeated. "He would have died."

"You risked us for one human?!" Gakuganji slammed his trident into the floor, the impact echoing up the columns. "You think they would show you the same mercy? You think they would not hunt you down the moment they saw what you are?"

"They’re not all the same," Geto said, teeth gritted. "He—"

"Enough." Gakuganji's voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "You will not surface again. You will not approach the humans. You will remember who you are."

"And if I don't?" Geto asked, before he could stop himself.

For a moment — a long, dangerous heartbeat — the throne room went dead still.

"You are my son," Gakuganji said, low and cold. "You have no other path."

⋆｡°✩

Later, in the empty coral gardens, Gojo found him — lounging sideways across a crumbling pillar, grinning like he hadn't just been chased out of a war meeting.

"Yikes," Gojo said cheerfully. "You sure know how to make an exit."

Geto didn’t answer. He stared up at the distorted sunlight filtering through the water, aching all over in ways he didn’t have names for.

"You’re lucky," Gojo continued, drifting upside down just to be annoying. "If it were my old man, I’d already be gutted and grilled."

"You're not helping."

"You never let me," Gojo huffed. He floated closer, peering at Geto. "So. You gonna tell me what’s got you risking excommunication? Or do I have to guess?"

Geto stayed silent.

Gojo tilted his head. "It’s a boy, isn’t it?"

Geto groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Gojo whooped. "I knew it! The brooding, the reckless endangerment, the classic tragic ocean prince move—"

"Shut up."

"Make me," Gojo said smugly. He poked Geto’s arm. "Come on, you big idiot. You’re already halfway to disaster. Might as well tell me the whole tragic love story before Nanami comes back and scolds you again."

⋆｡°✩

The sea grew colder as Geto swam downward.

Here, light barely touched the water — a place forgotten by even the boldest currents. The rocks twisted into cruel shapes, and whispers rode the tides like broken shells. If there was a place for mistakes to be made permanent, it was here.

He should have turned back.

He didn't.

The cavern loomed ahead, yawning wide, lit from within by a sickly green glow. Strange silhouettes moved against the walls — half-formed faces, reaching hands. Geto steeled himself and drifted closer.

"You’re a hard one to catch," a voice purred from the darkness.

Kenjaku.

The wizard drifted forward, robes flowing like smoke around his legs, face split by a smile too wide to be friendly.

"You want something, little prince," Kenjaku crooned. "I can smell it."

Two figures uncoiled from the shadows behind him — long, sinuous, sharp-toothed. Mai and Maki, twinned and terrible, circled lazily around Geto, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Look at him," Mai said mockingly, twirling a lock of her hair. "So serious."

"So sad," Maki agreed, baring her teeth in a grin.

"So stupid," they said together, and laughed — a low, rippling sound that made Geto’s skin crawl.

⋆｡°✩

"I need legs," Geto said, forcing his voice steady.

Kenjaku’s smile sharpened. "Legs, hm? For what, I wonder? A human? A flash of bare skin and you’re ready to drown yourself in heartbreak?"

"Name your price," Geto said flatly.

The witch tsked, floating closer until their noses almost touched. "Such a waste. Such beautiful magic, all tangled up in something as stupid as hope."

Behind him, Mai and Maki snickered.

⋆｡°✩

Kenjaku raised one hand, tracing a circle in the water. A contract shimmered into view — ancient script twisting around its edges.

"The price is your voice," Kenjaku said sweetly. "Three days. If he falls in love with you — truly — and seals it with a kiss, you stay human. If not..." His smile grew wider. "You belong to me."

The eels spun around Geto, tightening the circle. Their laughter dripped like venom into the water.

Geto hesitated — just for a breath.

Long enough to remember your face, lit by stormlight. Long enough to remember the way you clutched his hand even unconscious.

He reached out and touched the glowing contract.

⋆｡°✩

Pain flared in his throat — white-hot and merciless — cutting off his cry halfway. The magic stripped him clean, peeling his voice from his body like silk torn from skin.

He gasped silently, clutching his throat as the spell wrapped around him, crushing, reshaping, burning.

When it was done, he drifted there — smaller, heavier, different.

Legs where there had been fins. Silence where there had been song.

Kenjaku smiled like a man who had just caught a very rare fish.

"Good luck, little prince," he said, voice syrup-thick. "And do hurry."

Mai and Maki cackled as the currents carried Geto upward — toward the waiting world above.

⋆｡°✩

The morning broke soft and slow over the coastline, spilling gold across the restless sea. The world still smelled of the storm — salt-heavy, sharp with the tang of broken kelp — but the sky had cleared, vast and aching blue from horizon to horizon.

You stumbled barefoot across the sand, Megumi racing ahead, nose low to the ground. Every muscle in your body ached from the night before — the crash of the ship, the icy clutch of the water, the way your lungs had burned as you fought to surface. It blurred in your memory now, stitched together only by fragments: the cold, the fear — and something else. A hand, pulling you upward. A voice you couldn’t remember, except that it had made you feel safe even in the middle of drowning.

You had barely slept. You couldn't. Not when the memory of it kept clawing at you, whispering that there was more you were supposed to remember.

And then Megumi barked — sharp and urgent — and you saw him.

A body crumpled on the sand, half-buried in seafoam, black hair spilling in tangled waves across pale skin. He was naked — startlingly so — his skin marred only by the faint bruises of the storm, the faint shimmer of salt drying on him. There was nothing indecent about it; it felt more like finding something sacred, half-formed and left behind by the tide.

You ran before you even realised you were moving, dropping to your knees in the wet sand beside him. He wasn’t breathing — or if he was, it was shallow enough to terrify you.

"Hey," you gasped, pressing trembling fingers to his cheek. "Hey, wake up—"

He stirred faintly under your touch.

His lashes fluttered. His mouth parted in a soundless breath. Dark eyes blinked up at you, wide and dazed and afraid.

Relief crashed through you so fast it left you dizzy. "You're okay," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "You're okay."

You sat back, heart hammering, and without thinking, yanked your jacket from your shoulders. You wrapped it hastily around his body, covering him, trying to shield him from the cold — from the world — from everything that had brought him here.

He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn't pull away.

"Can you speak?" you asked, softer now.

He shook his head.

Panic twisted low in your gut. You scanned the beach for any sign of help — villagers, healers — but there was only you, the boy, and the endless hiss of the tide.

"Alright," you said, forcing your voice steady. "Okay. You’re safe now. We'll get you help."

He looked at you then — really looked — and the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, made your throat tighten.

You slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him carefully. He was heavier than he looked, all wiry strength packed into his slender frame. Still, you managed to half-carry, half-drag him toward the path leading back to the village, Megumi trotting anxiously at your heels.

You didn’t even know his name.

But some part of you whispered — old and certain — that you would learn it.

Whatever it cost.

Sneaking an unconscious man into the palace was harder than it sounded.

You kept your head down, murmuring apologies to the few kitchen servants and gardeners you passed, trying to make it look like he was a drunken cousin you'd plucked off the docks rather than a half-drowned stranger you’d found lying naked on the beach. Thankfully, your reputation for odd charity cases preceded you, and nobody dared stop you outright.

Megumi pressed close to your leg, hackles raised, growling low at anyone who came too near.

The boy clung to you with what little strength he had, swaying on his feet, skin still clammy under your jacket. His eyes stayed downcast, wide and dark and unreadable, like he was waiting for the moment someone dragged him away.

You tightened your grip on his waist.

Not happening.

Not while you were breathing.

⋆｡°✩

You finally reached your wing of the castle — a small, sun-lit corner usually ignored by the court — and kicked the door open with your boot.

"Utahime’s gonna kill me," you muttered under your breath.

As if summoned by fate itself, Utahime appeared at the end of the hall, a stack of linens balanced precariously in her arms. She froze when she saw you — soaked, half-dragging a half-naked stranger through the corridor, dripping seawater onto the rug.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

You spoke first. "It’s not what it looks like."

She raised an eyebrow so sharp it could have cut glass.

"Really?" she said flatly. "Because it looks exactly like you smuggled a drowned courtesan into the guest quarters."

"Utahime," you begged, "please. Just... trust me."

Her gaze flickered from you to the boy — to Geto — noting the way he sagged against you, the bruises on his skin, the way he flinched from sudden movement. Something softened in her expression.

"Fine," she said, voice clipped. "But if the king finds out you brought another stray into the palace, you’re explaining it, not me."

"Thank you," you breathed, genuinely relieved.

She rolled her eyes so hard you thought she might sprain something, then spun on her heel. "Hot water. Dry clothes. Quietly, if you have any sense left at all."

You turned to Geto, offering the barest smile. "See? It’ll be fine."

He gave you a look that clearly said he wasn’t so sure.

You shifted him toward the washroom, only to hear a wet slap! behind you. Startled, you turned — and blinked at the sight of a bright blue fish flopping awkwardly across the tiles, tail flicking madly.

"...Okay," you muttered. "Guess the tide brought in a few extra things."

Megumi barked once, chasing after the fish with a delighted growl.

In the basin, a large lobster scuttled up the side, clacking its claws indignantly. You laughed under your breath, because what else could you do? First the storm, then the mysterious boy, now sea creatures invading your house. It figured.

You shook your head and nudged the boy toward the warm towels waiting near the fire. "Come on. Let’s get you dry before you catch something worse."

Behind you, the lobster snapped its claws in what might have been furious disapproval.

You chalked it up to a very weird day and got to work.

⋆｡°✩

The water in the copper basin steamed gently, carrying the soft scent of rosemary and soap into the air. You crouched beside it, wringing out a clean cloth with careful hands, trying not to startle the boy any more than he already was. He sat on a low stool wrapped in one of Utahime’s thick linen towels, the oversized fabric drowning his frame. His dark hair clung wetly to his cheeks, droplets carving slow trails down his throat and collarbone.

You worked in silence at first. He didn’t speak — couldn’t, you remembered with a pang — but he watched you with those dark, endless eyes, wary and unblinking. Like he expected you to change your mind. Like he was waiting to be thrown back into the sea.

You hated that look.

"You’re safe here," you said softly, dipping the cloth again and squeezing it out. "I swear it."

He blinked once, the smallest tremor of a nod, and let you gently wipe away the sand and salt crusted on his skin.

The bruises were worse up close. A constellation of them across his ribs and hips, angry purples fading into sickly greens. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling slightly as you cleaned him, careful not to press too hard. He bore it in silence, though his hands fisted white-knuckled in the towel whenever you touched a particularly deep mark.

"You really went through hell, didn’t you?" you murmured, not expecting an answer.

He just tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t decided to trust yet.

You couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking — waking up in a strange place, surrounded by people he couldn’t understand, without even his voice to defend himself.

Still, he didn’t pull away from you.

That had to mean something.

⋆｡°✩

You helped him stand — slowly, carefully — and guided him to the clothes Utahime had left out. Simple trousers and a linen shirt, soft from years of washing. Nothing that would bind or restrict him. You turned your back politely to give him privacy, but you caught glimpses of him fumbling with the strange fastenings, his hands clumsy and uncertain.

You hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then — cursing the blood already rushing traitorously to your face — you turned back and crouched in front of him.

"Here," you said, voice low. "Let me help."

His hands trembled as he held out the shirt. You took it from him, sliding it carefully over his arms, mindful of the bruises. Your fingers brushed the bare skin of his back — warm now from the fire — and he shivered under your touch.

Not from cold.

From something else.

You swallowed against the tightness rising in your throat and focused on fastening the buttons one by one, your hands slow and steady.

He smelled of salt and clean water, of something older and wilder than anything that had ever lived in the palace. Being this close to him felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring the wind to take you.

When you finally looked up, he was watching you again — close enough that you could see the fine droplets clinging to his lashes, the faint pink rising in his cheeks.

For a moment — just a moment — the world narrowed to this: your hands still resting lightly on his ribs, his breath ghosting warm across your mouth, the almost unbearable weight of the things you weren’t saying.

You cleared your throat roughly and stepped back.

"Better," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

He smiled — small and uncertain, but real.

It hit you like a sucker punch.

Gods help you.

You were so, so doomed.

The next few days blurred into something slow and strange and golden.

You weren’t sure when the man slipped into the rhythm of your life. It happened so naturally that even Utahime stopped giving you suspicious glares after a while, though she still huffed disapprovingly whenever she caught you teaching him how to balance a teacup properly or helping him pronounce simple words by mouthing them slowly across the breakfast table.

He learned fast.

He struggled with some things — forks, for instance, and the baffling concept of shoes — but he watched you intently whenever you demonstrated something, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration. You found yourself performing for him more and more, exaggerating small daily tasks just to hear the faint huff of laughter he tried to hide behind his hand.

He was different from anyone you had ever known. He didn’t speak, but he listened. He didn’t understand your world, but he treated every clumsy new experience like it was precious — sacred.

And gods help you, every day you spent with him carved deeper into your ribs.

It wasn’t just the way he looked — though that was its own kind of torture, the way his hair curled damply against his forehead in the mornings, the way his smiles bloomed shy and bright when you praised him. It was the way he made everything feel new. Like you were seeing the world for the first time through his eyes.

It terrified you.

And you never wanted it to end.

⋆｡°✩

One evening, Gojo hatched a plan.

The fish flopped dramatically into Geto’s washbasin, splattering water everywhere, and gurgled out something that sounded suspiciously like, "You need a romantic setting, dumbass."

Nanami snapped his claws sharply at Gojo, looking scandalised, but Geto tilted his head thoughtfully, considering.

Thus: the boat.

It was old — a battered rowboat the castle’s fishermen had abandoned months ago — but you managed to patch it up enough to float. The little inlet near the gardens shimmered under the late afternoon sun, warm and heavy with the scent of summer roses. It wasn’t much.

But Geto beamed when you led him to it, and that was enough.

⋆｡°✩

The boat rocked gently as you pushed off from the shore, settling into the lazy current. Megumi whined once, left behind on the dock, but Utahime had promised to watch him with strict warnings about muddy paws on clean linens.

You and Geto sat side by side, knees bumping occasionally as the boat drifted.

He leaned over the side once, trailing his fingers through the water, eyes wide in quiet wonder. You watched him, unable to look away. The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way the breeze toyed with the loose laces of his shirt — he looked like something dreamed into existence, something too fragile for this world.

Your heart ached with it.

Gojo and Nanami lurked somewhere nearby — you caught glimpses of them in the water now and then, little splashes and flashes of colour as they tried (very badly) to be subtle.

At one point, Gojo bumped a lily pad under your boat in what could only be described as a "subtle nudge."

You laughed under your breath.

Geto looked up, curious, and you smiled at him, helpless against it.

The boat drifted into a patch of golden reeds. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft lapping of the water, the gentle hush of the wind.

You turned toward him.

He turned toward you.

The distance between you shrank — slow, inevitable.

You could feel the heat of him, the tentative hope in his gaze, the silent question trembling between you.

You leaned in. He leaned in. Closer. Closer. Your breath mingled. Your noses brushed.

And just as your lips were about to meet—

A massive wave crashed against the side of the boat, nearly capsizing it.

You yelped, scrambling to grab the edges as Geto flailed, soaking wet, clutching desperately at the seat. The boat rocked wildly, slamming back into the reeds.

You twisted, scanning the water. No wind. No passing ship. Just... a single ominous ripple fading into the distance.

Your heart pounded with more than just adrenaline. Geto looked at you, his mouth tight with frustration, his fingers curling white-knuckled around the wood.

Something was wrong. You could feel it.

⋆｡°✩

You sat on the damp seat of the rocking boat for a long time after the wave struck, breathing hard and blinking salt from your eyes. The boy — the stranger — hunched beside you, gripping the edge of the hull so tightly his knuckles had turned bloodless. Water dripped steadily from his hair, trailing down his throat, soaking the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt until it clung to the sharp lines of his body. His mouth was a tight line, his brow furrowed in frustration, but when he turned those dark, searching eyes on you, all you could feel was the echo of something unfinished.

You almost kissed him. Gods above, you almost kissed him.

Your skin still tingled from the near-touch of it. Your heart hammered an uneven beat, deafening in the quiet. You didn’t know what you would have done if the kiss had landed — you barely knew what you were doing now, sitting here, pretending that the whole world hadn't shifted around you in the space of a breath.

You laughed under your breath — short, self-mocking — and shook your head. What was happening to you?

The boy watched you with something complicated in his gaze. There was no fear there, no hesitation. Only a kind of raw, aching patience, like he would wait as long as it took for you to understand something he couldn’t say.

The boat rocked gently again, nudged by a smaller ripple. You glanced around — no sign of the flounder or the lobster now. The water stretched flat and empty in every direction, save for the faintest shimmer on the horizon. For a moment, you thought you caught a glimpse of something — a shape beneath the surface, too fast and sinuous to be natural — but when you blinked, it was gone.

You chalked it up to exhaustion. To nerves.

You rowed back to the dock in silence, your arms aching with each pull. He helped where he could, clumsy but determined, his strength returning with every passing hour. He steadied you when you nearly slipped on the wet stones, his hands warm and sure on your waist, and you laughed breathlessly despite yourself.

He smiled back — that small, fierce thing — and your heart nearly stumbled out of your chest.

⋆｡°✩

That night, the castle felt different.

Quieter, heavier.

The halls echoed strangely under your boots as you made your rounds, half-hoping to spot him tucked somewhere unexpected — curled in the library window seat, maybe, trying to puzzle out one of the battered old books you kept stacked there. Instead, you found Utahime in the kitchens, snapping orders at the scullery boys while Megumi chased a half-plucked chicken across the floor.

"You should be resting," she scolded, tossing a towel at your face without looking up. You caught it, laughing. "I’m fine. Just... restless." She gave you a knowing glance but didn’t push.

You slipped away again, heading out into the garden where the moon silvered the paths and the roses breathed heavily in the night air. You thought of the boy — of how the candlelight caught in his hair, how he tilted his head like he was listening to music no one else could hear. You thought of how close you had been on the boat, how your bodies had leaned together like they belonged in the same breath.

You thought — for the first time — that maybe the world was bigger than the walls you had been raised inside. Maybe it had always been bigger. You had just never seen it clearly until now.

You tipped your head back and let the stars blur overhead.

And somewhere, far below the still surface of the ocean, something watched. And smiled.

It began the next morning, without warning.

You barely noticed her at first — a new arrival to the court, travelling with a merchant caravan from the northern coast. She was beautiful in the way painted icons were beautiful: too polished, too deliberate. Skin like porcelain, hair so dark it seemed to swallow light, a smile that felt just a little too fixed when it landed on you.

She introduced herself as Kaori.

The name meant nothing. The smile meant even less. You nodded politely, offered the customary welcome, and forgot her almost immediately, distracted by the far more pressing task of slipping away to find the boy — your boy, you thought, and then hated yourself a little for the possessive curl of it.

You found him in the gardens again, his bare feet tucked into the sun-warmed grass, his eyes closed, face tilted to the sky like he was trying to drink the sunlight straight into his bones. You stopped in the doorway, momentarily robbed of breath by the simple, devastating sight of him.

He didn’t hear you approach. He never did. He always felt you instead — like a tide pulling at his skin.

He opened his eyes slowly, smiling that small, secret smile that made your heart ache. You crossed the distance without thinking, dropping onto the bench beside him, letting the silence settle between you like a familiar cloak.

You wanted to ask him about the wave. About the way the boat had nearly capsized at the exact wrong moment. About the way he had looked afterwards — hollow-eyed, trembling. You wanted to ask if he felt it too — the wrongness riding the air like a brewing storm.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you found yourself laughing about something trivial — the look on Utahime’s face when Megumi tracked mud all the way across the main hall — and he laughed too, breathless and soundless, clapping a hand over his mouth like it would help.

It didn’t. You caught a glimpse of it then — a boy trying so desperately to belong in a world that wasn't made for him.

And gods above, you wanted to give him that world if you could.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t see Kaori again until the next evening, at the palace banquet.

She appeared at the foot of the great staircase, clothed in sea-green silk that shimmered like scales. Her smile caught the candlelight and bent it in strange ways. When your gaze slid over her, something in your gut twisted — sharp and cold — but you forced it down. Court life was full of oddities. Beautiful strangers were hardly rare.

Still, when she moved toward you, the crowd parting instinctively around her, your hands clenched at your sides without you meaning to.

She spoke little, but when she did, her voice was soft and lilting, curling around your thoughts like mist. Every word sounded somehow heavier than it should have — harder to resist, harder to ignore.

When she laughed — high and delicate — you smiled back without wanting to. When she touched your arm, you didn’t pull away. Not because you wanted her to. Because your body wouldn't listen.

In the corner of the hall, you caught a flash of movement — the boy standing stiff and small near the tapestry-lined walls, clutching a goblet like it was a shield. His face was pale, drawn tight with something you didn’t have words for yet.

You started toward him — almost managed to break free of the invisible weight sinking its claws into you — but Kaori’s hand slipped through the crook of your elbow, light as a breath.

"Stay," she murmured. And you stayed.

You stayed while the boy you had dragged from the sea turned away, his shoulders stiff with heartbreak. You stayed while Kaori's smile sharpened at the edges.

You stayed while, somewhere deep in the castle’s belly, something ancient and wrong grinned wider in the dark.

⋆｡°✩

The days after the banquet blurred into a haze you couldn't shake.

Kaori was everywhere.

Always at your side — during morning council, during the endless, glittering dinners, during the quiet walks you used to sneak alone along the cliffs. Her hand found yours without asking; her laughter brushed against your ear like a ghost. She said very little, and somehow that made it worse — like a dream half-remembered, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to hold onto the pieces.

The boy — the one you had pulled from the wreckage of your life — withdrew further with every sunrise.

He stopped meeting your gaze across the long banquet tables. Stopped smiling when you stumbled over your words trying to make him laugh. Stopped trailing after you like a shadow you had learned to need without noticing.

You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself he was settling in, finding his place, finding a way to live here without needing you to hold him up.

But when you passed him in the garden one afternoon and he didn’t even glance up from where he was hunched over a battered book, something in your chest cracked so hard you almost stumbled.

You almost turned back. Almost said his name — whatever it was. Almost begged him to look at you like he used to.

Instead, you let Kaori curl her arm around yours and lead you back inside.

The court whispered, as courts always did. About alliances. About bloodlines. About destiny. The king, old and growing frail, watched you with something like approval warming the corners of his sharp mouth. His advisors began drawing up the paperwork without waiting for your consent.

The date was set.  Three days from now. The engagement would be announced with all the pomp and ceremony a prince deserved.

You barely felt it happening. You smiled when you were meant to. You bowed and raised toasts and accepted the congratulations of men you hated.

You told yourself you were happy. You had to be happy.

Wasn’t this what you had always been raised for?

⋆｡°✩

That night, standing alone in your chamber, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror.

A stranger stared back at you — a boy dressed in a prince's clothes, weighed down by invisible chains.

You stripped the coat from your shoulders and let it fall unheeded to the floor. Your hands braced against the cold glass, and for a moment, you could have sworn you heard something — faint and broken — pressing against the edges of your mind.

A whisper. A cry. A name you had never been told, and yet somehow knew.

⋆｡°✩

Far across the castle, in the cramped little servants' room where he had been given a pallet and a worn blanket, the boy curled in on himself.

He clutched the locket around his throat — the one token of home he had been allowed to keep — and pressed his forehead to the rough mattress. Silent tears soaked into the fabric. His voice was gone, stolen by magic and bargain, and now the last thread tying him to you was slipping through his fingers like water.

He had almost kissed you. He had almost been enough.

Almost.

But almost didn't win. And the clock was running out.

The castle at night breathed differently.

Gone were the courtiers, the musicians, the easy laughter. The corridors stretched long and hollow, lined with flickering torchlight and the faint, restless whisper of the wind clawing against the stone. Somewhere in the kitchens, rats scrabbled unseen. Somewhere higher up, the great banners bearing your family crest sagged like forgotten memories.

And in a disused fountain tucked into a shadowed courtyard, two very angry sea creatures plotted treason.

Gojo flicked his tail in irritation, sending a ripple across the stagnant water. "I'm telling you," he hissed, voice low and urgent, "this is a full-blown, classic villain enchantment scenario. I’ve read about these things. You think princes just fall in love with creepy water-witch girls by accident?"

Nanami clacked his claws together in sharp agreement. "The signs are all there. Sudden behaviour shifts. Loss of free will. Proximity compulsion." His antennae twitched in frustration. "It's textbook dark magic."

"Exactly!" Gojo splashed dramatically. "And if we don’t snap Prince Broody out of it, he’s going to end up shackled to that creepy fake mermaid until death do they part."

Nanami adjusted his position with a weary sigh. "Do you have a plan, or are you just here to complain?"

"I always have a plan," Gojo said smugly. "Step one: cause chaos. Step two: expose the truth. Step three: make sure someone kisses Geto before the clock runs out."

Nanami paused, considering this. "You realise the 'chaos' part will get us executed if it fails."

Gojo grinned, showing far too many sharp little teeth for comfort. "Worth it."

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, across the castle, you paced your chamber like a caged animal.

Something was wrong. You could feel it — thick and choking in the back of your throat, wrapping around your ribs like iron bands. Every time Kaori touched you, your skin crawled. Every time you smiled at her, something inside you shrivelled smaller.

You had dreams now — strange, aching dreams where a boy with black hair reached for you through a wall of glass, his mouth open in a silent scream you couldn't hear.

You woke gasping, fists tangled in the sheets, heart battering itself bloody against your ribs.

And yet in the daylight, with the court watching, you went through the motions. Smiling. Nodding. Playing the part of the perfect prince. You told yourself it was a duty. You told yourself it was the expectation.

You lied so well, you almost believed it.

Until tonight. Tonight, something inside you snapped.

Standing before the mirror, dressed in the ceremonial clothes chosen for your engagement announcement, you caught sight of yourself — not as a prince, not as a puppet — but as a boy trapped in a cage of golden lies.

And somewhere deep in your bones, a voice you had never heard but always known whispered:

Find him.

⋆｡°✩

It began with a ripple.

A wrongness threading through the crowded ballroom — subtle at first, like a chill down your spine, like a pressure change before a storm. You stood at Kaori's side, the official proclamation clutched in your hand, the weight of duty coiling tighter and tighter around your throat. The court watched, expectant and smiling, their faces blurred at the edges of your vision.

And then the fountain at the centre of the hall exploded.

Water erupted sky-high, dousing nobles and chandeliers alike. Screams tore through the air. Plates crashed. Horses whinnied outside the gates. And in the chaos, two very familiar figures flailed onto the polished marble — one blue and flopping indignantly, the other red and clacking his claws with the frantic dignity of a man facing execution.

Gojo. Nanami.

You blinked, stunned.

Kaori gasped, stepping back from the spreading flood. Her hand brushed your sleeve���and for the first time, you felt it.

The illusion slipped.

The magic peeled away like rotted paint, revealing not a girl at all, but something older and hungrier. Her eyes flickered black for a heartbeat. Her mouth twisted, something wrong slithering just beneath the surface of her skin.

You staggered backwards, revulsion crashing over you like a tidal wave.The boy — your boy — caught your eye across the hall.

He stood frozen in the archway, soaked to the bone, clutching the locket at his throat like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His face was pale, his mouth trembling with words he couldn’t speak. His eyes — gods, his eyes — were wide and aching and full of so much hope you thought it might tear you in two.

You moved before you even realised it.

Across the ballroom, through the wreckage and screaming and magic unravelling at the seams, you ran. Kaori shrieked behind you, her voice warping into something guttural and wrong, but you didn’t look back. You tore past the courtiers, past the guards, past everything you had been trained your whole life to care about, and skidded to a halt in front of him.

He flinched — tiny, automatic — but didn’t run.

You reached out, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the tremor racing through him. He smelled like salt and sunlight and something sharp and ancient that had nothing to do with this world.

"You," you whispered, your voice breaking. "It was always you." His mouth opened — a gasp, a sob — but no words came.

He didn’t need them.

You surged forward and kissed him.

The world splintered.

The spell shattered with a soundless crack, like a mirror dropped from a great height. Light spilled from the locket at his throat, engulfing you both, washing the last of Kenjaku’s magic from the air. Somewhere in the distance, you heard a shriek — furious, inhuman — and then silence.

Only the two of you remained, tangled together, breathless and shaking.

He stared up at you like you had hung the stars.You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to.

You leaned in again, slower this time, pressing your forehead to his. His hands fisted in the front of your jacket, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like you might still disappear.

"Stay," he mouthed.

You nodded, voice wrecked and raw. "Always."

And then you kissed him again — harder, desperate — and he melted into you like he had been waiting his whole life for this.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t know how you got back to your room.

The storm had ended. The court was in chaos. Kaori — no, Kenjaku — had vanished with the tide. And yet, somehow, you were here, the boy in your arms, trembling like he couldn’t believe you were real.

The moonlight pooled across the floor in silver-blue waves. The bed creaked softly beneath your weight as you helped him sit, careful, reverent, like he might dissolve if you touched him too roughly.

His hair was still damp, sticking to his cheeks. His lips were red from your kisses. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know his story. But you knew his eyes — you’d always known them — and that was enough.

He looked at you, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles just to be here. And when he reached out — hands clumsy, unsure — it was you who leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, slow and sure and deep enough to make him gasp.

Clothes slipped away like seafoam. Not rushed, not greedy — just... necessary. Like you’d both been waiting for this without even realising it. He was lean under your hands, sculpted by the current and salt and something softer underneath. He didn’t try to hide himself. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, only want. Trust.

You laid him back carefully, the way you’d handle something sacred. His legs framed your hips, his fingers tracing your jaw like he needed to memorise you. You kissed down his throat, over his collarbones, across his chest — pausing only when you felt the shiver run through him again.

"Okay?" you murmured, voice low.

He nodded, breathless.

You went slow.

You took your time with him — with your mouth, your hands, your everything. You kissed every inch you could reach. You made him fall apart with your tongue before you even pressed inside. And when he finally gasped and arched beneath you, eyes glassy with pleasure, it felt like the sea itself rose to meet you.

You held him through every thrust, every moan, every desperate whisper. And when he came — shaking, clinging, mouth open in a silent cry — you followed right after, burying your face in his shoulder, trying not to break in half from the way it felt to be wanted like that.

When it was over, you stayed tangled together in the sheets. Breathing. Listening to the ocean outside. Letting the quiet settle over you both like a promise.

His voice came at last — a hoarse whisper, barely a sound.

“...Suguru.”

You blinked. Looked down.

He gave you a tiny, tired smile. “My name. It’s Suguru.”

You swallowed hard. Nodded.

And in the silence that followed, you kissed him again.

Just because you could.

The sea had been quiet ever since Kenjaku vanished. No more sudden storms. No more secrets in the tide. Just warmth. Calm. Healing.

Suguru had never imagined he’d walk on legs — let alone walk down an aisle.

But there he was, dressed in white and gold, barefoot in the grass, arm linked with Gojo’s (who was somehow crying and smiling at the same time). The kingdom had gathered in the cliffside courtyard overlooking the ocean. Shells and petals lined the aisle. Musicians played softly. And at the altar, you waited — standing taller than you ever had, like the earth itself had been holding its breath for this moment.

When Suguru met your eyes, it was over. He laughed. You did too. Both of you lost to it — that stupid, breathless, aching kind of joy.

The ceremony was short. Sweet. Suguru’s father, still stiff with guilt, gave a reluctant blessing. Gojo (still sniffling) handed off the rings. And when you finally kissed him — husband and husband, above the sea, with the whole world watching — it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the start of everything.

There was a party after, of course. Suguru twirled in his robes, kissed your cheek until you blushed, danced barefoot on the stone with his hair loose and his smile wild. Gojo sang an off-key love song while Nanami tried to shove cake into his face. Mai and Maki bickered over who got the bigger slice. You stood with Suguru’s hand in yours, watching them all, heart full in a way it had never been before.

And later — when the moon rose, and the guests had gone, and you carried Suguru into the bedroom like he weighed nothing at all — he whispered something against your chest that made you stop breathing entirely.

“I used to dream of being part of your world,” he said softly.

You kissed the words from his lips. “You are my world now.”

And outside, the sea sang softly to itself, content at last.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[bloomiize]

i'll be watching

pairing → jay x yn

warnings → smut, THERES A PLOT KINDA, stalking behaviour, he is OBSESSED, hes still a """"gentleman""", dom jay, fem reader, dubcon, reader gets drunk, coercion

wc: ~3.5k

synopsis → One smile was all it took. The moment your eyes glanced at him, he knew. Jay had already found your full name, your age, where you worked, and exactly where you lived. You just didn’t know you loved him yet and that's okay. He was going to make sure you felt it, too.

You were always quiet, minding your own business and in your own world. It was peaceful, unbothered and drama-free. Juggling a full course load and working at the cafe, you didn't have the time to care about all the guys who tried to get your attention. A compliment here and there, maybe a little note slip on the counter with a phone number on it.

"I have work."

"This assignment is due tomorrow."

"My schedule is packed for this weekend."

You say over and over again. Some would nod their heads understandingly and leave. Others got upset, accusing you of being a tease, wasting their time. But it was always the truth. You just didn’t care to date. It wasn’t a priority. Never was.

The cafe became a soft space for you, and it was a routine you enjoyed. Coffee, latte, baked goods and the warm hum of happy customers filled your days when you weren't busy daydreaming or studying.

"Hi! What can I get you?" You asked, voice light and shining with infinite possibilities. The greeting rolling off your tongue like a script. You didn’t glance up this time, opting to refill the cupcake stand that was being sold at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

"Coffee. Black." The voice was low. Rushed, like he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

You finally looked up, and what a sight it was.

Neat, dark hair. Sharp features that didn't look real. His hands fiddling with— what looks to be— an expensive watch. He didn’t look like the usual customers who came in between classes or after lectures. He looked out of place. Cold, quiet and probably had way too much money.

Then he looked up, staring right at you.

You gave him a warm smile, polite and practiced— the same one you offered to every customer. But his gaze didn’t soften. It stayed locked on yours, curious, unwavering, like he could see past the surface. Like he was trying to figure something out about you that even you didn’t know yet.

When you called out his order, he grabbed it from the counter and left with a quick "Thank you" slipping from his lips. What an interesting guy, wasn't he? And you continued your shift, forgetting all about the strange man. But he never forgot about you.

Jay hated cafes.

Overpriced coffee. Pretentious menus. The same recycled “minimalist” aesthetic with fake plants and Instagrammable drinks that tasted like burnt water and regret. He took his coffee seriously—dark, rich, and brewed with precision. Not watered down through shit using a machine that's probably already rusting.

But today was different.

His morning meeting had been moved earlier without notice, and he didn’t have time to grind the beans himself, didn’t get to hear the satisfying sound of it being poured, didn’t get to take that first quiet sip in the dark comfort of his kitchen. Instead, he was running late. Annoyed. And in desperate need of caffeine.

What a waste, he thought bitterly, eyes scanning the ugly brown exterior of a small cafe on the corner. The obnoxious chalkboard screamed “OPEN!” and jutted out onto the sidewalk like it was begging for attention. Tacky.

Still, he stepped inside, the little chime above the door making his eye twitch. The place was warm, smelled faintly of cinnamon and espresso. Surprisingly, he didn't find bright lights or fake plants or Instagrammable murals. He joined the short line, checking his watch every few seconds.

This better be quick.

He was already thinking about how he’d never let Heeseung schedule his meetings again when something shifted.

A voice.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

You.

The barista behind the counter.

Eyes that shimmered with something— curiosity? Joy? Maybe it was just the reflection of the morning sun, but it caught him off guard. You had a warm smile, a soft voice that was so effortlessly kind it almost irritated him. No fake chipper tone. No forced customer service greeting. You looked real.

His mouth moved before he could think. “Coffee. Black.”

And for the first time that morning, he thought about something other than killing Heeseung.

He kept visiting after that. The cup you made him didn't taste disgusting, he was pleasantly surprised. But it wasn’t the coffee that brought him back the next day. Or the day after that. At first, he sat by the window, pretending to scroll through emails or read a news article. Something to excuse the fact that he hadn’t taken a single sip of the drink cooling beside him.

He was watching you.

The way you tied your apron without thinking, the way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear when you were focused on something. The soft laugh you gave when your coworker said something stupid. It annoyed him how much of your attention everyone else got.

So he listened.

He learned that your favourite pastry was the chocolate croissant, that you hated oat milk, and that you were taking some brutal university class you always complained about on Mondays. He would do all your work for you if it meant you never had to lift a finger. Anything for you to smile.

He learned you only worked mornings on weekdays and full days on weekends. He picked up the rhythm of your schedule with unsettling ease, pretending as if it were his own. Jay started telling his assistant he'd be working remotely more often—from home, he said. But home wasn’t his apartment anymore. It was the window seat at the café.

Your café.

It was a calm morning, he was still watching— still listening. As he sat at his usual corner table pretending to answer emails, he heard your name.

"Y/N, can you grab another box of lids from the back?"

Y/N. It echoed in his head like a siren's curse.

His fingers twitched around his cup. How could your coworker say something so sacred without a care in the world? It annoyed him. But that was all he needed; Jay had a name now. A real one. The moment he heard it, something settled deep in his chest. Like he unlocked a new level. As if knowing it gave him some invisible thread that tied you to him—whether you realized it or not. You let him know your name.

You hadn’t looked at him since that first day. You didn’t remember him. He was just another customer, a regular who always ordered a black coffee. You smiled politely like you did to everyone else. That irked him more than he expected. How could you show that to everyone? It was only supposed to be for him.

But it was okay. He was patient. He'd wait for you forever.

You didn’t know you were his yet. But you would eventually, he’d make sure of it.

You were already running late to class—your shift had dragged longer than expected, and your manager needed help with the register changeover. You said yes, of course. You always did.

Then the kid happened.

Sugar-high, giggling, and sticky-handed, he barreled straight into you as you stepped out from behind the counter. Your drink slipped from your fingers, crashing against your front, staining your white t-shirt in a swirl of espresso and foam. You laughed it off with his mom as she scolded him for being a handful, apologizing profusely while dabbing at your clothes with napkins.

Back in the kitchen, you tried scrubbing it out with soap and water, but the mess clung to the fabric like it belonged there. You were soaked. And the coffee smell followed you like a curse. You had ten minutes to make it to your lecture, barely enough time to breathe, let alone run home and change.

You stepped out of the café with your head down, already mentally preparing your apology for walking into class late and causing a scene. Suddenly, you hit something solid. No, not something. Someone.

You stumbled, arms flailing slightly as the impact caught you off guard, but before you could trip, two hands grabbed your arms. Steady. Warm. Strong.

A chest. Broad. A body, hard with muscle beneath his shirt. It was hard not to stare for a bit.

“Careful,” a low voice murmured above you.

You looked up. One of the regulars at the cafe— Jack? Jake? Jay? His name was something along those lines. His eyes flicked down to your soaked top, his brows pinched together, like he was in pain. How odd.

You scrambled for words. "I'm so sorry!" you blurted, looking up and meeting his gaze with wide, apologetic eyes. That nearly killed him.

"Your next cup is on me, but I really have to go! Point me out next time at the counter," You say, embarrassment taking over your face. You back up, getting ready to sprint across campus.

He almost let you go. Almost.

“Do you… need a sweater?” he called after you, his voice lower, more careful. “For the stain. On your shirt.”

Suddenly, you're standing in front of him and he's taking off his sweater. A neat navy blue quarter zip, as he lifted it over his head, you got a glimpse of his midriff. Tone, perfectly sculpted abs. You ripped your gaze away, masking the awkward silence with a cough. He handed it to you with care and told you to keep it.

"I'll give it back next time i see you I swear!" You said running off waving at him with a smiling. There it was, that smile. Only for him.

He replayed the moment multiple times in his head. How you smelled of vanilla and dark roast. How you felt so warm and soft, his mind often wondered if you would feel the same under him. Jay palmed his dick night after night. How your shirt clung so tightly to your chest. He could see everything. And the way you smiled at him had him unravelling on his sheets. Moving up and down, breathlessly saying your name like a chant.

Life was a blur— assignments, lectures, shifts— and the sweater ended up in your closet. You wore it to work the next week, not thinking twice. At the cafe, Jay stood in line ahead of you. He turned, eyes landing on the sweater, a slow smile spreading. “So, you’re still wearing it.”

You spew out apologies and explanations but he let out a chuckle. Low. Deep. It vibrated in you.

“Keep it,” he laughed. “Looks like it’s yours now.” His gaze lingered. “Let me take you out, I'm sure you're tired of coffee by now.” His tone was light, but his eyes were focused on you. He was handsome, kind, and you basically stole his sweater, this was the least you could do to make up for it.

“Sure,” you smiled and wrote your number on his cup with a small smiley face beside it.

That date turned into hours of talking. Jay was funny, attentive, remembering tiny details like your love for plants and how you refused to allow any fake ones in the cafe, fighting the manager if you had to. You didn’t know he’d studied you online, memorizing your posts, your likes, the plushy bear you’d mentioned wanting. He knew you more than you knew yourself.

The second date was perfect: a park walk, dinner at a cozy bistro. The third was a movie night at your place, laughing together with his arm around you. He never crossed a line unless you wanted him to, always checking if you're okay with whatever he's doing, whether it be a hug or a light kiss on your lips. Jay was a nice guy; he would never do anything weird, maybe that's why you were so comfortable with him. He liked everything you liked. He listened to you rant about your professors and classmates. It was like he was made for you.

By the fourth, you knew you liked him. Jay was perfect—he opened doors, never let you pay, always drove you home and walked you back to your door. When he handed you the plush bear you’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago, your eyes lit up.

“You remembered,” you beamed, pulling it into your arms.

“Of course I did,” he said, watching you like you hung the stars.

You didn’t notice the glint in the bear’s right eye, a tiny lens tucked behind the button. He wanted to keep seeing you smile. Even when you thought you were alone.

At night, when you changed, he was there, on his screen, heart racing. Jay sat in his darkened apartment, the laptop screen casting a sickly glow across his face. The plushy’s camera feed showed you in your room, taking off your shirt after a long day. His breath caught, uneven, as you unhooked your bra, your breasts spilling free, soft and perfect under the lamp’s dim light. He licked his lips, imagining his tongue swirling over your nipples, sucking hard until they pebbled, leaving wet trails and purple marks across your chest. He wanted to bite, to claim every inch of you.

“God, Y/N,” he growled, voice thick with lust, leaning so close his nose nearly brushed the screen. If he stuck out his tongue he could taste it, he could taste you. His eyes devoured you—your delicate collarbone, the maddening curve of your waist, the way your hair draped over your shoulder like an invitation for him to hold your hair up. His hand was already in his pants, gripping himself, the ache unbearable, so needy. Your body was a fucking altar, and he was a starving worshipper.

He groaned as you bent to grab a tee, your breasts swaying slightly, the view sending a violent jolt through him. His strokes were frantic now, sloppy, his palm slick with precum. He pictured pinning you to the bed, spreading you open, licking every curve until you screamed his name. The thought of anyone else seeing you—your classmates, those café creeps—made his gut fill up with rage. “Mine, mine, mine,” he gasped, hips bucking as he came, hot and messy, splattering across his hand. He panted, eyes still locked on you slipping into bed, oblivious, his perfect obsession.

He wiped himself off, breath uneven, knowing you curl up with the plushy. His plushy. His eyes. He’d never let you go.

Jay invited you to his place for dinner, and you couldn’t say no. His apartment was stunning—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The table was set with candles, a spread of homemade pasta, and a bottle of red wine. “You cook?” you teased, impressed and honoured.

“Only for you, angel,” he said, pouring you a generous glass. His smile was warm, but his eyes burned with something darker, a need. He kept refilling your glass, his hand lingering on yours. “You deserve to take a break, Y/N. You work so hard.” He cooed.

The wine hit fast, warming your limbs, clouding your thoughts. Jay was charming, leaning close, his smile growing bigger. You giggled, head fuzzy, his voice smooth and low as he talked. By the third glass, the room tilted, your cheeks flushed, your body uncontrollable. He moved to the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come here love.” “You’re so… nice, Jay,” you mumbled, head lolling slightly, cheeks flushed. By the fourth glass, the room spun, your body heavy, limbs loose. Guilt clawed at you—he’d done so much, the dinner, the plushy, the sweater. You owed him, didn’t you? 

You stumbled, and he pulled you into his lap. His scent wrapped around you, intoxicating. He looked at you like you were his everything, and it felt too good, too warm, even as a faint voice screamed to leave. His hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, inching under your skirt. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, voice thick. “All soft and sweet, just for me.”

“Jay, I… I’m really drunk,” you slurred, trying to push his hand away, but your fingers were clumsy. Your head felt like clouds, the wine drowning out your senses. “Maybe I should… go home.”

“Shh, angel,” he cooed, fingers tightening, ignoring your weak protest. “You can’t leave me after all this, can you? You’re my special girl tonight.” His eyes locked on yours, intense, needy. “You trust me, don’t you? I’ve been so good to you.” 

Guilt twisted harder. He had been good—perfect, even. The sweater, the bear, the way he always showed up at the cafe with a smile. He was so kind and caring, always attentive to your needs. He never pushed any lines; you owed him this, right? Just this once. “Okay..” you whispered, voice small, embarrassed, your body betraying you as his touch sent shocks through you.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you deeply, his tongue and yours mixing perfectly, tasting the wine off your lips. He pushed you back on the couch, hands roaming all over you, tugging off your clothes with a rapid pace. “So fucking cute,” he murmured, unhooking your bra, lips grazing your collarbone. He smiled, sliding your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down. “Look at you,” he whispered, playing with your folds, finding you slick despite your confusion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? And you wanted to go home like this?” He circled your clit slowly, teasing, watching you squirm. “Yeah? You like that?”

“S’good,” you slurred, hips twitching, embarrassed but unable to stop the heat building in you. His praise felt like a drug—cute, perfect, his angel.

“Aw,” he teased, slipping two fingers inside, pumping gently, his thumb on your clit. “Do you think of me when you wear my sweater?” he asked, voice low, eyes glinting as if he didn’t already know the answer. He’s watched you do it countless times by now.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, voice shaky, picturing the cozy navy quarter-zip and how many times you’ve touched yourself while wearing it. He groaned, fingers curling. “So dirty,” he whispered, voice thick with approval. “My dirty little angel, thinking of me like that.” He moved faster, but when you whimpered, close to the edge, he stopped, pulling his fingers out, licking them clean while staring at you. “Not yet. I want to play with you longer.”

You whined, needy, head too foggy to argue, the alcohol was making everything feel lighter. “Jay, please,” you begged, barely coherent.

“Patience,” he chuckled, spreading your thighs wider. He didn’t wait long, his need overtook him. He shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, thick and heavy, the size making your eyes widen even through the drunken haze. “Jay, wait,” you slurred, panic flickering. “It’s… too big.”

“It’ll fit angel, it’ll fit,” he soothed, voice dripping with false gentleness, his hand rubbing your stomach as he lined himself up. “I’ll make it fit.” He pushed in, slow but relentless, stretching you, the burn making you cry out. You were wet, dripping even, yet he was still too big. “Hurts,” you whimpered, hands pushing weakly at his chest.

“I know, love,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his hand pressing your stomach, feeling the bulge where he filled you. “You’re taking me so well. My perfect fuckdoll.” He thrust slowly, savouring your whines, each whimper and gasp fueling him. “So cute like this, whimpering for me,” You were gone. Your head was dizzy and all you could do was moan his name out, gripping onto him like he could save you.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, your head lolling as the pain mixed with pleasure. “Too much,” you’re slurring, but your body arched into him, betraying you.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, thrusting deeper, still slow, watching the bulge in your stomach move. “My perfect girl, letting me have you like this. You owe me this, don’t you? After everything I’ve done for you.” His words sank into your drunken mind. You really did owe Jay everything. You nod barely understanding, just wanting to please him.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, picking up the pace slightly, his hand stroking your hair. “You feel so good, Y/N. Made for me.” He groaned, voice tightening. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You blinked, a flicker of clarity cutting through the fog. “Jay… condom?” you mumbled weakly, too drunk to care fully, the question more curiosity than concern.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he whispered, hand cupping your cheek, thrusting harder. “We’re gonna have such a good family. I’ll take care of you, always.” His hips snapped forward, and he came, hot and thick robes flooded inside you, groaning into your neck as he filled you, no hesitation. Like he planned this.

You whimpered, too fucked out and drunk to process, your body limp beneath him. He held you close, kissing your forehead, murmuring, “My perfect girl. You did so good.” You drifted off in his arms while he cleaned you up. What a gentleman.

a/n: jay being devious is my new favourite thing I fear... anyways I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! sorry for not posting for a bit I've been super busy so let me yap for a bit. i started my summer courses KILL ME and I just started my new job YAY! I have wayyy too many drafts rn LOL pls lmk what you think! comments and reblogs are appreciated I LOVE YOU GUYS! <3

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[theothernads]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ. SECRETS . [Y.JW]

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○ SYNOPSIS: After making it to university, you found yourself finding comfort in a cat café worker not too far from your lectures. The cute worker seemed to have a knack for making you fall for his charm. And, how could you not? Your chemistry was perfect- but you never thought that he had secrets and that Jungwon was your secret as well. As much as you two tried to keep everything behind the scenes, things don't always work out the way they should.

○ PAIRING: Boxer!Jungwon×fem!rich!reader

○ WARNINGS: fighting, so suggestive it's acc crazy, blood, classism? Self-doubt, profanity, I made one of the members a villain, cute, fluff, ANGST (Imao), boxer Jungwon (deserves a warning bc it's iconic af)

○ NOTES: Okay. I did it. Please enjoy. This took forever to edit, but hopefully, you all like it!! It's been in my drafts for too long. Ever since No Doubt came out, lmao😭. Thank you for everyone who asked to be on the taglist!! Please give feedback. I would love to hear it!! Okay, muah!

╰┈➤ LIKES, COMMENTS+ REBLOGS are appreciated!

○ WC: 21k+

○ ִֶָ࣪☾. [DREAM LIBRARY]

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AS A DAUGHTER OF A CEO AND A NURSE, YOUR PARENTS OFTEN PILED THEIR LANDSLIDE OF PRESSURES ONTO YOU. With you as the only child in their lavish home, their attention and lectures often find you daily, ready to exhaust your mind into another brainless talk.

But, it wasn't only your parents. It was also your lonely thoughts swarming your inner monologue like a bunch of pests.

Your parents, on the other hand, had you wrapped in their protective blanket, to the point where you were suffocating, not knowing when you could catch fresh air that wasn't supplied by them.

It wasn't easy per se. The studies that entailed your life had beaten you over the head and forced your eyes down to the textbooks and past papers. Those almost became your friends if you didn't scowl at them as much as you did.

Your parents were great, even if they flooded your head with reminders and words that you needed to become someone, anyone.

Anyone with money, of course.

That was the pinned priority. It was almost the only thing you wanted at the end of the destination. The end of the route was hopefully going to university for something in the medical field.

The light on your mother and father's face was the only thing keeping your vision on the set road before you. It was... exhausting. However, you worked through days, sleepless nights, calloused thumbs, and a lost appetite to get you a step closer to your supposed dream.

Getting accepted into that university wasn't as thrilling as you thought: the smile on your parent's faces, their boasts to your family didn't lift the anchor that had rusted in the pits of the ocean that was your mind.

It often felt as if you were drifting away from reality when classes started.

One particular day, you bunked the class by saying you needed the bathroom, when in reality, you sauntered right out the glass doors and onto the street.

Breathing the air without too many of your own classmates stitched your composure together again, and you found yourself wandering down the busy roads

You stopped when observing the mocha and brown lettered words on a cream sign. A cat café. Your feet moved on their own, pushing the door and placing your shoes in a slot on a black shelf.

The staff directed you to the room, and as you entered the main area, you spotted all types of feline friends lounging and sauntering around.

Swiftly moving in, you sat in a random spot, admiring the cats of all colours, the short and long furs—they were truly a melody, a soothing balm to your heated head.

And new potential friends that you could confide in and expect them to listen without a word of resistance. Oh, to live as a cat — carefree, jump as high as you want, and you could run away without consequences.

Oh, the dream.

A certain brown and black cat with a fluffy coat around its face approached you in your daydream, meowing quietly. The cream collar was engraved with "Belle." She was adorable, to say the least.

Her friendliness knew no bounds as she nudged her head into your hovering palm, rubbing her furry face.

For the first time in a while, you smiled, and one could argue that it sounded as if you were in the pits of depression—but you weren't. You were simply deprived of the quiet moments like this.

If you stayed a minute more in that damn lecture hall, you would have stabbed a pencil into their oh so precious desk.

Tentatively letting your fingers scratch beneath her chin, you heard another purr, her green eyes blinking slowly as she shifted her head to seek your comfort.

Her fluffy coat made you want to genuinely bite her—not hard, but maybe kiss her to bits until her paw warned you of her rising annoyance.

"Belle!? Where are you, girl..?" A voice called out that snapped your personal dream bubble.

When you glanced at the source of the voice, there was a young man with honey, golden skin, hickory eyes, and blonde locks resembling a cloud.

His wavy hair and feline eyes made your heart hitch a little. As if his presence hit you like a stone that your body didn't brace for. You weren't prepared.

Said man came over after realising that Belle was spending her careless time with you. Oh. He was coming over, and you're staring like a hawk. An idiot was a more fitting name.

Straightening your back, you glanced back at Belle and let your fingers fall away. The cat obviously protested, meowing—or whining—as her little face pecked at the hand on your lap.

The man slowed as he saw you, his fist holding something, but he was careful as he crouched before the feline. Right there, you noticed his veiny forearms, and you had to look away.

"She never comes out," he began saying, hand expertly rubbing behind her ear. A smile lifted your lips once more.

"I feel special," you said with a speck for amusement. He chuckled and nodded.

"I think you may be. She tends to hide in the dumbest corners. Kind of annoying," mumbled the man. His fists unfurled, and Belle's head perked to see the treats in his hand.

A long meow slipped into the air, her eager self padding to the worker (you assumed), and instantly munching. You could just combust.

For the cat, of course.

A smile graced those lovely, rosy lips of his, the other hand stroking Belle on her head encouragingly. In that moment, this man looked soft and warm. As if you were sitting near a furnace after a long, hard winter day. Something to melt the thick, icy anxiety wedged in your chest.

"She's adorable," you murmured, her tail snaking past your lap, wanting attention in all directions, it seemed. The man nodded and lifted his gaze finally.

They scanned your own, calculating but not intense at all. Then, he spoke. "I'm Jungwon, by the way."

A nice name that suited his perfect face, perfect dimples, and perfect voice.

Damn, what were you thinking? Internally scolding yourself, you nodded in acknowledgement with a small smile.

"I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you," you mumbled softly. The sparkle in his gaze shot by in the darkness of his eyes. Another smile.

"Pretty."

From that alone, you were ready to just bash your head into the wall to deal with the flusterment floating in your face. He said it so casually, delivering it with that deep voice of his that scratched your brain right.

Blinking profusely, your gaze averted to Belle, knowing your neck was burning, and the flames of shyness were reaching the apple of your cheeks as well.

"Thanks." You stroked Belle on her back as she munched contentedly on Jungwon's palm. He noticed your glittering eyes and the lashes fluttering on your cheeks.

Jungwon sat beside you, cross-legged and holding out his hand. "Do you wanna feed her..?"

Without a single thought from your frazzled brain, you nodded. Jungwon was pleased, an easy smile breaking out as he gently took your own left hand.

Even the warmth in his hand ignited all kinds of tingles in your fingers, making the heat constrict and hug your heart.

From his apron pocket, he picked out a few brown treats into your own palm, and Belle was instantly impressed.

Her furry face dug into your hands, licking up the treats, and you felt as if her silent sounds healed and patched up the stitches of exertion from the past couple of days. Who knew just a feline friend could soothe the craks in you?

"So, you work here..?" You asked the obvious question. Jungwon chuckled slightly, eyes fixed on your hand.

"Yup. Shifts are easy, and I get to talk to the cats instead of myself."

"You probably talk to yourself at home," you teased back.

"That's why I needed to work here. To hide it." Jungwon grinned, lifting those beautiful eyes of his. "But alas, my secret is revealed."

He was funny. Cute. You liked the way he easily loosened the stiff bolts in your muscles, as if it didn't take much effort.

You smiled, petting Belle behind her fluffy eyes, feeling somewhat content in the brief silence. Jungwon eyed the backpack slumped by your side and glanced back.

"So, you running away from home, or do you just have a lot of things in there?" He asked with mirth, eyes darting to the crumpled bag. Oh. That. A reminder of how you left class unattended and on impulse.

"Oh... that," you said with a forced chuckle, eyes focused on Belle rather than the beauty before you. "I bunked class."

"You're a student? Damn, you're devious," Jungwon remarked with a jab of amusement. You rolled your eyes and smirked.

"Very. It's the most I've gone against my parents," you said without thinking.

You instantly regretted it. You didn't plan to blurt that out and reveal the speck of the harsh expectations crushing you and all to a stranger. You clenched your eyes shut for a moment before opening them.

"So, rebellion?"

"That's a bit much," you mumbled with a slightly offended pout. Jungwon stroked Belle, fingers accidentally brushing yours, and your hand retracted sharply.

The tingle crazing up your arm was warm, uninvited, but made your heart pound just a little faster. He began to laugh at your comment.

"I guess so. You want to tell me why you're starting your rebellion?" He urged you on, meeting eyes again.

"It's not a rebellion!" You protested, and Belle's little face peered up at you, as if she was judging you for purposely making a wall of lies and denial. Jungwon and Belle waited, expectant.

Sighing, you began to unravel your life story as if it was a ball of yarn running away from you before you could catch it. All the way from high school to exams that opened up the gates to university until now to how dead you felt in class, taking a course for the sole reason of pleasing your parents.

It's not like your chosen health care course wasn't an enjoyable path—you chose that route because, yes—you did find something valuable in stem subjects, and found it bearable to endure the hurdles that came with it.

However, sitting in the lecture hall and typing, writing mindlessly on your convertible tablet, the energy had diminished like a candle nearing the end of its wax.

Jungwon listened, stroking Belle's back as she settled on his lap. No words slipped into the conversation, letting you pour your heart out to him, a total stranger.

When you finished, he let out a deep puff of air, as if he was exhausted for everything you said. "Damn..."

Tucking your side fringe behind your ears, an empty chuckle came out. "Yeah. I love them and all, but it's... exhausting. But, my mind won't let me disagree with them. After all, they just want me to live well."

He shook his head, and Belle jumped off his lap and scurried away, deciding to leave you and him in solidarity.

"What about you being happy? Peaceful?" He asked, stretching his legs out forward, leaning back on his hands. "What's the point of living well on the outside when... you need to also live well internally? If that makes sense."

The words carved into you like a harsh reminder—your own guts telling you to say something. But your loyalty was your biggest enemy, and it had the best leverage.

You weren't smiling anymore, nor speaking, and Jungwon sighed, dropping his own eyes to his lap, as if there was already something brewing behind his eyes.

A beat of silence passed, and Jungwon looked up. "I ran away."

Your eyes shot to him, bewildered. The reaction made him chuckle, but there was memory frozen in his eyes.

"Yeah... you're better than me. If they forced me into taking university, I would've crashed out. I mean, I already did." Jungwon shrugged.

Waiting in silence, you let him go on.

"It's started when I was younger. My father was an alcoholic, a smoker, the whole lot. My mother was ill. So, she was even more irritable. With both of them on my back, going out was an escape." Jungwon rushed a hand through his blonde locks, eyebrows furrowed as if it hurt to clutch the dead roots he had left behind in memory.

"I bunked classes. I didn't care, I just needed to be doing something on my own. I had my friends, we messed about, I will admit. But, nothing bad. Just me, my friends being loud and... smoking here and there. But, I knew my luck would run out."

By now, a white cat padded over, collar jingling softly and climbed into your lap. Smiling, you found something light-hearted in the midst of this talk.

"My dad got the phone call from school. Those assholes called them, and he nearly pushed me into... into the stove. He was yelling, angry, called me useless," Jungwon said as he swallowed down the harsh marks of the past. "But, I wanted it out. Finished school. Grades were mid, but I didn't care."

He let out the nth sigh, gazing at the random wall as if he was rewatching the memory.

"One day, he blew up on me. He was drunk. My mother was okay, but she was also hoping for good grades. Too much expectations, too much demands." Jungwon's gaze narrowed. "I wasn't enough. I didn't impress them. And nothing could."

Jungwon grit his teeth, remembering the moment he had stormed through the house, pulled out a black duffel and backpack, and stuffed every corner of them until it couldn't anymore. It was painful and impulsive.

"I ran. I left with my friend and found my own way. And now, I work here. For about 2 years now." He finished, nodding and letting the weight of his shoulders lift.

You couldn't imagine running with your friend, being along and unstable. You loathed it, but it didn't mean that he didn't hold bravery for making that decision. Letting out a puff of air, you turned to Jungwon.

"I'm glad you're okay now. I honestly can't imagine it. It must have been terrifying," you said softly, sympathetic. Jungwon sensed your tone and dismissed it with a shake of his hand.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Because I'm fine now. I'm stable, I don't need those assholes anyway," he said with a newfound strength. Or perhaps, a strength that had bloomed ever since he left the claws of his home.

"Like I told you, the cats keep me company," he said, letting the white feline jump out his lap and join the rest of his friends. You smiled, finding the café an easy path to soothe the weight on your soul.

As if you needed this.

Jungwon, admiring your adorable face, grinned to himself, not missing the way his heart fluttered, as if something was newly born there. It was enticing all the same.

From then, you visited the cats, or Jungwon, often. You skipped classes sometimes or came afterwards with some friends to catch the eye of the cute worker, letting your small desires be fulfilled every time you and him exchanged a discreet look.

Most of the time, you came alone in hopes of letting the pieces of your heart be bared to him, to let him examine whatever you put out there.

You think it worked. For example, in this one situation, you were trying to lure the cats to your hand full of treats, but no matter how much you cooed at them, they blinked at you as if you were an idiot. You stood once more, and Jungwon, noticing it, appeared behind you in an instant.

The emanating warmth forced your heart to run laps, skip beats, and leap in the tight confines of your chest. He was so close—chest hovered by your shoulders, his breath subtly hitting your right ear. A shudder rippled down your spine.

"The cats can't reach your hand if you're standing normally," he said softly by your ear.

You glanced only to stare at the stars that were his hickory eyes and the roses that were his pink lips.

Jungwon had to be the personification of beauty himself—the type of beauty that couldnt be captured by a normal lens because it simply wouldn't do him an justice. Experiencing just his presence without any second thoughts was as if you were face-to-face with the galaxy itself.

Realising you were staring, you let him lower you to the ground until you sat on your knees, and he crouched behind you. His warm hand held your wrist, angling it, making the tingles bite up your nerves until you felt your heart sprint.

Then, he clicked his tongue, and like the cat whisperer he was, the feline friends all came jumping and padding over with curious tails and mouths. You let yourself stroke a few of the fluffy heads, aware he never moved away.

"Thank you..." you said softly. Jungwon chuckled, and he boldly rested his chin on your shoulder. It was so soft that you nearly missed the pressure of it, but you didn't.

The stupid smile tugged at your lips, his hand retracting from your wrist to rest gently, experimentally on your waist. When you didn't pull away, he sighed into your neck, letting his silence fill in the rest.

It was a song of no words, but you loved every second that passed where he filled the gap in your neck, memorising your skin. The moment elicited a blossom of new flowers—bold, vibrant, and exciting. You wouldn't mind if Jungwon brought out more of those from within you. The flowers crawled up your chest, caged your heart into something strong and something immovable.

Only when a customer alerted the bell did he pull away with one last squeeze to your waist, imprinting the print of his warm invitation. Your gasp was soft, barely audible, but his cheeky self just upped and went away.

One thing about Jungwon was that mischief was an ingrained and crucial part of him. Whether it br through his teasing words or his sly hands brushing past you like the wind.

And, another part of him you had also discovered was the speck of secrecy he kept in the cracks.

It had been a gloomy November morning, the city alive and moving as you strolled towards the familiar cat café. Classes had been exhausting, and you craved to ease the storm irking the ocean that was your mind.

Each part of your head was waterlogged, filled with destructive waves that washed and swept over every other thought that threatened to keep afloat.

Whenever that happened, you went to the cat café, climbing up the familiar brown steps, dinging the bell as you opened the door, and slipping on the comfortable slippers before sauntering to the main room.

The familiar warm light illuminated the cream and pastel pink walls and the various cats padding or lounging around on different surfaces.

Your presence managed to alert the particularly shy cat that never revealed herself. Or, your best friend.

"Hi, Belle," you cooed, crouching down and stroking her furry head. She meowed and licked the tip of her nose swiftly, as if curious about your visit. You laughed softly and scooped her into your arms, and she made home within your embrace.

Her furry self was a remedy for the strenuous school day.

Naturally, you were here for one other person, though—Jungwon. As if detecting your dilemma, Belle jumped out your arms and padded deeper into the café, leading you to the counter where Jungwon's back was turned to you.

The sight of his broad back, the muscles peeking out from his shirt, even under the brown apron he wore. His blonde locks were messy, tousled as a cloud.

"Hey, Won," you said, approaching the counter with an easy grin. Jungwon flinched slightly, putting the air pod out, and he turned only to reveal an undeniable display.

Brows furrowed, you rushed to the counter to examine the red scar stitched into his cheekbone, the redness blooming around it like a field of pain.

"Jungwon, your cheek..?" You said, pointing to the obvious wound, worry budding in your eyes. Realisation flickered over his face, hesitantly letting his fingers caress over the spot before he sighed.

"Yn, it's nothing. Just a small accident," he said, giving a dismissive smile. You didn't believe him. The scar seemed shallow, almost as if he had bumped into something with an aggravating force.

"What accident?"

"You know, the cats. Shadow was kinda hard to get back in his bed," he easily replied, leaning on the counter before you on his elbows, smirking as if he knew something you didn't.

You stared for a good few seconds before your hand lifted to his wounded cheek, and he let you. Heck, he leaned into your hand, the warmth rushing through your nerves; the worry still stood strong.

"What brings you here so late today?" Jungwon mumbled, his breath hitting your wrist. A tingle weaved through your blood and embedded itself into your skin as if to connect you and him.

Sighing, you brought yourself to move away from the topic of his cheek, eyes downcast. Jungwon clutched your palm, bringing his rosy lips to the pulse of your wrist. Your breath hitched.

"I... It's just one of those days. And I thought my worries would go if I saw you, but it seems I have another to think about," you explained.

Jungwon hummed into your wrist, again waving off your concern as if a speck of dust that was tickling his nose.

"Will you let it go?" He asked in slight mirth. You shook your head, and he chuckled. "It was Shadow the cat. A scratch. You know how he is."

"I don't." You blankly stared at him as he kept your wrist to his lips. Relenting from the position, he came around the counter, towering over your form, leaning on the counter.

"Believe me. Yeah?" His voice was honey as he asked that, cocking his head to reach your gaze. You hate how it worked because you gazed up at him with those adorable eyes of yours, and he tapped your chin.

"Help me close up. Maybe you can help Shadow calm down," he said, chuckling at the way your pout appeared and nudged his heart.

"Great. Maybe we can get matching scars," you said sardonically, pushing off the counter and heading to lock the door.

Jungwon scoffed, still facing where you had stood, finding your attitude infuriating, but enticing all at the same time. You were some kind of sweet drug, and he wanted it to invade his senses.

With the cats all in their designated spaces with the other staff, Jungwon was with you at the front, but he was cleaning the dishes. A few cups and straws.

You sat on the counter, watching his honey tan skin, the way his sleeves were rolled up and revealed the veins running down his arm and bedazzled his wrist. The undeniable warmth stirred in your cheeks, finding it ridiculous how you were inept at keeping your composure together.

Where Jungwon washed away, he smirked slightly as he spotted your sparkling gaze on him. You weren't very discreet. Not when your head stayed in the same place before darting away every few seconds.

The tap turned off. Jungwon dried his hands before stalking to you ever so slowly and stood before you with his shadow looming over you.

When your eyes met his, he swore his heart skipped a beat, skipped the hesitation; his hands pushed your knees apart, and you squeaked as he pushed himself right closer to you, hands slithering around your waist.

The warmth rained on your cheeks, and your eyes widened from the proximity. "J-Jungwon—"

"Shh..." He murmured, hands pressing your lower back and forcing your body too close. Tentative hands gripping his shoulders, the hitch in your breath betraying how your composure crumbled and allowed him to peek into what you truly wanted.

"Can I kiss you..?" He whispered when he leaned in, face inches away from yours. From here, the scar was clearer; it was dull, yes, but his whole cheek bone was tainted with red, as if Shadow the cat punched him with those petite paws as well.

There was no time to even think of the scar when he got too close, eyes darting back to his hickory ones. The stare held until you finally nodded to his question.

"Thank fuck," he mumbled before his lips swooped in and captured yours. Soft. Really damn soft.

Your breath hitched once more out of the many, his lips firmly moving against yours like a strong gale against a flower bed. It rendered you breathless, but when you pulled away, you gripped his biceps tighter and dived in for another.

Startled, Jungwon tightened his embrace around your waist, feeling the curve of your body press into his, your lips now littering and staining admiration onto him

When you sighed again, he departed for some air, breaths slightly shaky. Your lips were slightly swollen, eyes glistening with something new and exciting that made his hunger crave more of whatever you were enchanting him with.

He saw the exact way you silently asked for more, those pretty eyes of yours fluttering at him, beckoning him closer. He was under your spell because why did he lean in for another?

Your hands tightened on his shoulders now, lips a feather away from each other, eager for another long reunion—

"You two are fucking disgusting." Jay had his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at Jungwon instantly distancing his lips.

A storm of heat wrecked your body and cheeks, and now you wish you would crawl into the dirt and bury yourself there. You gave a small wave to Jay, who gave you a nod of acknowledgement mixed with the repulse.

A slight chuckle escaped Jungwon, hands still locked around your waist. "You could have just walked back into the other room."

"And leave you two unsupervised? On the counter? As if I hadn't seen this before?" He inquired, each question heightening your embarrassment. But Jungwon didn't even mind it, smirking impishly at Jay.

"What movies have you watched?"

"Shut up."

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The marks persisted. Some days, it would be mostly on his face, and then other days, the scars would bloom on his jaw, shoulder, and at one point, you saw him wince, clutch his side when he bent down to grab the cat bowl.

It was painfully clear he was concealing something beneath the surface, and he wanted to keep you out.

But fine. If he didn't want to tell you, why would you force him? Logically, it wouldn't be serious if he never told you otherwise. So, you dropped the idea of the suspicious little wounds at random spots and let it go.

Until today.

Another day, another decision to bunk the later class. It was two hours long, meaning two hours of absolutely useless droning from that professor you despise.

Walking down the streets in the gloomy weather, you puffed some air into your fingers, scolding yourself for not doing the smart thing of bringing your gloves.

November was hit with a silent storm of cold, the freezing air everywhere at once, giving no one respite from its breath.

Which is why you want to go buy gloves right now. The shop you love was down the street after the corner of these other meticulous ones. The idea of buying yourself something was so greedy but gratifying; you know you probably have gloves packed safely in your home, abandoned, but here you were, shopping for a pair more to join the collection.

When you turned the corner, a familiar blonde sparked in your peripheral vision. Now, there weren't a lot of blondes in Korea, but this was... certainly a coincidence, right?

Your supposed situationship was not going down some dodgy and dark alley with Jay? They strolled with ease as if this path was the most familiar route they had walked upon.

The buildings on this side looked... reserved, residential, even. This was no place that Jungwon could know because he never talked about anything else. Or, he never wanted to tell you of anything else he was doing. The mere thought made a crack of doubt in your stomach, the crevice thin, but undeniably there.

Do you follow?

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. So, as a cat would, even though you were far from it, you crossed the road and sauntered swiftly into the same narrow path.

You had no idea where you were going and decided to follow this random dude, careful not to alert anyone. They all worse dark clothes, and here you were, wearing a cream coat. You were just asking to be looked at.

Whatever. The alley was dark for the most part except the tiny streams of light illuminating the black door at the utter end.

The dude opened it languidly, disappearing. Like the spy you were, you opened it swiftly and snaked yourself into another dim hallway.

"I better not break my ankle," you mumbled to yourself, using your palms to direct yourself down the only path that was also deprived of light. More doubt cracked whatever contentment you had with Jungwon the more you crept down the dark hallway.

What business did he have here? It wasn't normal to casually stroll up to a place like this and act as if he was entering the park or something. Too many questions relentlessly hit your head as you lowered yourself down some stairs when you heard it.

A crowd. Not even the demure mumbling—it was loud. Strident, and you could hear jeering, cheers. The dude opened another door, light spilling in instantly. Not wanting the darkness clinging to you, you rushed through the cheers louder now, but the room you were in was empty except the multiple, absent boxing rings.

Boxing. Jungwon. What?

In a way, you could see the connection of events: the sudden scars that popped on his skin like daisies on a normal summer day. But even then, your thirst of curiosity wasn't quenched, and, as much as you wanted to explore this empty hall, you strode silently behind the dude.

The door he next opened was through another hallway, but at least there was a single bulb to provide the weak excuse of light. It was grey, plain, and had no indication of what stood behind it, but the closer you ventured, the more those cheers became prominent.

The dude seamlessly opened it and entered like the wind. Puffing out some air yourself, you approached it and buried the anxiety of what you would find. Maybe Jungwon. Or maybe something terrible.

What you didn't expect was a dim, shady part of the building with a boxing ring in the middle, a crowd swarming it with their cheers and conversations, and bang in the middle was Jungwon.

Shock froze your body, all your nerves as you stood away from the crowd, afraid of exposing yourself.

He was sweaty, to say the least; he donned a white shirt, blue pants with thick, white boxing gloves, and his golden hair stuck to his forehead. His feline eyes were sharp, focused on the opposing player, who just about entered the ring.

The referee, you assumed, stayed in the middle, holding this microphone, grinning widely.

"Welcome to the next round! Remember to put the money on the person that would most likely win!" He explained to the crowd.

Bets. Money. Gambling. The sudden doubt and bewilderment snaked around your chest and throat, making it hard to even breathe. You leaned against the pillar, mostly to stay hidden.

"As you know him, we have our returning fighter—Jungwon!" The crowd cheered at his name, familiarised with his status. From that, you knew he came here often.

The MC introduced the other dude, but you honestly weren't listening. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Jungwon was a fighter for this gambling underground fighting thing.

When you glanced at the building, you saw the abandoned atmosphere, the lack of equipment or care in the mouldy walls. There were a few tables here and there, chairs stacked around randomly with neglect. It was totally different from the other side you came from.

"Fighters..." the MC said again, moving back so that Jungwon and the other dude could bump fists. The sudden movement of his veiny arms, slightly bruised somewhere, made your stomach flutter at the sight.

You almost cursed at yourself for focusing on something so irrelevant.

He's fighting, and here you are, flustered over the tan colour of his flawless skin. Shaking your head out of it, the ding rang through, and the crowd jumped and cheered louder.

Jungwon was poised, circling around and keeping a distance at first from the dude dressed in a blue tracksuit. You couldn't stop looking, the crowd fading out in your ears.

Then, Jungwon lunged so fast in a single stride, his fist connecting swiftly with the man's ribs that it pushed him back.

The blue man backed up, then struck his first move. The fist flew towards Jungwon in the face, but he only defended, arms brought up vertically before his gaze. The crowd cheered again when Jungwon's posture grew aggressive, eyes sharpening instantly.

One glove hit the blue man's ribs again, the left side, and his other used the distraction to deliver a left hook sharply to his jaw. You gasped as the blue dude staggered backwards, hitting the ropes.

This man, the same dude who worked at a cat café was beating a man up. In a bet. It was as if you went down a rabbit hole and ended up somewhere absurd and nonsensical.

Jungwon didn't end there and used blue dude's foot failure to deliver two sharp blows to his stomach, causing him to double over. Another chance that Jungwon saw—he rained his fists down to the man's nape, then shifted to delivering brusque punches to the side of his face.

Almost as if you could feel the strength put into it. Whatever strength it was, it sent the dude to his knees, head writhing on the floor of the ring.

Even when the cheers erupted louder than before, the only thing floating to the surface was how secretive Jungwon was. He had managed to mask the scars with silly excuses and mishaps—but this?

This was a whole other level of what you expected. And he kept it a secret from you. Why? You couldn't find it in you to claw at the anger; rather, you were just bewildered.

Stepping away from the pillar, you planned to head out and clear your polluted head of the dark lights and dark fight. Even then, you cast one more glance back, and your breath hitched as Jungwon's gaze turned to you, freezing you in place.

His smile faded, just like your knowledge of him from the past few weeks, and he tore off his boxing gloves before hopping down to the musty ground. The crowd gave way as the winners went to get their money, and the losers grew desolate.

For some reason, you remained in place, hoping that whatever he was about to say would eradicate this new view of him. But it was selfish to think that you could just ignore what you saw, to keep this memory in a bubble that you hoped to never pop. Though, it wasn't reality.

With a calculated walk, he approached swiftly but softly locked your fingers together and led you away from the main scene towards a different set of doors, his expression saying absolutely nothing. You let him do so.

The silence once entering the hallway was harsh, almost suffocating. His heavy footsteps broke it as he pulled you along to this door, shoving it open and revealing a simple locker room.

Clean, lit, and well-organised.

Once you were in, he shut and locked the door, his back facing you, as if he didn't know what words to say. Even you, who had a plethora of thoughts and questions, couldn't bring yourself to inquire what kind of shit just went down back there.

Jungwon sighed, leaning on the door on his elbows before turning; his face was shining with sweat, a small bruise on his jaw with golden locks damp and stuck to his forehead. When he saw your perplexity, he quickly glanced away.

It's fine if he didn't want to talk. Your voice was still lost, even whilst he was doing a brief shower in the next room. Sitting on a random bench, you heard the water stop running behind you, the rustle of the metal rings as he pulled the curtain.

This was too intimate, but if you weren't so confused, you would have acknowledged it and allowed to twist your thoughts into a blushing mess.

There had to be something reasonable; a crevice that you missed that contained the reason of his expressive dance of aggression. You fiddled with your dress as he moved behind you, head lowered and desperate to shed light on the answer.

"Y/n..?" His voice rang out behind you, as if the time had finally come to face him. You were silent, unmoving.

The footsteps came around, and suddenly, he was crouching before you, his blonde locks now fluffy, his body donning a black shirt and loose pants, and his hickory eyes stubbornly gazed at you.

It just managed to melt whatever was frozen in your chest and mind. Almost.

Tentative, he held both your hands, careful, but you didn't pull away. You actually missed it. You missed more than that; your gaze flickered to his lips but darted away, sighing.

"Why did you come here—how did you even find this place?" Jungwon began saying softly, squeezing your hand.

"Is that all you're worried about? How about you tell me what this place is?" You remarked, the doubt from before resurfacing like a solid piece of ice to prick your nerves.

Jungwon sighed and held your hands tighter, not wanting to lose whatever connection had you and him tied together. "I will, I just..."

He hesitated. "You weren't supposed to find this place."

"And yet, you're in it. And, so many people are as well. It wasn't hard to follow," you said again quietly, your breaths shaky from containing your bewilderment and apprehension.

What if this was an illegal gambling thing? What if this could get him pulled into a storm with the law if he was found out? Too many risks, and he's so calm about it.

"Okay. I'll explain." He stood from the floor before seating himself beside you, searching for the beginning and the reasons deep in his memory.

"It's underground fighting. They bet on us, yeah, but it's optional. It doesn't make it better, but the reason why I joined is because of the money," he said. Your left hand was in his lap, interlaced with his own fingers, while your gaze remained on the floor.

"You know how I told you I ran away?" He said with hope, to which you nodded slowly. "I needed quick money. Extra, quick money. The cat café wasn't enough, I turned to this. I couldn't stand being a burden, and I still can't."

The more he explained, the more he managed to melt that icy doubt away, soothing it. You listened, eyes flickering to his, which held the shining gratitude for your patience.

It made you realise that he wanted your understanding rather than keeping you in the dark. He took the effort, and you couldn't look away.

"Not only did I learn boxing, I learned how to be in control of my own life. All my life, I was never enough, and it was always shoved in my face. Boxing helped me just... vent. And, not to hurt people — that's not the point. But to finally feel like I was doing something useful to myself and that I wanted to do it for myself. The skills I gain here—they're mine." He held your hand tighter, sensing the relaxation in the way you grasped his hand back.

Jungwon knew yours and his life was different: you had money stuck to your background and present, privilege floating around you like a bubble, whilst he scraped his life, took the token of bravery to get where he was today. He didn't expect you to understand easily, but what he did know was how you radiated empathy.

You held his hand tighter, finally facing his heavy eyes with guilt for having so much bewilderment and judgement hitting at him. "I'm sorry. I just... I was confused."

You didn't expect his soft chuckle, but it gave you the gnawing butterflies all the same, heat creeping up your chest and your neck.

"Don't worry about it. It's my fault for not telling you earlier." Jungwon smiled.

"So, Shadow, the cat wasn't responsible for this one?" You asked, cupping the side of his jaw with a new field of purple and red on his skin. Sheepishly, he grinned again from your reminder of his web of lies.

"No. He wasn't," Jungwon replied with mirth. You tutted.

"You threw him under the bus. I knew he was a sweetheart," you said with a small pout of disbelief. He chuckled, having the strong urge to nibble on your lower lip, but he held back. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. That was my big secret. I blamed the cat for my antics." He leaned in slightly as his grip crept to your waist, hooking around you like a sly snake desiring one thing. The touch made you squeak, your eyes widening slightly.

"I can't believe you're defending the cat so easily..." He mumbled, tugging you closer until your hands gripped his shoulders and your faces were close enough to entice you.

There was an intense mischief in his eyes, ones that sparkled in the way that you loved it, in the way that you couldn't reject.

"The cat didn't keep secrets," you remarked softly, hands sliding around his nape, making him intake a sharp breath before chuckling at the infuriating sass you always hit him with. He tightened the grip on your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back.

"Okay. I got it. No more secrets," Jungwon said, now a breath away from your lips, staring with warmth and a promise that shone heavily in his gaze.

"Promise?" You whispered. Jungwon smirked and nodded.

"Promise," he murmured back before closing the distance between your lips, the softness capturing yours and making your mind blank. No thoughts dared to interrupt you as your lips moved fervently against his.

Jungwon huffed and delved into another, tongue boldly tracing the seam of your lips, crossing whatever boundaries you had set. He hadn't even confessed to you, but friends don't kiss like this.

You don't even like the idea of friends. It left a bitter thought, like a scent lingering after many days. And you grew sick of it.

With a groan, your lips parted and the warmth of his tongue joined yours; your heart pounded, the drums of them raging and bellowing in your ear. It was as if your heart was declaring what you had for Jungwon even if you didn't say it.

He pulled you closer, hands strongly lifting you onto his lap, straddling him only for you to clutch his collar, tilting your face as you kissed him once more, stealing his breath. Jungwon breathing chuckled against your pretty lips, one hand cupping the back of your head, and the other enclosing your waist.

He trapped you in his touch, and you weren't complaining. You felt the heat of his torso against yours, body curving into his like a perfect puzzle.

When he finally departed, he breathed heavily, soft pants exchanged between the two of you. With your forehead against his, Jungwon's gaze met yours again.

Desperate and mellow, wanting to yearn for your trust again, for your touch to soothe the guilt stuck to his nerves.

"No more secrets."

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Over the past month, you and him shared kisses in privacy, going on dates whilst you tailored lies for your parents to wear.

It wasn't like you were embarrassed—no—but your parents had standards of who you dated. If they found out you dated a boxer, someone that worked at a simple cat café, they would certainly freak out and subtly implement more supervision than needed.

And, you didn't need that right now. To be treated like an inept child unable to think for herself.

He understood, and he made sure to make every kiss and touch last longer, to stretch across oceans and make you forget that you were drowning in the tasks of everyday life.

Though, Jay did fully ban you and him after hours in the café after he found you and Jungwon making out in the janitors closet.

"Are you guys homeless, or do you just like making my day worse by doing it at a public place," Jay had said, making you shield yourself with Jungwon and his laughing self.

��━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━

Well, one day...

Jungwon was working, as usual, when these girls nearby gossiped among the feline friends. He slightly paused his work at the counter, pretending to be fussed with his monitor.

"If your man doesn't get you at least, I don't know, a promise ring, is he even in the same relationship?" One girl scoffed as she sat on the floor nearby.

Now, Jungwon wouldn't usually care about such conversations, but his imaginary ears perked anyway: if it wasn't for your birthday coming up, he would ignore them. Except, the idea of getting a gift sent a heavy stone of doubt into his chest. He was too curious now and let his curiosity overtake him in an attempt to soothe the lament anchoring at his ribs.

He inched closer, masking it as a job to dust off one of the pastel counters.

"For real. They have to mean it, and that means getting something expensive," the other girl said with a giggle.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, gripping the cloth a little tighter. Your birthday was soon. And he wanted to make this perfect and worth it. Even if he had to do one more fight to scrape that money.

Jungwon raised a sceptical eyebrow, rubbing down the counter more to get rid of the nonexistent dirt. With your birthday being soon, the only priority was making sure that his gift was weaved with sincerity. But, what was worth that sincerity?

Was it the money? The expenses? Did he need to scrape more cash to prove his love for you through his gift?

To be honest, he wouldn't mind enduring more fights if that meant lighting up your eyes with those stars that always uncovered themselves with any ray of joy.

You were worth all the bruises.

Besides, he didn't want to let his financial situation set a barrier as to what he could do to deliver an adequate present. With what you endured during university, working hard to stay afloat in your studies, you probably craved a moment of respite, a moment in a bubble that was far from reality.

When he got his break, he sat down in the café where it was empty, Shadow curling in his lap as he scrolled online for a 'promise' ring. It couldn't be hard. It also couldn't be that expensive.

He was thoroughly wrong when he stumbled across a decent and dainty ring but immediately tossed his phone on the floor when he observed the string of zeroes and numbers.

Before the decimal point as well.

A puff of air left him, forcing out the lingering cloud of apprehension.

Shadow meowed as if he was judging him, those green eyes blinking up at him. Annoyed, Jungwon frowned and crossed his arms.

"You don't even have fingers. You can't judge me."

Shadow immediately jumped off his lap, making Jungwon's exasperation sunk deeper into his chest. He threw his arms in the air. "I didn't mean it!"

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Jungwon thought long and hard to the point his brain must have burned itself out, his patience being thinner than the strand of hair.

Who knew the stress of gifts would be weighing down on his soul that much. At boxing practice, his hooks were messy, unfocused and he ended up jolting pain up his shoulder.

There wasn't anymore time because your birthday had arrived; the skies were somewhat cloudy, the icy air nipping at his skin and brushing past his golden locks. Jungwon avoided the cold by a black coat and a thick scarf that practically swallowed his face.

"Jungwon!" You squealed from afar, jogging to him with a bounce in your step. He couldn't help but smile, his heart warming as you jumped into his arms, and he spun you around.

Those soft giggles of yours filled his ears, like honey, and he grinned down at you once safely on the concrete.

"Happy birthday, my love," he said with a tilt of his head, finding your sincere joy utterly adorable. He held your waist as you gripped his shoulders.

"Thank you! Nice scarf, by the way," you commented, hand running down the orange and green fabric, the thickness surprising you.

"Thanks. I can't risk catching a cold on my day off," he murmured, kissing you firmly on your temple. That alone sent your heart to beat too fast for your own good, your breath hitching as he did. You could never grow tired of this type of intimacy.

"So, you wanted to take me out?" You began to walk with him down the street in your thick coat. Jungwon nodded.

After he had searched for a promise ring, he found himself meeting dead ends at every corner. It was frustrating, to say the least, but it meant scavenging for a new solution to the gift problem.

"Well, I know you love doing your nails. And, I think they're due for another check-up, right?" He asked as his warm hand hoisted yours to his gaze, firmly clutching yours. Indeed, some nails were chipped away with time.

"Yeah, yeah, I am due. But, you don't need to," you reassured Jungwon earnestly. As if you had said something ridiculous, he scoffed as he focused on the path ahead.

"It's your birthday. Why wouldn't I do your nails. I want to do something meaningful for you," Jungwon explained, his voice soft and layered with endearment.

You clutched his hand tighter, somehow wanting to connect you to him more than you already were. Both hands swung between you and him as the warmth threaded delicately into your chest. "It can get pricey, that's all."

Jungwon stopped walking, and you were pulled back to spot the igniting determination.

"I want to. I know what I want," he said, taking a close step forward to linger over you. "And that's to make you happy."

Flutters erupted in your stomach again, small butterflies freed in the pits of your guts, making a smile tug your lips. He was sweet, so full of personality, and you always saw his kindness in the way it decorated his actions.

How could anyone not like him? You would rather leave that irrelevant question unsolved.

You started walking again, pulling him along with a stupid, giddy smile and intertwined hands.

Jungwon didn't comment on it, letting the internal glee shower you like blossoms.

Watching you at the nail salon was not as boring as he thought it would be. The interior was soft and dim as the nail technician chipped off the older charms, scraping the glue off your nails.

To Jungwon, it looked painful, but you weren't even flinching from any agony. Or, you were really good at hiding it.

Whatever it was, Jungwon didn't complain because he, himself, was enamoured by the way you yapped about your day, something about this girl at university annoying you out of your mind during lectures.

But did Jungwon know the details? No. Did he even pay attention to what the girl said that apparantly ripped you to academic misery? No.

When he had looked at you in that moment, it was as if the sunlight magically appeared, beaming down on you, making your laugh seem like a symphony that soothed his soul, and your mannerisms after each incredulously sentence was oh so endearing. You were like an angel, blinding all his senses with your light. He sat there with his chin propped on his palm, eyes unblinking.

"And, you know I hate team projects—hey, are you listening?" Your voice snapped him out of his daydream. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed.

"Yeah, of course," he murmured as if it was an obvious answer. By the look in his sheepish smile, you knew none of your words actually settled in his mind, and rather, it flew away before he grasped any understanding.

"Really? What was the guy's name?" You asked, challenging him. He rubbed the back of his neck, pouting in concentration.

"Um... Ben—"

"I'm not even talking about a guy! I was talking about Yena! A girl," you whined to him, trying not to move for the technician. Jungwon chuckled and put his hands up in a mock surrender.

"You got me," he said with a smile absent of any guilt. How shameless.

Huffing as you turned away from him, your pout only invited his fingers to playfully poke them, the gesture forcing the heat to stitch into your stomach and chest. You could never get used to this, the butterflies that practically lived inside your guts and sensed your love for him.

Again, you stuck your tongue out, determined to prove that it didn't affect you so much, but you had a hint that he knew what he was doing and he was welding it as a weapon.

After the nail appointment, your stomach was grumbling loudly, needing something digest. Jungwon simply led you down the street, pointing to multiple restaurants.

The nails did do some damage, but he wouldn't mind paying for your food either. Ultimately, you decided on this normal ramen shop, the interior dim and brown, the lighting exuding warmth, and a wave of tranquillity.

"Ugh, I'm starved, Wonie," you said dramatically. Jungwon grinned, gently nudging you by the waist to the booth at the back of the building.

"I know. You must be so tired from sitting there and watching your nails," he murmured playfully, clearly enjoying the way you sent a soft glare to him, one dormant of any aggression.

Well, once the food was ordered, you and him had the chopsticks at a ready, the steam of the food wafting in the air, and a stack of tissues on standby.

"Thank you, Won," you chirped just before your utensils dug into the tteokbeokki. Nothing but pure affection bloomed in his eyes as he smiled again, one with sincerity.

"Anytime."

The dinner was a success with you yapping once more about the food, the nail design which you were utterly grateful for, all inspired by Pinterest. He only nodded and smiled, attentive to your voice as ingrained into the walls of his head.

He would carve your voice into his mind if he had to ever capture your exuberant gesticulations.

It made him think and realise that you probably didn't act like this at home. That you were forced to be demure about your wants and wishes, having to withold your tongue in the depths of your chest.

It was cruel that you couldn't find your voice, like this, to confront your parents; it wasn't just the studies, but it was also the fact that Jungwon was a secret. Someone in the shadows of your life, as if he didn't deserve to be brought into the light.

The thought prickled his composure, tingling his skin, and his grip on the chopsticks tightened as your voice droned on. It was something he didn't want to ask, but it came out before he could decide the rationality.

"Are you... embarrassed of me?" Jungwon stared at you with a stillness that stopped your previous conversation. There was a weight burning in his eyes, small as a spark, but still powerful to evolve into something more.

With a nervous chuckle, you tilted your head at him. "Of course not, Wonie."

He hummed, eyes leaving yours for a second to pick up some of the rice cake; your gaze was still burning into him, trying to dissect what he was implying. And why.

"I see."

"Why would I be embarrassed? You're literally one of the best people in my life," you countered again when his voice dimmed.

Jungwon knew he should understand. There was more to it, but in his head, he wanted to remind you that there were other options other than staying in the confines of your parents' boundaries; you could always trek down a different path, a path paved by your decisions. However, it was easier said than down.

"No. It's just that... I don't buy you luxuries, I barely take you out. I fight, for peace sake," he explained, his voice anchored by his own insecurities. His words alone told you he was secretly sinking in his own reluctance.

Your hand reached out to his, gripping it firmly. "I don't care."

I don't have a big ass job or working a corporate nine-to-five," he went on again, making your heart sting. You held his hand tighter, his eyes flickering to yours.

"I don't care. Really." You attempted a small smile that only made his questions rise deeper from below.

"Then, why keep me a secret?" He asked, rubbing your knuckles softly with the pad of his thumb. The question caught you off guard, your thoughts unsteadily rocking at sea from it.

It was true. Why didn't you? Because, what? You're scared of your parents, friends? Scared they would separate you and Jungwon?

Yeah, it was a valid fear. You don't care that Jungwon doesn't have the most colourful job in the world, but that doesn't mean you were embarrassed of him.

"I just don't want to deal with their shit," you said softly, grip tightening in his as if you tried to convey the weight of your parents on him. Jungwon held your gaze, munching slowly.

"You shouldn't be afraid of them. You're already doing so much for them, the least they can do is let you date," he replied, the tension bolted in his words.

"I'm not scared of them... I just don't want us to be separated. I really like you, Jungwon. I can't lose you," you suddenly rambled on, pouring out the vulnerability you always preserved around him. With his eyes softening, understanding slowly stitched in his gaze.

"I get it. I like you, too. But, I don't you to exhaust yourself by keeping me a secret," he murmured as he glanced back down, something clouding the hope that once stood there.

"I will tell them one day. They're just... on my back with studies and stuff," you explained again, recognising your own words was just a mask of the excuse underneath. Though, Jungwon nodded and smiled with a resigned sigh.

"I know. I don't want you stressed." He held your gaze, blinking with those eyes always void of judgement.

That was one thing you love about him—the undeniable understanding he had with your situation, how you always found a respite, an oasis in his arms. It made you feel as if you could tell him anything.

And, as he said before, no more secrets.

━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━

APPARANTLY, GRADES WEREN'T THE ONLY THING YOUR PARENTS WERE CONCERNED ABOUT.

Having her tug down a dress down your thighs, you kept protesting and frantically questioning her; each time, she hushed your concerns and sewed your complaints shut.

It grew worse when your mother haphazardly did your hair, earning a few agonised protests.

"Mother, what are you doing—"

"Stop moving, Y/n!" She scolded.

Soon enough, you were downstairs and pulled into the lounge. It would have been a normal sight if you didn't see a new set of eyes and faces, all peering at you as if you were the newest thing to be displayed.

Discomfort stitched your chest into a tight space when you saw new sets of faces, eyes all peering curiously over you. There was an elderly man and woman accompanied by a younger dude with pale skin and moles etched under his eye and on his nose.

"Ah—here's my daughter!" Your father exclaimed, putting an arm around your shoulder, hoisting you deeper into this mess. Sending a look of bewilderment to your parents, they completely ignored you.

"She's lovely," the other woman said, patting the younger boy's arm softly but excited.

"Introduce yourself," your mother said with a hinted demand in her tone. You knew better than to question her right now: she had that look where her eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing with glittering expectation.

Clearing your throat and waving slightly, you gathered your voice whilst they all pointed their gaze on you, the stares like needles to your skin.

"I'm Yn. Nice to meet you," You said. The other parents, plus the boy, all grinned at your tone, mistaking the confusion as courtesy.

Again, the other elderly woman nudged the young boy softly to go forward like you did. Once he did, offered a cordial handshake.

"I'm Sunghoon. Nice to meet you, too."

Said Sunghoon was gorgeous, of course. But, that didn't answer the question in the spotlight. It was still very much distracting you. You sent a look of bewilderment to your parents.

"Yn, Sunghoon and his parents have expressed an interest in you."

That made your whole world freeze. All your nerves totally halted in place, your brain chemistry dying down from that single sentence as you stared at her wide-eyed.

Shock shot right through you, stunning all your nerves into ice, even your thoughts. With wide eyes, you stared at your parents as if they had held the gun and triggered the bullet.

What the hell????

...

The dining room lingered with silence except the occasional clink when you absentmindedly stirred the straw in your glass. Gorgeous Sunghoon was poised beside you, drinking. And the parents?

They went to the kitchen as if to let the chemistry blossom between you and him. But, there was nothing but dead roots in place with your patience discreetly withering with it.

It's your parents and their damn noses digging into your love life and rearranging that as well.

Wasn't the studies enough? What were they so worried about? Were you that socially unavailable that you couldn't open your shell to new people? Is that how they saw you?

Then, there was Jungwon, who easily peeled away your barriers, finding the key and treading right into your heart. And, wherever he stepped, flowers bloomed behind him and created a sprightly path of life.

Now? This Sunghoon dude singlehandedly lifted all your walls up into immovable stone.

"Yeah, so that's where I want to work. My father thinks I can take after him in a few years, even though I kind of know everything." Sunghoon took another sip of his glass while you zoned out, circling the straw in your untouched drink.

"So, what about you?" He asked, fully facing you. It startled you for a moment, but you restrained the urge to roll your eyes, and set your cup down.

"I'm still in university, so. I just entered actually." You glanced at him, masking the boredom prickling your internals. Sunghoon smiled, but one filled with curiosity.

"Doing something in healthcare, right?"

Whenever you heard the core word, a single petal died in your head, making it hard to eve keep the composure alive. Even then, you nodded once and distracted your impatience by gripping the cold glass.

He hummed, as if pleased.

"Hard, but rewarding." He set his finished glass down, now leaning on his knuckles, examining your features with interest, as if trying to decipher how you truly felt.

In reality, you would do anything to be with Jungwon and do absolutely nothing because simply orbiting around him would ease all creases of boredem that you had right now. It was quite telling.

The silence stretched on for long, and you know you should have made some small talk, but this whole encounter, quite frankly, pissed you off to no ends, your serenity thinning to a strand.

Honestly, it was a way for him to take the hint that you had no interest to take this further into the future.

Besides, your interests laid elsewhere.

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YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS THE END OF IT, BUT NO. After that awkward day, you were prepared to meet Jungwon in disguise for a 'study session' with your classmates in town when your mother knocked on the door.

Without waiting a response, she barged in with a sly smile that curled your guts into tight knots.

"Sunghoon wants to meet you again!" She exclaimed, coming up to you when she noticed your heavy tote bag. "Where are you going?"

"I told you. The library," you said with a lie, making sure all essentials were packed in.

"You can't! He's coming over as we speak," she said, making you gawk at her as if she had shot another bullet at you.

"Mother—I told you that I'm not free today!"

"It's just studying. You won't be missing anything," she remarked with a hand on her hip, demand layered underneath her tone.

The dread, at this point, had rotted away in your chest, making your protests die in your vocal chords. You just sighed and dropped your bag onto your bed whilst she careened towards your walk-in closet.

The frown tugged at your lips at the thought of putting down a date with Jungwon, who had his day off today out of all days. The universe had other plans to subdue your happiness for some reason. What would you tell him?

Come to think of it, you hadn't told Jungwon of this unexpected courtship. It totally slipped your mind because you thought it was a one-time thing. Now that your mother brought you the news, unease bubbled at the pit of your stomach, as if the topic itself caused nausea.

If you told him about Sunghoon, it would just be messy: telling your boyfriend about the courtship looming over you like a storm cloud was not the best conversation to have. Besides, you are going to fully reject Sunghoon and make sure that this mess doesn't extend any further.

Telling him about Sunghoon would just be messy: who even wanted to break that to their boyfriend that another man was trying to sprout something nonexistent? It was almost laughable. Except, you were going to reject Sunghoon and make it clear that your stone walls would not crumble for him. Meaning... none of this would evolve further.

Your mother returned with multiple hangers, droning on and on about how to impress the family.

When she wasn't looking, you rolled your eyes.

Again, the dinner at the table was mostly held by the chatter of the parents, their boisterous laughter and audacious words about work and business was a enough to lull you to sleep.

Whilst your fork stabbed into a strawberry, Sunghoon sipped his tea once more, his gaze landing on you and attempting to break apart your expression.

"You don't look pleased," he stated quietly, not enough for the parents to hear. A small sigh escaped your lips when thinking of how to approach this without seeming like a brat about it.

"Can I be honest, Sunghoon?" You turned to him slightly. He nodded easily.

"I'm not... interested in taking this further," you admitted, not knowing why apprehension weaved into your chest and made itself clear.

Sunghoon looked away for a moment, maybe to contemplate why, or maybe to decide what to even do with that information. Then, he exhaled a slow breath that gave you no clue as to what emotion was flowing through him.

"I kind of know," he began to say, careful but resigned. You raised an eyebrow.

"I understand." He looked back at you with uncertainty and something else stitched deep within. You held his gaze before speaking.

"It was nice to meet you and all, but i think this will be our last meeting." You glanced back at the fruit salad sitting idly on the table, neglected and growing cold. Sunghoon hummed, nodding once.

Then, the silence rolled in again like a thick fog that prevented any words from rising to your lips. Relieved or anxious—you don't know.

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Jungwon wasn't the type to be suspicious of you. Or anyone, quite frankly. But, when you cancelled last week on the date that was a rain check on your other cancelled date, the insecurity anchored down in the depths of his chest.

There had to be a reason, of course. You couldn't be purposely doing so—you were too smitten, too entangled with his string of fate, and he knew you were in too deep.

So, what was the reason really? When he had asked you what happened, you texted something vague, something indubitably stitched with a secret.

Jay came over as Jungwon leaned back on the boxing ring, slapping a hand on his back, jolting him out of his thoughts. Jungwon cleared his throat.

"What are you thinking so deeply about?" Jay asked, snagging the bandage roll on the platform by his shoulders.

Jungwon could name a few.

"Nothing. Just... thinking." Jungwon crossed his arms despite the stones of doubt lurching at his internals. It was quite damn hard to ignore.

"Thinking. Hm, yeah. I've tried that," Jay mused with amusement, making Jungwon glower at him. Putting up his hands in mock surrender, he said, "hey, I'm just teasing.

"I know. It's just that I... ugh." Jungwon groaned, running a hand through his hair because his uncertainty was too strong, but it was also formed on the basis of nothing. All these negative thoughts formed without foundation, yet they were sky-high and dangerous.

Jay waited patiently for Jungwon to gather himself.

"I just feel insecure, you know?" Jungwon started as Jay bandaged up his wrist with the protective layer.

"About?"

"My girlfriend."

"Oh, good God," Jay said with a roll of his eyes. "What, trouble in paradise?"

Jungwon ignored the comment, even though a punch to Jay's arm was awfully enticing. But, he digressed. "Not really. But, maybe it's just me."

"Talk to me, bro," Jay urged on with his back leaned against the platform. Those words coming from his trusted friend were enough for him to just undo the knot tensing his muscles.

"She blew me off twice. And, I know she's super busy, but we didn't go out on my day off. Was kinda stumped," Jungwon explained with a hard hand through his locks. Jay whistled slightly.

"Well, did she explain why?" Jay asked with a tilt of his head, lurching the bandage roll into the air and catching it methodically.

"Yeah. She said something came up with her family. Twice." Jungwon frowned again, thinking from square one.

"You trust her, right? Like, she won't go running off with another man," Jay said but the younger one caught onto the joke snuck into his tone. Jungwon's ground his teeth together.

"She won't."

"Just making sure before I tell you that your girlfriend probably has her reasons. And, also just talk it out with her if you feel that disturbed by it. Seriously, you haven't even got into the ring," Jay exclaimed, gesticulating to the empty platform behind both of them.

Jungwon sighed again, deciding that the only way to distract his damn thoughts was to fixate on a choreography that was his boxing skills.

Once his boxing gloves were on and Jay wore the punching puds on each hand, he switched his brain off, and strengthened his shoulders, one hand near his face, the other slightly forward.

The sharp punches rang out through the empty room, each jab done with laser concentration. Of course, you lingered in his head with your pretty eyes and easy words, but along with you came the dark rain cloud of doubt, threatening to dampen his focus.

Jungwon went to deliver the punch harder, only for his body to stiffen and not turn. When the punch landed, pain struck up his shoulder like a bite, and he grunted.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Jay said, lowering his raised hands. Jungwon grit his teeth, patting his shoulder with the gloves still intact on his left fist, trying to ignore the crumbling calm.

"Don't ask. I'm having a bad day," he mumbled, leaning back against the sturdy ropes. Jay scoffed.

"Yeah, bet you are. You've been having one of those for days," Jay remarked, ripping off the velcro and dropping the punching pads to the corner. Jungwon watched, gaze wavering between reality and his memories.

The effect you had was magnetic and he didn't know if he liked how his thoughts all drifted to you, your lovely words, the sparkle in your eyes that seemed to fuel his igniting love.

Jungwon leaned over the thick, sturdy ropes, observing the other boxers loitering around the platforms, or having a quiet snack on the benches. One thing that did startled him out of his daze was the door creaking open harshly.

It hit the wall, a bang clattering through, and Jungwon tensed slightly upon seeing a neat and put-together dude. He had black hair, messy and loose like he had not bothered to brush most of it, and had a black shirt with pants.

The slight quirk of his eyebrows as he scanned the room gave the impression that he didn't stumble onto her on purpose. The smug smirk sent Jungwon's composure on another lake of fragility.

Jay stood straight, leaning over the ropes. "Um, are you lost or something? Never seen you around here before."

Said man gazed at Jay, then to Jungwon's prickly scowl before smiling diligently. He waved a hand in dismissal.

"I'm okay. I know where I am, but you're right about me never being around here before," he began to say, his voice deep, lingering in the air sharply.

"Can I ask why you're here? You don't look... appropriately dressed," Jungwon said with a tilt of his head.

"Doesn't mean I'm oblivious in my destinations. I can still grapple just as efficiently in trousers and a shirt." He grinned at Jungwon, making the mental tightrope tremble more.

This dude gave him an overwhelming wave of off intuition.

"I hardly believe that." Jungwon fired back, making some of the people on the room silence, and for Jay to give subtle jabs of warning through his narrowed eyes. Though, Jungwon was blind and could not see anything except the handsome man on a black attire that only seemed too inappropriately dressed for boxing.

The man smiled, but it was unsettling, like there was something locked away, concealed. He walked up to the platform Jungwon was stood on and tilted his head.

"You wanna bet?"

Jungwon instantly had all his composure and logic fly out the window and melt as he furrowed his brows. This dude had the audacity to challenge him, to question the strength of his skills that he built brick by brick.

Leaning over the sturdy strings, he glared down at the said dude. "Yeah. Bet."

That's how Jungwon found himself opposite the smartly-dressed dude wearing boxing gloves. It was infuriating. Not only was he wearing trousers, not even fit to stretch for comfort, but he was wearing shiny, smart shoes.

The type that glared when the light hit them, and they were slightly pointy. How ugly was that. Jungwon scowled deeper, the bitterness twisting in sharply, making him get into the stance.

"I'm Sunghoon, by the way," the man said as he circled around the opposite side. Jay watched cautiously from one of the empty corners. Jungwon didn't give two shits and scoffed.

"I don't care," he said before circling closer, swiftly and with impatience tainting his movements. He lunged forward on his left, right, then jabbed with both hands.

Sunghoon defended, bringing both hands up to cover his face. He grit his teeth before seeing the oppurtunity, and delivered an upper hook to Jungwon's stomach.

A small grunt left him, but he knew it wasn't hard. Recovering from the slight ache clutching his skin, Jungwon recoiled back a few steps.

What was wrong with him? His movements weren't usually so sloppy, and he could normally predict the next moves and construct a defense, a response before it even played out.

Now? Oh, now his skills felt shadowed. Out of the light, and it peeved him greatly.

Sunghoon circled again, assessing and scanning Jungwon head to toe, as if he possessed the same ability to predict his punches. How? To Jungwon, his skills couldn't be mirrored.

Maybe he was really having a bad day.

Narrowing his gaze, Jungwon huffed a breath and lunged forward. A dance from his left, right, left again and jabbing with force.

Sunghoon scowled, shifting to his left. The oppurtunity shined to him and Jungwon delivered a rounded and swift hook to Sunghoon's jaw, making him stumble back.

He couldn't help the satisfaction swarm his ego, but he didn't want to let it get to his head before the match was over, though.

Fire flamed in Sunghoon's gaze. Before he knew it, Sunghoon side-stepped quickly, deceiving Jungwon as he shifted from his right to the left. Not being able to keep up, Jungwon stumbled back when a harsh ache rippled through his right side.

Gritting his teeth to avoid the bubbling anger, he went to strike when Jay appeared, intervening with a stern glance. "That's enough."

Jungwon and Sunghoon panted slightly, recovering from the brief match that probably lasted a minute. Jungwon wouldn't mind if he had 5 more minutes to beat the ego and shit out of this cocky, rich dude.

Someone needed to knock that smugness off his high horse.

"Jay hyung, what gives?" Jungwon muttered with a flicker of frustration. Jay scoffed and crossed his arms, still standing defensively between the two.

"First of all, this dude isn't dressed properly," Jay said, nudging a thumb in Sunghoon's direction, who was ripping the velcro off the gloves. "And second, you haven't been having the best streak of practice."

Jungwon's ears flamed alight, the embarrassment from all his inept punches and techniques catching up to him. He didn't want to think about it, but when he did, the anger crashed down like merciless hail.

Just everywhere and undeniably jarring.

"I don't care. He wanted a match, I was about to give him one," Jungwon snapped at his best friend, who already had disbelief stitched into the lines of his face.

Sunghoon scoffed, shoving the gloves off to the floor, facing Jungwon. "It wasn't like you were winning."

"Oh, yeah? Let's finish the match right now—"

Jay intercepted, putting a hand on Jungwon's shoulder before his ferocity could act out. With a firm glare, Jay spoke. "Don't. We're not finishing anything. You need to calm down, even you, shiny shoe dude."

Sunghoon shrugged, not minding the weird name.

Jungwon slumped his shoulders, the anger gripping his head with thick claws, making it impossible to even think without glaring. He just hard the desperate urge to pummel his face until it was bleeding, until his own arm cramped.

Jay sighed and pushed Jungwon softly in an attempt to get him away from that pit of anger he was falling into. "Go, Jungwon."

He would have followed his hyung's orders had it not been for that imperceptible smirk curled at Sunghoon's lips. It made him look weak, as if he let Sunghoon run past the finishing line, when Jungwon hadn't even unleashed his full potential.

For what reason Jungwon felt so pertubed, he had no idea. Maybe it was because this Sunghoon dude was everything he was not. Money seemed to exude off him like his own personal scent, whilst Jungwon had cat hair clung to his trousers.

Ripping off the damn punching gloves, he discarded them before shoving past Jay to jab a finger at Sunghoon. "You think you won this?"

Sunghoon simply smirked, tilting his head with hands tucked into his pockets. "I don't need to say it, do I?"

"Nothing has been proved. Come back here this Friday, and then you can 'prove' yourself before an audience," Jungwon muttered with stones of hatred embedded in his tone. Sunghoon just scanned, unmoving.

Then, he sighed and nodded dismissively. "Fine. This Friday. I want to make it fair."

No words came to mind as he saw Sunghoon manoeuvring himself to the ground and dust his hands as if it was an easy task. But, to Jungwon, there was a stronger flame engulfing his thoughts and nerves, blinding him in the rage.

Jay, to say the least, was not impressed.

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The Tuesday was slow and, surprisingly, peaceful. Classes moved at a snail pace, lectures lasted for miles, and the only thing that kept you energised was the fact that Jungwon proposed to take you out today to a café.

One that he randomly found on tiktok and sent to you at midnight like the impulsive nocturnal he was. But, you weren't any better because you also lived as the night owl in your home.

The night held a different serenity. The silence was the constant melody that accompanied you in the late hours of night no matter how unhealthy it made your sleep schedule.

Refraining a yawn, the lecturer soon ended the class, and you packed everything up swiftly to get out of there. Three hours of that was enough to make a crack in your mindspace.

Today was going to be good—going to eat out with your boyfriend, share stories and secret jokes that tightened your bond even more.

Pushing past the glass doors, you descended the stairs and saw the familiar, black car with a familiar figure leaning on the door. A smile instantly appeared on your lips when you saw Jungwon looking cosy in his black hoodie and pants, his blonde hair reaching past his ears to form a messy style of a mullet.

"Won!" You exclaimed, jogging to him as he smirked at you, arms opening with an immediate welcome. Crashing into his arms, you engulfed him with your cheek on his warm chest. A minty scent pervaded from his neck, and you nudged your nose at him with a satisfied hum.

"You smell good," you commented, peering up at him. He chuckled with mirth before pinching your cheek.

"For my girl, of course," he said as you whined in feigned pain, swatting his hand away. Eventually, his sneaky hands glided around your waist and settled there, like home.

"What's the first thing on the agenda?" You asked excitedly. Jungwon pretended to ponder, eyes leaving yours as if to recapture his memories before returning to yours.

"Food, food, and more food." He lowered his lips and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. The warmth travelled up your neck and cheeks, fully rendering you to his merciless affection.

"Perfect plan," you said with a nod.

"Of course it is, I planned it," he remarked, squeezing your waist a little before hauling you with him to the car. You laughed, holding onto his shoulders.

"I can walk, you know?" You giggled as he spun you around and firmly pinned you to the passenger door, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

"It's fine to carry you. You're like my personal accessory. I wish I could carry you in my pocket," he said, leaning in with words becoming closer and more intimate.

At his comment, you shook your head with an amused scoff. "Says you. Everything you do is cute. I want to put you in my pocket."

Acting offended, he put a heart to his chest as he tilted his head with a silly smirk gracing his lips. "You wound me, princess."

You and him shared laughter for a few seconds before he saw the light die out in your eyes, your gaze darting behind him, and your grin crumbled.

Jungwon, the ever curious one, did the same and squeezed your waist in worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked carefully as your gaze flickered back to him with newfound worry rising to the surface.

"I..."

You couldn't say anything, and with slight impatient curiosity, Jungwon turned over his shoulder, wondering what had gotten you all flustered like that.

It wasn't the sight he wanted to see, though: walking towards you and him with deliberate ease was Sunghoon, his crisp white shirt underneath his black blazer standing out in the somewhat empty street.

Even those damn shoes tapped like a death knell approaching you and him. Jungwon's gaze darkened, the previous jokes and humour vanishing in a flash, as if the rage he stored away had burned it all.

This dude must be following Jungwon. Of course. Why else would this dude have any speck of audacity to confront you and him like this? The urge to deliver a clean punch with just his knuckles was strong, the instinct like gravity.

The thing is, Sunghoon wasn't even looking at Jungwon with surprise—he was looking at you, as if he had discovered something odd and strange.

You shifted uncomfortably in his arms, leaning off the car and untangling yourself from him slightly, apprehension laced in your actions.

"Y/n, what are you—" Jungwon tried to mumble when Sunghoon called your name like old friends or something. The initial shock was a whip to his thoughts.

"It's funny meeting you here..." Sunghoon finally came within distance, smiling dangerously as he glanced at you, then Jungwon. Jungwon knew that he was commenting some kind of dots, that there was a clockwork of thoughts chiming inside that asshole's head.

Protective, Jungwon stepped forward. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

From the side, he could sense your confused glances between the two of them. Sunghoon simply tilted his head, jerking his head to you in a gesture.

"I was going to pick Y/n up," he replied easily, hands snug in his pockets. There it was again—another strike of confusion forming on the skin of his thoughts. Sunghoon knew your damn name.

"How the hell do you know her name?"

This time, Sunghoon gave an amused look before speaking.

"Well... this is truly funny," Sunghoon said with a slight scoff before darting his eyes to you, as if he had caught you in a web of acts. You quickly glanced away to Jungwon, who was blinking away.

But, Jungwon wasn't satisfied, his questions pricking him as he turned to you and Sunghoon.

"What the fuck is going on?" Jungwon muttered, impatience dappling his tone, and you could clearly see it.

Sunghoon chuckled and stepped towards your stiff stature, jabbing a thumb in your direction. "She hasn't told you?"

Now, the impatience was slowly burning his composure right on the spot. He grit his teeth, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

A sigh escaped your lips, full of more worry of how to untangle this situation because it looks so wrong. Jungwon glanced to you, trying to soften his gaze.

"What haven't you told me?" He asked, taking a step closer to you with somewhat desperation. You know you couldn't hide it anymore. Not when Sunghoon decided to shove you right into the fire.

And, it wasn't fair to him either—to hide the secret that was Sunghoon and his courtship. Gulping hard, you glanced at Jungwon.

"... My parents wanted... they did this a few weeks ago. They wanted to set me up," you began saying, your voice barely fighting past the guilt. Jungwon narrowed his gaze.

"A few—do you mean two weeks ago?" He interjected with his body bolting with tension in every joint, thinking of those times you blew him off for those dates.

The panic seized your nerves, and you quickly stepped to him. "Yes, but I literally decided that I didn't want to do this! So, I don't know why Sunghoon is even here."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow as it was all turned on him, staring at you as if he was calculating something before a glint shone through his eyes. You didn't want to find out why.

"Don't tell me... this is your secret boyfriend. And you haven't told your parents?" He scoffed, smiling with those menacing fangs peeking through. The doubt fully cracked Jungwon's composure now, the insecurities of the past few weeks rising to the ground and wringing around his ankles.

"That's not the point. I asked why you are here?" You interjected quickly with somewhat impatience as you glared up at him. Sunghoon just grinned.

"I wanted another chance to explain to you why our parents think we're a good match. But, I no longer think I need to be the one explaining," Sunghoon answered slyly.

Jungwon looked down, breathing slowly through his nose before staring at Sunghoon, thinking of so many things to say to this asshole, and to you.

"And, I'm not the only one who needs an explanation," Sunghoon added on as he looked to the brooding Jungwon, as if he recognised him. That's where your confusion sprouted.

"How do you...?"

"Boxing. The other day, we had a somewhat pleasant match, but we couldn't 'prove' ourselves," Sunghoon answered quickly, and neither you and Jungwon missed the smug tone buried beneath it. He clenched his fists tighter.

"I didn't know that." You glanced at Sunghoon, but he just let out a huff of amusement.

"I didn't know this either. But, hey, we all got secrets, don't we." Sunghoon crossed his arms, the mirth pricking all his words and the way he stood and gave you the same look. His words stung you, the hypocrisy in your own actions swinging back at you as you tried to divert the topic.

"I told you we wouldn't work out," you exclaimed in distress. Jungwon didn't understand how deep you and this dude went, but he knew for sure, that he disliked it deeply. He stared at you now.

Sunghoon dismissively waved his hand, fueling your irritation and desperation more. You huffed, running a hand through your hair before firmly turning to the taller male.

"Sunghoon. Leave. Please." You uttered the last bit with a prickle if desperation, observing how his resolve crumbled. He shrugged, giving one last look to you before narrowing his gaze at Jungwon.

Then, he sauntered away.

The silence between you and him could have measured mountains as you shifted on your feet, too apprehensive to even meet your boyfriend's eyes. Even from here, you could sense the questions he wanted to press.

"I... I can explain—" You tried to say, but Jungwon whirled around, lips pursed, shoulders tight as much as his jaw. You realised the delicacy of his mind right now, the trust dimming in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't you tell me? What...?" Jungwon groaned quietly, running both palms down his face in an attempt to rub off the exasperation in his features. You stepped forward, your thoughts jumbled in a mess.

"I... I didn't think it was important," you uttered, to which he scoffed now, hands by his side.

"You didn't think that it was important to tell me someone was courting you? That your family set you up? You know what?" Jungwon shook his head, eyes darting frantically as he crossed his arms in disbelief. "That's not the point. You could have taken the chance to tell them you're already dating someone."

Here it was again—the idea of pulling back the curtains to expose Jungwon to your parents. "Jungwon, I can't do that!"

"Why?" Jungwon snapped back in a way that shocked you. But, he didn't care. He stepped forward, putting a hand on his chest when you didn't reply.

"I know why," he began saying before adding on, "You're embarrassed of me."

Shock and denial mirrored in your own gaze whe you shook your head. Jungwon found it hard to believe anything else.

What other reason was there to hide the love blossoming between you and him, the unique petals that grew from the seed of your bond? No one else could replicate it the way you and him have. Yet, here you were, putting him deeper past the curtains into isolation.

The thought brought small shards of doubt and hurt to prick his nerves, to make his stomach tighten until he felt sick.

"I'm not embarrassed, Jungwon—"

"Then, why won't you tell them? Huh? To protect me?" Jungwon almost could laugh as he shook his head again, the denial and pain clashing together in a fight he couldn't predict.

The first fight he couldn't predict.

"No, you did this shit to protect yourself!"

You involuntarily flinched at the harshness in his words, but with your voice seemingly lost, Jungwon went on.

"Why do you let them do this to you? I get it—they want what's best for you, but do they get a decision in every part of your life? Over me?" Jungwon asked again, some of his voice losing its edge, but the anger was undeniably shadowing it. Your frown weighed deeper.

"I don't want to lose you. If my parents find out—"

"I don't give a shit about your parents. If it's us, then you should believe in that!"

Anger engulfed, suffocated you like a thick fog, forcing your thoughts and words so quickly that you didn't process your next remark.

"Of course you would say that when you ran away from yours."

The silence stilled him again as your words physically twisted his chest. He could almost spot the regret quickly forging in your eyes, but he was fixated on one thing.

When he told you his past, he told you that in complete confidence, to let his own anguish be lifted off his shoulders. He didn't expect it to be made into a weapon of steel that left him speechless and bewildered. No matter how much anger was brewing in him, the aftertaste of hurt lingered bitterly.

He stepped back, and you shakily stepped forward, remorse flooding your eyes and extinguishing that irritation. Though, Jungwon didn't want to hear it.

"J-Jungwon, I didn't mean that—"

He didn't listen, stepping back with a lump caught in his throat, his head on the verge of erupting. It was too warm, too suffocating despite being outside in the chilly weather. Heck, he wasn't even looking at you.

Yes, he left his parents because their control was like enduring constant stabs to his sanity. If he stayed any more, he would have been a shell of himself, a body with no soul to move him forward. Thinking of home now, he didn't want to retrace those footsteps.

His eyes met your teary ones, acknowledging the guilt beginning to ripen. His own breaths quivered but he forced himself to speak.

"I did. Yeah. But because they controlled me. You think I don't know controlling parents? I do. But I did something about it. It's about time you did as well. Stop latching on to everything they give you." He was breathless by the end of it but the message was firm and unmoving in his gaze.

It forced a shudder to pervade your body, the guilt growing like a toxic plant that only you were to be blamed for. Another step forward, but you flinched as Jungwon put a hand up to prevent anything else.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as he backed away, the agony storming in his eyes, the way he clenched his jaw a little tighter. You couldn't stop him.

You didn't want to stop him because deep down, you knew how he had wrung out the truth and found the seeds of reason as to why you kept him hidden.

It was your fault.

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THREE DAYS.

That's how long the silence stretched on for. And it was killing you. The more you sat and thought about his points, his anger, the more valid you found it to be.

How could you? The realisation struck deeper than any blade could, making you want to just scream and rewind the clock.

But, you couldn't, and you had no idea how to start off the conversation when you had offended him and practically watered his insecurity into a full-fledged plant.

University was rough, and on this fateful Friday morning, you gave in to the sickness plauging your mind and stayed in bed. Your mother didn't question it, but you know she would mumble about it later under her breath, and then depend on the wind to mask it.

When you had finally dressed into something more casual and washed up, you stared down at your phone, the reflection speaking to you in more ways than one.

Not only did you keep him hidden, but you also used his past against him. Whatever indignation you had at that moment crumbled like sand. You had no reason, no justification for the way you turned on him—and for what? To fabricate your own flawed actions? The look in his eyes pummelled you with stones.

Not telling your parents was a weak wall you had built to save yourself from lectures, from the disapproval that would have grown from telling them. But, you knew it wasn't worth the guilt that had blossomed in its place.

If you really thought about it, his insecurities had risen to the surface many times, chilling the conversations into awkwardness, and instead of melting away those internal problems, you just allowed it to freeze something unknown in the relationship.

You should have asked him how to solve this problem. Not how it would affect you: after all, two people make a relationship tick in perfect clockwork, and you only thought about yourself.

You groaned to yourself quietly, facing your ceiling now as you flopped back on your pillows, the stinging remorse burning your chest until tears rose to your eyes. It wouldn't do. The iciness would prevail unless you went out yourself to find him and his warmth.

A knock came on the door, and you lifted your head when your mother came in with some water and tea steaming up from a cup, all placed on a wooden tray.

Discreetly, you wiped your tears as she settled down the tray on your bedside table, sighing slightly. "Do you feel better?"

"Somewhat. Thanks." You took the cup of tea, the sweet scent and steam hitting your nose. When the liquid warmed your throat, it reminded you of the chill remaining in your bones.

She straightened, crossed her arms calculatingly. You didn't like how she was standing so you sipped your tea again.

"By the way..." she began saying as she sat on your bed. "Have you talked to Sunghoon? I still haven't been updated on whether or not you like him. He seems quite interested in you."

That name nearly made your eyes roll. Sunghoon—the dude that secretly boxed and then had the audacity to seek you out after purposely breaking the boundaries. He didn't seem to care.

Not only that, but the distaste he practically struck at Jungwon was clear from the way his narrowed gaze and smug smirk had appeared. It infuriated you, as if Jungwon was something beneath his shoe.

You shook your head, holding your cup tighter. "I don't like him. I thought Sunghoon said that."

"He didn't though. And why do you not like him? He comes from a respectable family?" She asked again and again.

The words almost made you cringe, the irony on them clashing in your head. Respectable? More like arrogant.

"He's not my type." You huffed, and your mother narrowed her gaze.

"Then, what is your type? It just seems like an excuse," she accused again, the slight sharpness cutting into her tone.

Instantly, you thought of Jungwon: he had those big, brown eyes, and they held galaxies within them whenever he was with you, when he took care of the cats at the café. His blonde fluffy hair and the small giggles he would let out that had the ability to draw you away from reality and replay it like a melody you desired to hear for centuries.

Most importantly, his support and understanding. Things he easily practised and sculpted with no trouble. He was so selfless.

And you failed to realise that.

Realising your mother was still awaiting an answer, the urge to just go find Jungwon grew. But, you want to make things right if you were to ever make you and him right.

"Mother. I don't. Like. Him." You sighed, putting the cup down onto the bedside table. She sighed, rubbing a hand to her temple, as if you had broken a valuable item.

"Why?"

"Because I just... don't," you said again, standing up as you went to your vanity, needing physical space before you lashed out.

Jungwon's name crept up your stomach, your chest and his presence swarmed your system. Your mother stood as well.

"That's not a reason, Y/n," she remarked back. And, you realised you had gotten her argumentative tendencies, hearing a lot of yourself.

You faced her again, Jungwon's warm presence once again wrapping around every thought in your mind, locking into each corner of your head.

"I just don't want him—"

"Are you serious? He's smart and respectable, and he would take care of you." She started listing off.

But, he wasn't like Jungwon.

"He's even secure, he would listen to you."

Not like Jungwon.

"And, I don't understand why you're holding back when I'm trying to help you—"

Your composure shattered as you snapped your eyes to her.

"Because I already have a boyfriend!"

You stood there, shoulders and body tense as your mother's face morphed from disbelief and shock to some kind of frustration that hardened instantly.

The silence was a heavy blanket, suffocating you instantly as you shifted on your feet. Then, your mother stepped forward once.

"You already have one?" She said quietly, her tone bruising. You lost your voice in that moment, so you just nodded once.

"Who? And why wouldn't you tell me?" She snapped again, making that familiar irritation grow in your chest.

"... I... I met him at a café."

"And? Who is he? Does he have a well job—"

"He works at the café." You corrected her, your voice dimming slightly as her eyes widened. You thought her damn eyeballs would fall out of their sockets.

"Works at a café? Y/n, what were you thinking?" She exclaimed.

"I'm thinking that this is a nice guy. And I really like him," you began saying, your arms falling to your sides, meeting her gaze with truth.

Jungwon had managed to leave a permanent print on you, a print full of colours and sweetness, of vibrant fun to light up your world.

"And, I don't care that he works at a café. He treats me so well, and he might not have a degree like you want people to, but I don't care," you explained with sincerity.

Your mother nearly gasped, running a hand over her temple again with stiffness. "He doesn't have a degree? Are you even thinking of your future?"

"I am! He would treat me well in the future! I'm not a child! I know who he is," you exclaimed again, voice rising against her own condescension, her oncoming tide of a lecture. She narrowed her gaze.

"I... I can't believe it." She touched her forehead again as if you had inflicted a disease on her. You grit your teeth, deciding it was enough.

On absolute impulse, you stormed to your bag and snatched it before walking right past her. She scurried after you, eyes threaded with clamouring alarm.

Y/n—"

Completely ignoring her, you walked right out of the house whilst she trailed after you with countless protests.

But no more would she control you or dictate that part of your life. She can't dictate your heart and bend it to her will. Jungwon already had it, and it was his to cherish.

You practically jogged down the street and realised she stopped chasing but you were moving, and found yourself ordering a taxi and speeding away. There could only be one place that Jungwon could be that you could think of.

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The cate café was still lit up by the time you were there, and you wasted no time in entering and rushing into the space. As you put the slippers on, you slid open the door to find the flurry of cats wandering about.

The sight would have calmed you if Jungwon wasn't on your mind. Without batting an eye, you strolled up to the counter to see Jay working on the till, tapping something. When he saw you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you," he said with a slight smile. No doubt he's probably heard what happened between you and Jungwon, the pure selfishness you expressed.

Clearing your throat, you glanced up. "Is Jungwon here?"

Jay gave you a resigned look, shoulders slumping in a way that made your heart twist with dread.

"He asked me to cover for him." Jay sighed, something flashing through his gaze. You caught onto it, staring unmovingly until the desperation made you lean onto the counter.

"Do you know where he is. I need to talk to him." You blinked at Jay as he shifted in his place, eyes darting to and fro as if watching his thoughts run and crash into each other. "Please."

Jay glimpsed at your eager expression, and sighed. But, he nodded, which meant it worked.

"He's... he's at a boxing match," Jay finally said. Your heart leapt, too many thoughts rising. The guilt had released its poison again, making your eyes shut to recover.

A boxing match. With an audience, probably. You can't just wait for him. You were about to thank him when Jay interjected again.

"He has a match with this guy. This new, rich guy. It was a bet," he said, making the description describe Sunghoon perfectly from those brief words.

Then, the worry took its new place in your thoughts, floating thickly, chilling your body. He was fighting Sunghoon? No, no, no. Not that you minded Sunghoon getting beat up, but you don't want him to see Sunghoon and then have his insecurities jab at him again.

"You have to take me," you burst out again, holding the counter tightly. Jay hesitated before glancing at the clock. A few seconds later, he shrugged.

"Yeah, fuck it. Only an hour left of the shift," he muttered before flinging off his apron. "Help me close up."

With rushed actions, you helped Jay out with the cats, closing up the shop and then hopping into his car as he drove deeper into town. All the while, your hands twiddled over each other in your lap as you tried to think of what to say to Jungwon.

He was worth everythin —worth every lecture and look of disapproval. After all, this was your life, and, for once, you wanted to hold the pen and write down what you wanted.

The early evening sky approached over Seoul, light rekindling to the lamps on the roads and pavements. The closer you got to your destination, the more your urge grew to just jump out the car and run there yourself.

Jay would have joked about your state, but you seemed genuinely distressed and didn't comment on it as he steered into the next road.

Once parked, you and Jay got out, the darkness casting shadows over the narrow alleyway. Jay didn't stutter with directions as he led you down the path and back into the familiar alleyway.

You didn't question it, too eager to reach Jungwon and pour out your apologies for everything you had done.

Once reaching the dark doors, it was as if you were walking into a void from how absent the light was. Hesitating slightly, you pushed through it, the determination rising again.

When you walked forward a little too quickly, you bumped into Jay's back as he yelped.

"Sorry," you mumbled. He waved it off, even though you didn't see it, and helped you into the open light of the normal boxing ring, the slightly flickering lights, and the emptiness that surrounded it.

Just like before, you and him went down that dim corridor until reaching the thick metal door. Jay was the one to push it and let out the roar of cheers and encouragement.

The room was just the same as before, but this time, it was busier, it had more seats and tables filled with drinks and plastic cups, the shop-bought lights blaring brightly at the one platform that had two men fighting on it.

People clustered around the platform, cursing or cheering, a concoction of both that truly displayed the violence they were eager to bet on.

Jay led you in, and then turned his head a few times, but grew defeated. Leaning in close to you, he said, "I'll look for Jungwon in the locker room. You stay here in case you see him."

Agreeing to that plan, you let Jay go to be left alone with the crowd and your potential regret.

You were making a thousand different strategies to apologise, and even then, you couldn't even create a clear path of that. Everything was too disorderly.

You should have written a damn letter on why you were a terrible girlfriend.

When the cheers reached a peak, you glanced up to see one of the men, the black hair, blue jacket, and sharp nose. You nearly gawked as you saw Sunghoon triumphantly raise his arm in victory.

The host gestured for someone to drag the other dude off the platform, and the unease that surrounded Sunghoon was now too much to ignore. The smugness in his face was persistent as ever, soiling your memories and comfort towards him.

"The new guy has won two fights so far!" The host exclaimed, earning another nonchalant smirk from Sunghoon.

For some reason, this felt too horrid. As if Sunghoon's smile was purely because of the abrasive hits he had managed to get down, to almost build a ladder that his ego could climb and never come down from. It was purely a reach for dominance and internal power. It made you sick.

You gripped the pillar tighter, watching as Sunghoon scnneded the crowd before the host started grinning again.

"And so, for the next round, we have one of our best fighters attending! Let's see if our new guy can beat him. You know what they say—the third time is the lucky charm!" He exclaimed into the mic, and the crowd erupted again into ferocious cheers that forced your heart to pump faster.

You didn't like those words, the anticipation it had leaking into your veins like ice. As you watched closely, the host moved, and the people whistled and cheered again as a familiar blonde hopped onto the stage with big, white gloves.

When you saw the blonde locks, no doubt you knew it was Jungwon, and you were right. It was him, but there was a tightness in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw and the burrowed eyebrows. Even his brown eyes held a black hole there instead of a million stars.

You don't know whether it's because your relationship had smashed to the ground, or if Sunghoon's face was a clear target that provoked him. Or both. It was rational in a way.

But the sight of him tugged on your heart. The sharp gaze made your heart flutter in the midst of all of this coldness. As if your silly heart still managed to find a way to be drawn to his warmth and grow alive again.

The urge to stop him and just kiss him right there was a good idea if only you didn't have social anxiety and if you had already talked to him. Which you didn't.

The host grinned again, sly. "A juicy bet, this one. Remember to put your money in! And then, the fight can commence!"

People shifted and manoeuvred, but all you could focus on was the heavy steps Jungwon did as he circled around, Sunghoon doing the same as they kept their distance. Arrogance was a badge that Sunghoon wore visibly, the smirk living on his lips whilst a frown prevailed on Jungwon's.

The crowd thickened again, and you didn't realise people joining and entering, but you knew there was no way of getting to the front unless you wanted to become the people's personal rug. You kept to the pillar, leaning on it.

"Okay! Is everyone ready for the next fight?"

The crowd basically yelled in response, some not even speaking, just screaming. The host laughed and then gestured something. Sunghoon and Jungwon came to the centre and bumped fists. Jungwon's jaw ticked even more.

The host grinned and moved back out of the ring before a sudden bell went off. You held your breath.

Sunghoon lunged first with a bold jab which Jungwon defended, lifting both arms vertically to display his veiny arms.

There you go again, staring at something irrelevant like a new teenager. As if he wasn't your boyfriend.

When Sunghoon rained down on the jabs at his defensive arms, Jungwon slid to the right and delivered a hook to pummel his ribs, and then delivering an uppercut to his jaw that sent the crowd in a blaze of excitement.

Sunghoon recoiled and recovered in an instant and backed away, circling from the attack. Jungwon, however, he was tracking him, following his footsteps, a sudden fire igniting within when he hunched his shoulders and got into stance again.

Sunghoon sneered and, once again, lunged with a ferocious uppercut to Jungwon's stomach, and he kept going at it.

You gasped, straightening as you saw Jungwon's face contort in pain, but he used that oppurtunity to rain down punches on Sunghoon's nape and shoulders, delivering three sharp ones before Sunghoon faltered and moved away.

There was a slight slither of satisfaction in your stiff body, and you stepped closer for a better look, the lights from above hitting your eyes.

This time, the crowd almost gave a collected groan and laugh, as if they were mocking Sunghoon. It seemed to egg him on as he straightened, glaring at Jungwon as he circled about again like two opposing lions in a battle.

You saw Sunghoon say something to Jungwon, something that made Jungwon's composure break as he suddenly charged forward.

The crowd gasped and roared in exhilaration as Jungwon jabbed at Sunghoon's torso, unhinged and unrestrained. Sunghoon brought his weight to his left, then swiftly to his right.

Jungwon wasn't ready for it and stumbled back harshly when Sunghoon delivered a hook to his back and a jab to his side.

Your breath hitched, eyes trained on a retreating Jungwon, taking his eyes off Sunghoon to the crowd, towards you.

When your gazes met, electricity shot through you, making you straighten your posture. You wanted to tell him so much, but he was the first to look away when Sunghoon slowly approached again.

The brief eye contact left you hollow, empty, and your shoulders deflated slightly.

Jungwon watched closely, a newfound thought clouding his eyes when Sunghoon smirked again, fists close to his face.

The crowd was too loud, his body stiff and tired, and his mind burned in exasperation. Jungwon grit his teeth and let Sunghoon shift from foot to foot, getting closer.

When he was close enough, Jungwon stepped on his right and pivoted, ultimately turning his back onto him first, but his elbow collided with Sunghoon's side.

He grumbled, but Jungwon didn't let him recover from the stumble as he let furious punches spitfire at Sunghoon, right at his ribs and side.

He didn't know if he breathed, he didn't know if pain tinged at his knuckles and shoulders, he just hailed down on the hits until Sunghoon stumbled back, tripping over his own feet.

Even with Sunghoon on the ground with his arms vertically up before his face, Jungwon took the chance to stand atop him, aiming the damn punches at Sunghoon's stomach.

Sunghoon groaned in pain, squirming away, and even attempted a shot at getting back at Jungwon, but he only took the oppurtunity to deliver a sharp hook to his jaw.

The people around the platform practically broke into another roar, supporting Jungwon's newfound violence. For some reason, he kept punching, practically raining punched on Sunghoon's face until his hands weakly rested atop his head and when the bell went off.

Sunghoon was on the ground for too long, and the crowd all jeered and yelled in dispute or celebration.

Jungwon stood, not bothering to help Sunghoon up as he glanced up and saw you again, your eyes wide, desperate and sparkling like it always did. The adrenaline kept his thoughts running, so he turned away and got off the platform.

That made you walk. He can't leave you there. Your chest was too tight and holding too much to just suppress back into your head and bury away.

Remembering that locker room again, you retraced your steps as you walked around the crowd, rushing into the familiar grey hallway, pushing past the doors.

You saw the way he best Sunghoon. As if he was reassuring himself of something, something to prove. But he shouldn't need to prove anything to anyone, especially not to you.

You let your own fear control your love life, play you like a helpless puppet, and ultimately drain Jungwon of the love he deserved.

Once approaching the familiar locker doors, you flinched when Jay was the one to open it, eyes almost holding an epiphany.

"Jay..." you said breathlessly. He rubbed the back of his head.

"He came in here just now. In the shower," he said, stepping out into the hallway before you. Normally, the thought of him showering would be too intimate, but you were more eager to fix the cracks in the very trust you had broken

"Thank you, Jay."

You didn't wait for a response before bursting into the room, the small locker room empty except the shower running in the adjacent room. You bit your lip, fighting yourself on waiting for him or to talk to him from behind the curtain.

Your thoughts were splintering, about to burst past the dam that held you back. The surge of impatience was hard to suppress, and you entered the shower area with hope that it was only Jungwon occuyping the stall.

To your luck, you only heard one, and a single curtain was drawn at the utmost end of the bathroom.

"Jungwon?" You called out, your voice slightly held back, testing the waters. The shower turned off, and you heard movement, but nothing that was his voice.

Taking it as a cue to move forward, you inched closer to his curtain, fingers twiddling, the worry and burden of your own thoughts anchoring at your feet, like rusted shackles.

"Won. I... you don't need to talk because... you don't need to argue. I'm here to apologise. I was an idiot," you began saying, the lump in your throat forging through like steel.

"You know that, but... I don't want to lose you. And... I got so mad. I shouldn't have. I should have listened to you, but I got angry because... I didn't want to accept that you were right." You shakily breathed, head dipped as tears welled at your eyes.

You felt pathetic, but you wanted to push through it because he wasn't to blame.

"I... I am scared of my parents, and that just made it easier for them to control. I should have... I should have told you about Sunghoon, and I should have told them earlier about you. Because, Jungwon, you are so good for me. You're literally... the best thing I have ever had, believe it or n-not," you said with a slightly breathless and sad chuckle.

You sniffled, tears running down your cheeks silently, the vulnerability seeping through with every streak of tears.

"I can't... buy this anywhere else. You're seriously... a r-rare kind. You're not something I could ever buy. You're just... a miracle. I shouldn't have kept you a secret."

You let out another quivering breath, the silence threatening your composure even more as you wiped your eyes.

"You don't need to f-forgive me, even if I have told my mother about you. I just want you to know that you helped me at least take the first step," you said more quietly, not realising the quiet figure that stepped out from behind the curtain.

You kept going, the dam now freely flowing, streams of thoughts rushing out. "And... I love you, you know? You seriously... have given me so much. And, I didn't even try the same for you."

A hand cupped your jaw, lifted your face as your breath hitched in alarm. There he was, the anger distant now, with something softer and understanding. Guilt. Which you didn't understand. He was wearing a white t-shirt, black slacks, and he looked fresh.

The bruise on his jaw formed, but he didn't care as he stepped closer, both thumbs stroking your cheeks, wiping the tears away. You didn't deserve this much sincerity.

"Stop... stop apologising," he said softly, not being able to endure anymore tears blinding the sparkle in your eyes.

You weren't having it, though, your arms encircling his waist, face digging into his chest with more tears running down your cheeks. You don't even know why he's apologising when you were the one that created the hurdle.

He sighed, his arms tightly locking around your body, a cheek pressed to your forehead as if it was the only way he could connect any deeper with you.

"I don't like seeing you cry," he whispered, his own voice trembling. When you heard the quiver, your eyes lifted to see the remorse etched into his face, the frown anchoring his lips. "You don't need to apologise."

"But, I do. This... this all happened because of me. And I was totally out of line. And—"

Jungwon placed a finger on your parted lips, silencing your breathless self. He managed a small smile, but it wasn't completely weaved with joy. Just slight endearment and apprehension.

"To make you feel better, I forgive you, Y/n." He touched your tearful cheek, wiping away the guilt staining your skin. He didn't want to have you feel all that burden.

Confusion sparkled again in those gaze of yours.

"I forgive you. Even if... that comment did hurt, I know it wasn't... from a bad place. I know you have expectations to meet, but I also knew you were holding yourself back." Jungwon held your shoulders now, melting away the iceberg that froze in the center of your chest. "Do you know how much that hurts me? Seeing you have to hide something you love?"

You knew all too well how hard it was to even talk against your parents. The loyalty was a noose around your neck, and you had no courage to pull it apart.

He lifted your chin again when you glanced down, firm, wanting your utmost attention. "You shouldn't even have to feel scared. They shouldn't have that power over you. I just wanted to help you."

"I know... I'm so sorry, Won," you mumbled tearfully, and he smiled in sympathy again, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

"What did I say about apologising?" He said softly, his tone dry of any type of command. Even then, you wiped your eyes, seeing his features even more now.

"I should have told you," You said again, voice hoarse as you wiped away your tears with your sleeves. He nodded, agreeing with you but the blame dimmed within you. It was just him and understanding.

One of the things you absolutely adored about him. Even after all of this, he still held the highest standards of care, making sure it was the most significant thing he needed to consider.

He held your shoulders, lips pursing and releasing a sigh through his nose. "I just don't want you hiding."

After all of this, he still spoke to you with softness, mellow demands and pleas. It took you everything not to apologise again.

"I know. I realise it now. You are right. And, I don't want to lose you," you said, gazing up at him again, the warmth of his hands grounding you.

"Me either. I could have... reacted better. I'm sorry for that," he said, thumbs rubbing the edges of your collarbone through your shirt.

You held his wrists, smiling after a while actually. "N-no. You didn't deserve my selfishness."

"You give yourself too much credit." He chuckled lowly again, shaking his head as your hands splayed at his warm chest.

"I think I deserve it. I caused the problem and tried to fix it. I... I told my mother. Let's just see how she takes it," you replied, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to slide his hands to your waist, hugging you once more.

The thought of having to go back, face your mother and her possible lectures unsettled your stomach and appetite. You sighed as he slightly swayed you and him, chin resting softly atop your locks.

"I don't want to go back home," you whispered, sighing. He tightened his grip, stilling, and you noticed it, glancing up. Something was brewing in his eyes, dark, eager.

"Stay with me then." He retorted, voice slightly lower, practically sending your nerves to shudder from the spine down.

His eyes were cloudy, losing touch of reality and its problems. He pulled you closer, your torso bumping into him as your breath hitched.

"Well?" Jungwon murmured when you stayed silent. This was different, exhilarating, and stronger than any kind of pull you had experienced. And your heart thrummed, singing a different song and making you nod.

"Of course."

As soon as you said that, he pushed you back into the shower cubicle, your shoes tapping swiftly on the ground as you gasped. He pressed your back into the damp wall, but you didn't give a care when he crashed his lips to yours, moving desperately and trying to prove something different.

Love, perhaps.

"Mm, I missed you," he murmured against your lips, hooking his hands around you, one at your lower back and another to cup your head. Your eyes were shut, hands clutching his shirt and kissing him.

There were no words needed. The pull you ached for was clearly displayed when you bit his lower lips, now gripping his nape. He groaned loudly, not giving a care on whether anyone would walk in and hear.

The air was heavy, suffocating you in his embrace, but you craved more. You craved the anchoring love of his, the type to keep you rooted to him, even if it consumed your organs and thoughts like water.

Jungwon didn't stop, lips departing only to pepper deep and eager kisses down your jaw, all the way to your ear. Your breath hitched, but he held you tighter, hands skimming down your back until the hem.

As if testing the waters, he deftly untucked your shirt, and you sighed loudly again. You could almost feel his smirk on your skin, travelling down your ear and the side of your throat.

Taking it as a sign, Jungwon's hands dived beneath the fabric, roaming up your bare skin. You hummed again, and he pressed more insistent kisses into your skin, daring to suck.

You groaned breathlessly, your eyes fluttering shut as he pressed you flush to him, his built torso molding against your soft ones.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he groaned against your neck, nipping at the skin, making your breath hitch more, chest heaving against his. You held onto him tighter, feeling his hands running up your bare back, dancing across your spine in a perfected plan until he reached the clasp of your bra.

That alone sent a thousand ripples to shake your composure, a reminder of how he could take you apart and how you would plead for more of that type of destruction.

With his kisses heavy on your throat, you groaned breathily again, arching your body to curve perfectly to his. Jungwon knew his constructed calmness was about to crumble into an avalanche and reduce him to rubble at your feet.

He didn't open it opting to squeeze your sides and kiss your lips again, tongue tracing carefully. There was no patience remaining there and, if there was, it would have been consumed by the heat in your belly.

The slight dim lighting made it better, and you couldn't suppress the slight whimper as he pressed his hips firmly to yours to test your limits.

Jungwon smirked against your lips, departing for a second, and his one hand snaked to your chin, tilting your dazed gaze to his. Your hands stayed on his shoulders, your skin tingling with delight.

Jungwon's own gaze was swarmed with something, more cloudy, stormy with an urge that he couldn't hold back from.

"I could keep you like this all day. And, you would let me, wouldn't you?" He murmured, his teasing words striking you with heat. You fluttered your eyes at him, tilting your head as his warmth ran through you.

"We both know the answer to that," you replied. Jungwon smiled wickedly again.

"You act as if that's something annoying you." He chuckled, lowering his lips to your neck again and completely shattering the weak composure. He kissed, hands returning to your bare back, down to your hip and forcing you closer to him.

"Well, a shower room is not the place I imagined this to be happening," you remarked with a voice failing to hold together. He laughed lowly again, his smugness running through your collarbone. You held his nape again, and he squeezed your hip.

"We can wait. I don't want to rush you," he said, still managing to ask. You know it's the bare minimum, but you felt lucky whenever he did.

"I want you. So much." Your eyes met his when he lifted his head, eyes heavy with wisps of desire.

"I want you, too. Clearly," he said, accentuating his hips to yours, making it obvious. Your throat ran dry, suddenly aware of how far you were going, and that you weren't willing to retract.

"So much for waiting. Your body doesn't want it," you said, teasing him despite the way his own self elicited something heavier to flutter and consume your heart. He scoffed, still close enough for you to be molded to him.

"I know. I should really learn to hold back. Maybe you can ease it?" He said, raising an eyebrow as if his innuendo went unseen. Rolling your eyes, you pushed his shoulder slightly.

"Why do you need me to help your situation. Use your brain," you said with a chuckle when he had that familiar infuriated, yet amused, expression.

"You're killing me here," he murmured lowly again, lips and inch from yours, his threats doing nothing to lower your smile. "Gee, I wish I could just control my hormones, you know?"

"A real man knows how to," you teased again, being dramatic and exaggerative.

"Well, I guess I'm not real then. Just a figment of your amazing imagination. It's all in your head," he replied, contemplative as he firmly pressed his hips again. Your breath stuttered.

Even then, you didn't let the banter go unanswered. You locked your arms around his neck, staring up at him.

"My crazy imagination is making me see a crazy man. I think I'm having a weird dream thing right now." You grinned, eyes flickering to his lips. "I don't want to wake up."

At your sweet words, even if tied to a joke, softened his cloudy eyes, replacing it with the urge to kiss your forehead. His lips were soft, lingering on your skin and he let himself caress your cheek, as if you were the most luckiest thing that could enter his life.

"I love you." He breathed in the scent of your hair. Your eyes fluttered shut as you hugged him, grateful for it all. Grateful that you could be understood, forgiven after your selfish acts.

"Love you, too."

Just as he went in for another kiss, the curtain flung open behind him, making you and him jump. Standing there was Jay, his eyes scanning the scene, the hands around your waist, the fact that you were nestled in a shower stall.

Grimacing heavily, Jay rubbed his temples. "Seriously?"

"You didn't need to pull back the curtain, by the way," Jungwon said with a smirk, finally distancing himself from you slightly.

"And let you two continue God knows what in here?" Jay inquired, shooting daggers more at Jungwon than you. Warmth ignited your cheeks at being caught by Jay for the nth time.

"This is a public space."

"And yet you pulled back the curtain of someone's shower stall," Jungwon remarked sharply. Jay just waved it off, as if that wasn't the point. Jungwon grinned.

"You know, I'm right."

"No, you're not! I expected you to make up, not make out," Jay said with a huff, even though half of that was true.

"I would ask what movies you watch, but clearly you haven't watched a movie about fighting couples," Jungwon said with a wicked grin. Jay ran a hand through his hair, disgust sweeping over his eyes.

"Jungwon?"

"Yeah?"

"Get the fuck out." Jay sighed, and then glimpsed at your figure curled behind Jungwon, gaze slightly mellowing around the edges. "Not you, though, Y/n. Respectfully, leave."

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"STOP BEING SO NERVOUS."

Jungwon huffed, brushing a hand through his newly cut blonde hair, only for it to flop back into place again. He frowned as you held his wrist.

"Stop, Won. You don't need to be doing that. And, I think wearing formal is enough," you said before dragging your eyes down his body clad in a black shirt, trousers and his pine green jacket.

He was being overly ridiculous, letting the doubts of meeting your parents get ahold of him.

After you had told your parents of Jungwon, they seemed reluctant, but ultimately, they had never seen your eyes sparkling with so much sincerity when you had talked about him. They knew that the care ran deep, too much to just forget about.

That's how you found yourself walking with Jungwon to your home, happily holding his hand and even squeezing it reassuringly. A subtle grip of his hand returned, and he let out another releasing breath.

"You're sure they won't hate the blonde?"

"No?"

"And, I'm not even wearing a tie."

"My father doesn't even wear one. He gets lazy sometimes and wears a clip-on," you said again, giving him that sweet smile of yours. Jungwon's frown remained, bottom lip jutting out as much as his anxiety acting like a sore thumb.

In all honesty, you know your parents will have questions, but that's the point of a relationship—to fight for it, to avoid any possible hurdles and untangle them together.

You wished you had done so earlier.

Jungwon nearly gawked as he stared at your home, the silver gates twice his size enough for him to know you weren't just an ordinary girl.

Of course, you were different, but damn, your home called him broke in five different ways.

"Okay, you ready? We can always cancel if you have any problems," you said, turning to him. Jungwon found it too adorable as your eyes sparkled up at him.

But, there was no point holding it off into the future. Otherwise, he would never get there. Holding your hand a little tighter, he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"Yeah. Let's go. They're probably waiting."

Jungwon wanted to curl up and shrivel on the spot when he met your parents.

The reason?

He meant to give a handshake and found his hand curled into a fist as if he was dabbing up Jay.

The internal embarrassment hit him like bullets, making his smile tight and his cheeks flush slightly. He knew you were laughing to yourself at the side but decided against glaring at you.

Anything to hear your happiness.

Even then, his parents scrutinised, as if they had a built-in system to recognise his sincerity, and then, they nodded and gave a small smile.

"Welcome, Jungwon." Your mother said, those eyes mellowing as she lead everyone into the dining room. Taking it as a good sign, you held his arm, then slid your fingers to his, interlacing them, as if you had finally reached something you had been looking for in the dark.

All at once, those intricate webs of doubt broke so easily. It almost felt like dust.

After having some tea, Jungwon finally breathed when he went up to your room, eyes taking in the cream tones, the colours that were taken from your personality and embedded in the bedsheets, jewellery and stickers around the room and vanity.

You spun in the room, presenting your room with a small smile. "Welcome! Where do you want to explore first?"

"This room could take two business days to explore," Jungwon mused with a smirk, staring at the big perimeter that was your room.

"Does that mean you can stay over then?" You remarked, mischief glittering in the sky that were your eyes. Jungwon grinned, sauntering over to hold your hips.

"I mean, I don't want to just crash over here," he said, leaning down with voice clouded with intensity, slowly fogging your head as well. He squeezed your hips, maneuvering you back, and back until you sat on the bed before him. You raised an eyebrow.

"You're already manhandling me. Haven't we gotten past that stage?" You joked, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes, smirk remaining like a stain he couldn't remove.

"Well, if you say we've exceeded boundaries..." He bent down over you, forcing you to slightly lay down on your forearms. "Can we explore here first?"

The heat exploded in your cheeks, refusing the ability to act indifferent here. Ugh, he always managed to crumble your composure so effortlessly.

"You're a freak," you said, giggling as your hand swatted at his chest. Jungwon shrugged, eyes wandering down your body before capturing your gaze.

"It's not like you don't like it," Jungwon said, tilting his head, continuing to inch closer as your breath hitched.

"I don't, so."

"We were kissing in a male public shower stall. I think you are just as much a freak as I am," he said with a chuckle, low, and made your stomach flutter. Even then, your stubbornness struck your next words.

"That's different. I was trying to make it up to you. Technically, you got me into the shower stall." You laughed as he suddenly hovered over you, a knee coming between yours as your back met the bed.

The mischief never faded, though, along with your grin that he loved a bit too much. He stared as if calculating and then leaned down again.

"You have a bit of a smart mouth on you," he murmured with his deep voice, lips a few seconds apart, eyes mesmerising you.

"So, I've been told," you replied back just as smoothly, eyes never leaving his alone, glittering with something genuine and true. He smiled again, a little softer this time.

"Yeah, well, can it kiss me then? I've been waiting all day," he said, hips pressed against yours now, his arm maneuvering your leg to hitch about his waist.

The action alone bloomed heat in your cheeks, and wildflowers that sprouted and rooted into your body with love. You cupped his jaw and brought his lips down to yours.

Accepting the invitation, Jungwon moved his lips softly against yours, savouring his time and your lips. Like a secret and silent conversation he never wanted to leave alone.

You wrapped your arms around his nape and he slid his hand to your waist, pressing in the comfort, the trust he had for you, almost as if he was molding it into your bones.

He departed and braced himself above you, tilting his head to stare down at you.

"You're perfect, you know?" He breathed, as if he didn't look like a fairytale himself.

"And have you seen yourself?" You remarked with a laugh. He rolled his eyes with no hint of aggression and gazed at you, as if he was analysing something.

Or, more like his gaze melted into you, softening and ultimately leaving him mellow and serene.

"I love you, you know?" He said again. Those words—you could never get tired of them. Every time he did say it, the world lit up again, and it was only you two in this world, gravitating towards each other.

Your breath hitched, your grin dying down into something more honest and tender. At the end of the day, you would rather not be with anyone else but Jungwon.

His sincerity was unmatched to anyone else you ever met. You may be biased in that finding, but with him, it was certain that the bond bridged between was sculpted with trust, care, and love. All of it needs attention to stay indestructible. Heck, you may have stayed as a puppet if it wasn't for him.

You didn't want to lose him at all.

"I love you, too... my freaky man."

"Oh, shut up." He grinned, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, his breath caressing you. It was cruel, but you laughed with him.

Sometimes, you think about it even later—why you kept something like him a secret. It was fear and insecurity that had clashed in your brain, eradicating all the logic you usually had.

And, for what? Validation? The type of validation that you would never reach because your parents stretched it to the ends of the Earth?

Even you have limits. You had let yourself believe that there wasn't when it came to pleasing your parents. In result, you had buried and crushed your desires in order for theirs to take their place. Though, because of that, failure came easier to recognise rather than the current success you had in your hands.

From there, you learned that you wouldn't keep your desires a secret.

Besides, your parents didn't even kill you anyways when you said you were dating Jungwon. So, it's a win.

Even years later, the remnants of guilt sometimes floated up again. Keeping Jungwon a secret didn't bring you comfort in the slightest; it only brought burden and doubts to you both. Keeping him in the dark meant he hadn't deserved to be brought to the light.

But Jungwon deserved everything.

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ[NOTES]: omg! Hi! If you made it this far? Wow. You all are amazing 😭. I'm sorry this was so long, but i hope you enjoyed <3

Thank you <3

⋆ཐིཋྀ[TAGLIST]: @haengi @yajw @hollxe1 @vixialuvs @dreamiestay @wontechno @jungwonchocochipcookie @meowwwon @page-espoir @dearestdreamies @yunjiiin @fancypeacepersona @readeryaknow @flawlessapollo6 @urmomssneakylink @wonys-won @vvenusoncasual @jellymiki @llearlert @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @jellyluv4eva @jayjw16enxp @tya0 @curryyed @kimbabikidding561

[littlejoels]

you’d kissed art right there in front of everyone. just one hand curled at the back of his sweaty neck, lips brushing his cheekbone before slipping lower, a whisper of good luck, baby, warm against the hollow beneath his ear. you could feel how tight his shoulders were, barely coiled tension, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something but didn’t dare—not when lily was clinging to your leg, babbling about something sticky she’d touched in the car.

he was always so good before matches. eyes dipping, pretty cheeks a little pink, and that desperate undercurrent vibrating in his voice like he was seconds away from crumbling under your hand, even in public. God, you loved watching him choke it down.

but you had to pee. badly.

so you took lily’s small hand, waved him off like you weren’t tracking every line of strain on his pretty face, and made your way up to the concourse. it smelled like popcorn and testosterone while the bathrooms were the usual disaster: fluorescent lights flickering, water pooling on tile like it had no drain to go to, some poor mom yelling at her kid in the next stall. lily held your phone while you peed and lectured you about not washing your hands long enough. you humored her, dried your palms on your tight jeans, and stepped back out.

and there he was. patrick zwieg.

“you’re outnumbered today,” he joked, eyes dropping to lily, “whole damn team of girls in your corner.”

you laughed, because he was right, and because he looked so tired, and sad lately. making you want to hug him without thinking, and that’s what you did—arms tight, chin over his shoulder, hands squeezing like you were trying to will your affection into his bones. and he hugged back, enjoying every second.

you had no idea art saw it. no idea that from the sidelines he froze mid-stretch, one leg up on the bench, watching your arms wrapped around patrick like you were comforting a soldier back from war. you had no idea how green he went, the flush that crawled up his throat not from exertion but from jealousy, from that choking curl of possessive panic. and he didn’t say a word about it.

he played like his life depended on it. like he was ripping the court apart piece by piece and offering it to you. he barely acknowledged the crowd, barely let anyone touch him, not even when fans tried to hug him. he just came straight for you, sweaty and heaving. he kissed lily’s head, nodded stiffly at patrick, and looped his arm around your waist with his hand low, too low for a normal art post-game pat. you felt the heat in him. the tight, cold possessiveness boiling behind his silence. he wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

you didn’t tease him about it, scared you might wake up a unfriendly beast. you were quiet the whole drive, though your palm stroked slow circles into his thigh while he white-knuckled the wheel. he dropped lily at tashi’s with a polite kiss to her cheek and a forced thank you honey for coming with me, and the second the car door slammed shut behind you two again, he snapped.

you didn’t even make it two steps in the house before he was on you, hand fisted tight in the back of your shirt, dragging you back against him like he needed you to feel how hard he was.

“what the fuck was that,” he whispered.

you blinked slow, playing dumb. “what was what?”

he let out a rough, shaky breath against your neck. “no. don’t do that.”

you turned in his grip, gripped his jaw. “do what, artie?”

his throat bobbed when he swallowed. his voice was quiet, but it trembled with rage and desperation. “that thing you do. where you act like you didn’t know. like it didn’t mean anything..like i didn’t watch you wrap your arms around him like he fucking belonged to you.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “patrick?”

he groaned and pulled away, like the name tasted like rust in his mouth. “God, stop saying his fucking name, please, i can’t—i can’t hear you say it again. not when i can’t get the hug out of my head.”

“you’re being ridiculous.”

“i know,” he said instantly, half-laughing, half on the verge of tears. “i know i am. i know you didn’t mean anything by it, but it doesn’t fucking matter because i felt like my lungs collapsed. i saw you with him and i—i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t fucking think.”

you leaned back against the wall and crossed your arms, watching him. he was pacing now, fingers threading through his hair, talking so fast the words tripped over each other.

“it’s just—the way you looked at him. like you cared. like you missed him. i know you’re allowed to have friends, i know you’re allowed to hug whoever the fuck you want, i know that, but i just stood there watching and i swear i felt something crack'd open inside me and i—”

he stopped mid-sentence and turned to face you again, chest heaving, lips parted like he was waiting to be punished or kissed. or maybe both.

“i’m sick,” he said quietly. “i’m fucking sick with you.”

you walked toward him slowly, hands sliding up under his shirt as you went. his skin twitched under your palms like you were cold. he didn’t even move, just stared at you like a starving thing, breathing hard.

“then show me how sick you are.”

“i will..anything—i’ll do anything.” his voice broke in a way that made your core throb with lust and admiration. “i don’t want to be right about this. i want you to tell me i’m being crazy. i want you to hurt me for thinking it. i want you to remind me i’m yours because i feel so fucking lost when you look at someone else for more than a second—”

“jesus, art.”

he grabbed your wrist, pressed it hard to his chest, over his racing heart. “you don’t get it. you don’t feel like this. i—i don’t want anyone else. i don’t even look at anyone else. it’s you, it’s only you, it’s always been you, and i’ll beg on my knees if that’s what you want, just please tell me that hug didn’t mean anything. tell me you didn’t want him to touch you back.”

“of course it didn’t mean anything. it was a fucking hug, art. what, you think he can make me cum with just his arms?” you snap.

he whimpered like you’d slapped him and dropped to his knees right there on the carpet, hands clutching at your hips.

“no. no, i know. i know he can’t. no one can. just you. please, let me prove it—”

“prove it how?”

he looked up at you, eyes glassy, mouth open,“anything. let me worship you. let me fuckin’ stay down here forever. tell me i’m pathetic. tell me i’m yours. i want you to say it while i’m choking on it.”

you grinned. “you want to choke?”

he nodded violently, already mouthing at the inside of your thigh like it would make you merciful. “on you. only you. i wanna gag on your hand while you tell me you’d never let someone like him have you. i want to feel you angry. just—mark me up so i can feel it for days. make me bleed if you want, i don’t care. i need to feel you on me. in me.”

you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, loving the whimper it dragged from his throat. “look at you. you jealous little bitch.”

his breath hitched. “yes. yes, i am. i don’t want to share you, not even your fucking hugs.”

“then maybe you should keep me too busy to touch anyone else.”

“i will. i will. i’ll be better. i’ll be your best. just—please. please, baby.”

you pushed your fingers into his mouth, watched his eyes flutter shut as he moaned around them. and this time when he begged, it wasn’t with words.

retags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa @tinythebunni

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

[buckysleftbicep]

for better or for worse (6) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (fake marriage au)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors, dni, heavy angst, mentions of torture, mentions of injuries, bucky breaking down, flashbacks

summary: you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. he’s controlling, you’re reckless, and now you’re sharing a bed. the problem? it’s getting harder to play pretend. and you’re not sure either of you will survive what comes next.

word count: 5.1k

author's note: hi darlings! it's insane how we have reached chapter 6 of this series! i have had the best time writing it 💓, i have so much to be grateful for and the support and love from you guys is one of it 💌 i love you guys, and please stay safe out there!!

series masterlist

You didn’t know how many hours it had been. The light hadn’t changed, just the slow, steady drip of water somewhere behind you and the pulse of your own blood ringing in your ears.

Your head ached, dull, slow, like the aftermath of being slammed too hard into a wall. Which, frankly, wasn’t far from the truth.

Your arm was the worst of it. A jagged gash tore down the outside of your forearm, raw and throbbing, dried blood cracked in thick, rust-colored streaks across your skin. 

Your lip had split too, probably from the backhand that sent you sprawling earlier, and it kept bleeding every time you swallowed. 

Every blink felt like your body was reminding you of something new that hurt, bruised ribs, a stiff shoulder or a swollen ankle from being dragged across the concrete floor.

But it wasn’t the pain that scared you. It was the silence.

No voices, zero footfalls. Just the occasional creak of metal above, the shift of the building settling like a creature breathing heavy in its sleep. It left too much room for your mind to wander. And it wandered exactly where you didn’t want it to.

To him.

It was stupid, really. He wasn’t here. And you couldn’t afford to be sentimental right now, couldn’t afford to lean into memory like it might bring him back. But the quiet made it impossible to stop the flood.

You thought about Madripoor, the alley where the rain had slicked the pavement, mixing with the sharp scent of neon-lit rot and the metallic tang of blood lingering in your mouth. 

Sam’s voice had echoed in the background as you and Bucky locked into another one of those fierce arguments. 

He’d been so damn close that night, angrier than usual, and it rattled you, because beneath the fury, beneath the sarcasm and snarl, there was something else flickering in his eyes.

You closed your eyes for just a second, just long enough to stop seeing the rust-stained floor pressing against your vision. 

And then your mind betrayed you, drifting back to that night—the heavy downpour swallowing sirens whole and leaving the streets slick with oil and neon reflections.

The alley behind the bar smelled of cigarettes, rot, and far too many secrets, the ones that the city-state. And it didn’t help that you were pissed, furious in that sharp, fiery way that didn’t quite reach your voice.

“You didn’t need to show up,” you snapped, voice low but sharp, pacing toward the exit. “I had it handled.”

Bucky’s boots echoed behind you, steady and sure. “You think sitting in a snake pit with three armed super soldiers and no backup counts as ‘handled’?”

You whirled around. “I was buying time. And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He didn’t flinch. Just stared with that flat, tight-lipped expression—arms crossed like he was holding himself back from snapping. 

Maybe from strangling you. Or perhaps himself.

“You went in with no weapon, no eyes, no exit plan. That’s a fucking death wish.”

“You don’t get to lecture me on suicidal choices,” you shot back. “You were seconds from throwing yourself off a rooftop last mission.”

“That was different.”

“Why? Because you decided it was?”

Sam finally caught up, muttering as he pulled off his comms. “I swear, if I have to break you two up again—”

“Stay out of it,” you and Bucky said in unison.

Sam threw his hands up. “Fine. Die mad.”

He stalked off, clearly done.

You turned back to Bucky, whose jaw was ticking like a timer.

“Why are you even here?” you asked, bitterness thick in your throat. “You don’t trust me. You don’t even like working with me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You laughed, dry and bitter. “I see the way you look at me Bucky, like I’m some ticking time bomb, waiting to blow up and ruin your perfect mission.”

His eyes darkened. “I don’t think you’re a time bomb.”

“Then what am I?”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, swallowing hard.

You stepped closer, reckless fire rising before you could stop it.

“You hate that I don’t take orders. You hate that I talk back. You hate that I make my own calls. But most of all—” you paused, catching the flicker in his eyes “—I think you hate that you care what happens to me.”

He said nothing. Denied nothing.

Just stood there, rain dripping from his hair, his chest rising slow beneath that worn black jacket.

The silence between you stretched tight—like a wire waiting to snap.

Then, as if the universe needed a release valve, Sam called out from down the alley.

“You’re either about to fuck or kill each other, and either way, I’m not gonna be here when it happens.”

You looked away first.

Back then, you always looked away first.

You shouldn’t be this cold.

The room wasn’t freezing, but your body had long since stopped registering temperature. Hours ago, maybe. Or maybe it was the steady drain of blood, or the dull ache crawling through your bones like a warning. Or perhaps it was what happens when adrenaline finally fades, and fear slips in to claim its place like a shadow that won’t let go.

You pressed your back hard against the cold, unyielding wall, trying to will yourself to breathe. 

One slow breath in. One measured breath out. Again. 

Your arm throbbed with each heartbeat, a relentless pulse of pain and warning. Your throat felt like sandpaper. Your lip cracked every time you moved it, raw and bleeding beneath your teeth.

Still, you bit down.

Just to remind yourself you were still here.

You didn’t cry. You never cried.

But your vision blurred, edges wavering, not just from the pain, but from something darker. Something that seeped into the spaces between your thoughts. You told yourself it was temporary. That it would pass, that someone would come.

That he would come.

And yet, the silence stretched, long and merciless, like a taunt.

You tried not to think about him. You really did. But your mind had other plans, a cruel reflex it had learned to torture you with.

Bucky. The walking contradiction. Callused hands, haunted eyes. The man who never gave you straight answers—god, you hated that—but somehow always had your back in a firefight. The man who fought like he had no intention of surviving, but looked at you like maybe you were the reason he wanted to.

You hated him, sometimes.

Hated the way he made you feel. Hated that even now, bruised, bloodied, tied up like some corpse no one would mourn, you weren’t thinking about escape. 

You were thinking about him. And Madripoor.

And that look in his eyes when you told him you hated that he cared—like you’d cut past the walls he built, like you’d found a part of him he never meant to show.

You were never supposed to let it get this far.

This complicated.

You were soldiers. Operatives. Hell, maybe even tools, some days. You didn’t get to feel. Didn’t get to long for things, or people. 

And if you did, you certainly didn’t get to hold on.

But something in you had always pulled toward him.

The glances that lingered just a second too long. The arguments that dragged on for hours, always burning hotter than they should have. The way your hands brushed once during a stakeout—and how you both froze, like it meant something only the two of you understood.

Maybe it did.

But that night at the club, the one you never let yourself think about—was proof enough you were wrong. That maybe he had wanted you once, but only like a man wants something he can’t afford to keep.

A complication.

That’s all you were.

And complications always get left behind.

You curled your knees up, or tried to, but the chains held you tight. Your wrists ached. Your ankle swelled again. The cold metal bit into your skin like it was reminding you of a cruel truth.

He’s not coming.

You flinched as if someone had spoken the words aloud.

But even through the bitterness, the fear, the half-buried rage—there was a stubborn, foolish part of you that refused to die. 

A quiet voice whispering: He will.

He’d find you, he had to. Because if he didn’t, if this was the end, then all those stolen looks, those late-night talks, every time his voice softened when he said your name… they would mean nothing.

You couldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t.

So you sat there. Bleeding. Shaking. Not knowing how much longer you could hold on. And you whispered into the silence, just once:

“Please.”

Not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

Just enough for your own breaking heart.

The silence had wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

Not a balm, but a fucking shroud, smoke curling in your lungs, seeping into your thoughts, pressing down hard and too close. You barely registered the sound at first. 

The low creak of boots scraping against cold concrete. Heavy and measured, slower than the usual rhythm of the guards. Not lazy, deliberate. Hunting.

You didn’t look up.

Not until the voice came, slicing through the dark like a blade.

“Well, well. Still going strong, sweetheart?”

Your jaw clenched until your teeth ached.

Andrei.

You didn’t need to see his face to feel the cruel smirk twisting every word like a noose tightening around your throat. But you lifted your head anyway, because you wanted him to see you—bruised, bleeding, but unbroken. 

“Don’t call me that,” you rasped, your voice raw and ragged.

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer. 

The overhead light buzzed faintly, catching the glint of the blade at his hip—just decoration now. But a promise all the same.

“Why not?” he mused, voice cold. “Is that what Barnes calls you?”

Your breath hitched, just for a moment, a stutter in your defenses.

But that was all it took.

His eyes sparked, grin widening like he’d just found your pulse under his thumb.

“Oh,” he drawled slowly. “I hit a nerve.”

You said nothing.

“Shut the fuck up,” you ground out, voice low and trembling.

He crouched before you, settling on his haunches with lazy menace, as if time was his to waste. His gaze roamed your battered face, tracing every cut, every bruise, every flinch like a collector admiring his prized possession.

“I knew it,” he whispered, dark and certain. “There’s something going on between you two. Saw the way he looked at you.”

He leaned closer, and your skin crawled.

“Men don’t look at women like that unless they’ve fucked them,” he murmured. “Or they want to.”

“You know nothing,” you spat.

Andrei chuckled low and ugly. “Don’t I?”

He leaned in further, close enough for you to smell the sour rot on his breath—thick with blood and decay.

“I know exactly how men like him fall apart. Silent types. Repressed. Loaded with guilt, nowhere to put it, until you walk in, and suddenly, they’ve got something to hope for. A reason to live.”

You didn’t move.

“I know he’s coming,” Andrei said softly, voice almost cruelly gentle—as if delivering a death sentence. “Right now, he’s probably tearing through half the fucking island to find you. But it won’t matter.”

He tilted his head, smile sharp and dangerous.

“Because by the time he gets here, you’ll be nothing but pieces.”

Your stomach twisted cold.

“I’ll send him your hand,” he said, voice low and hungry. “Maybe your face. Something personal. A reminder. And when he breaks, I want to be there to watch.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You choked on the horror, on the truth. The part that scared you most was that he was right.

He saw it. He knew.

“That’s the thing about men like him,” Andrei murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, cold as death.

“It’s not the blood that ruins them. It’s the love. One taste and they’re finished. And you?” His fingers trailed down your jaw, slow and deliberate. “You’re the one thing that still feels human to him.”

You flinched. Couldn’t stop it.

He smiled wider, satisfied.

“He’ll fall apart for you. We all do fall apart for someone, eventually.”

Your eyes burned. Salt stung your cracked lips. 

Your hands trembled—was it pain, fury, or pure fear? God, you didn’t know.

“Sit tight, princess,” he said, pushing himself up with a grunt. “We’ve got time. And when you beg, I’ll make sure he hears it.”

He turned away, boots clicking steady and cold as he walked toward the door. You didn’t realise your wrists were shaking until the chain rattled harshly against the floor.

Didn’t notice the tears slipping down your cheeks until they smeared red across your jaw. You pressed your head back against the wall and closed your eyes.

Tried to steady your ragged breath. Tried to forget his words. Tried to forget how terrifyingly close they had landed to the truth.

And somewhere, quiet, a faint crackle sparked beside you.

The room was dark, the only light a cold, steady glow from the mission monitors. The comms had been dead for hours. Static. Nothing but endless white noise choking every channel.

Until suddenly it wasn’t.

A faint crackle flickered through the feed. Then the signal surged, sharp, raw.

And a voice came through.

Not yours. His.

“Well, well. Still going strong, sweetheart?”

The air in the command center snapped taut, like a wire pulled taut.

Yelena’s spine straightened, eyes narrowing. John’s hand froze, gripping his weapon so hard his knuckles blanched.

Then your voice—weak, fractured, barely there.

“Don’t call me that.”

What followed unravelled like a nightmare they couldn’t wake from. Andrei’s voice slithered through the silence, every word soaked in venom. Cruelty dripping like acid, threats laced with dark promises, taunts sharp as knives. 

Your breath hitching in the void. And then that suffocating silence—when you couldn’t speak, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t bear the weight of it all.

The room held its breath.

Not a single soul dared to make a sound.

Until the line cut—sudden, final—like a door slammed shut on hope.

And then—

“Bucky.” Walker’s voice cracked, low and uncertain. “What the hell just—”

“Not now.”

Bucky’s voice sliced through the room like a blade—cold, hard, utterly dangerous. A sound so stripped bare of humanity it sent a chill down every spine.

He didn’t meet their eyes.

His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white as bone.

“I need to find her.”

Time had stopped making sense.

You weren’t sure if it had been minutes or hours or longer. The pain had dulled around the edges, but not in a way that felt like healing, more like your body was giving up on trying to warn you. 

Your arm had gone numb, the gash now sticky and crusted, and your ankle throbbed with a rhythm that made your teeth grind. The cuffs had dug in so deep you were starting to forget where your skin ended and the metal began.

Your head lolled forward, neck too weak to hold it upright. Everything was slow, too slow. You knew your body wanted to sleep, to shut down. You could feel it in the way your thoughts came slower, heavier, like each one had to fight through sludge just to surface.

You didn’t let it. Not yet. Not until you knew whether anyone was coming.

Then—something changed.

It was small at first. A shift in the air, a pressure drop. Then sound. Distant. Muffled. Not like before, not the bored shuffle of guards or the occasional metallic clang of a pipe. A thud.

A yell, fast, panicked, in Russian.

Then chaos broke loose.

Gunfire sounded out.The staccato burst of automatic fire ricocheted off the concrete walls, each shot a heartbeat too close. Screams followed. The sound of boots pounding, frantic shouting. Someone was giving orders and someone else was begging not to die.

Another blast, louder this time. Close enough that the ceiling dust rained down over your shoulders in pale, choking clouds as smoke curled under the door. 

You coughed, blinked against it, tried to focus.

A body slammed into the wall outside with a sickening crunch. The whole frame shook. You barely flinched.

Then silence. Just for a breath.

Two.

BANG.

The door exploded inward. It didn’t open — it shattered, splintering off its hinges, crashing against the wall like it had been blown in by sheer force of rage. The smoke parted.

And then—

A grunt followed. Then the wet crunch of bone, maybe a nose, maybe a rib, before another body hit the floor with a shriek.

Andrei.

He was still conscious when she grabbed him by the hair, dragging him back with a snarl in her throat, screaming curses.

But you didn’t see her. 

You saw him. Bucky.

His silhouette filled the ruined doorway, broad shoulders heaving, blood soaking his knuckles. His eyes found yours instantly, like they’d been looking for nothing else. Something in your chest gave out.

He moved before you could blink. Dropped to his knees beside you with a force that rattled the floor, his breath hitching as he saw the cuffs, the blood, the state of you. His fingers reached out, not shaking, but fast. 

Desperate.

“You came,” you whispered. It was barely a sound. Your throat couldn’t manage more.

He didn’t answer. Not at first.

Just took the chain in his vibranium hand and snapped it in a single twist. Like it offended him. Like it had dared to touch you.

His other hand cupped your cheek. Rough palm, stained in blood, but careful. Too careful.

“I would never leave you,” he said. His voice sounded destroyed. “You hear me?”

You nodded — or tried to. The motion sent fresh pain shooting down your spine, and you winced when his thumb brushed too close to the gash on your arm.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling back, his expression twisting. “You’re hurt—god, you’re bleeding—”

You pushed yourself upright instinctively, but your legs crumpled beneath you.

He caught you before your body could even register the fall. One strong arm under your knees, the other braced at your back, pulling you in against the solid heat of him. 

You sagged into it. Couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to.

He held you like you were made of glass and grief.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his mouth pressed to your temple. “Sweetheart. Please. Just—stay with me, okay?”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Your eyes were already sliding shut. It felt good. Too good.

But you heard him. Somewhere in the thick, dark fog, you heard him.

A voice echoed down the hall you vaguely recognised as Alexei’s.

“Medics coming! Bob sent them, they on their way!”

You heard movement, footsteps, the clatter of gear being thrown open.

But none of it touched you.

Just him.

Just his arms—iron around you, just the sound of his voice, low and unsteady, raw with something that sounded like pleading, vulnerable in a way that didn’t belong to him. 

Bucky didn’t beg. 

Not for anything, not until now.

Andrei didn’t land so much as collapse.

Yelena dragged him by the hair, his boots scuffing uselessly behind him, his mouth leaking blood and broken teeth. He was whimpering now, his face a wreck, nose bent sideways, one eye already sealed shut, his jaw swelling beneath fresh bruises.

She kicked a chair into place with a metallic screech.

Then she shoved him into it, still gripping his hair, the other hand already reaching for her blade.

“Sit,” she said, almost gently. “Or I’ll start with the knees.”

He spat something in broken Russian, garbled, half-conscious.

Yelena crouched beside him, tilting her head like a curious animal.

“You want to speak my language?” she murmured. “Good. Let’s begin.”

John stepped through the busted doorway, sleeves rolled to the elbows, kevlar stained with blood and dust. 

“Well,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think you’d save me a seat.”

Yelena didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed locked on the man trembling before her.

“Do you know what they say about us Russians, Andrei?” she asked, voice low and smooth. “We don’t bluff. And we don’t rush.”

She twirled the knife between her fingers. The blade caught the light like a smile.

“We enjoy this part.”

Andrei was shaking now, hands twitching against the arms of the chair.

“Please,” he stammered. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t have to?” John echoed, tone flat. “You talked about cutting her up. Mailing bits of her like fucking party favours.”

“I didn’t touch her—” Andrei gasped, shrinking back as the blade kissed his cheekbone.

“You talked,” Yelena snapped. “That’s enough.”

“Please—please—I'll give you anything! Names! Locations! Passwords! Just—don’t.”

Yelena stood. 

“You’ll scream a lot more before I believe you.”

The hallway still echoed with the aftermath—the stench of smoke and blood, the groans of men who wouldn’t be getting up again. But Bucky didn’t hear any of it. All his attention was on you, unconscious and limp in his arms, your breathing shallow and fragile, barely there at all. 

Your blood soaked through his shirt, warm and wet and unbearably real in a way that made it impossible for him to let go. He’d seen a hundred bodies in his life, carried them, buried them, mourned them even, but this was different. 

This was you.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently brushing the hair back from your face. “I’ve got you. You’re okay now, alright?” But there was no response. Only the faintest rise and fall of your chest. His heart clenched tighter.

Then, footsteps came, fast and urgent, breaking through the quiet. The medics burst through the broken doorway, gear strapped to their backs, already pulling gloves on in practiced motion. 

Bob had sent them, air-dropped in as soon as the comms had flickered back to life.

“Where is she?” one shouted, spotting the blood staining Bucky’s shirt. Another knelt down hard beside him, voice sharp and commanding: “We need to lay her flat. Sir, you need to let go.”

Bucky didn’t move.

“She’s losing too much,” the medic said, unzipping his pack. “If we don’t start now—”

“I said I’ve got her,” Bucky snapped, but the crack in his voice betrayed how close he was to breaking. “I’ve got her.”

“Sergeant Barnes.” A third medic stepped forward, calmer, firmer, more steady. “We’re here to help her but you need to let us do our job.”

His jaw clenched. He looked down at your face, eyes closed and skin pale, almost translucent in the harsh light. 

He could still feel your heartbeat against his chest, faint, distant, as if it belonged to someone else. Slowly, painfully, he eased you down, as if touching you might shatter something fragile inside him.

He stayed by your side as they worked, one hand still curled protectively around yours. His fingers trembled, but he didn’t let go. “Blood pressure’s dropping,” one medic called. “Tourniquet, now. Apply pressure on that arm.”

“Start an IV line,” another added urgently. “We need fluids in her, fast.”

The voices blurred into static, fading at the edges of his awareness. He couldn’t focus on anything except you. His eyes locked on your face, trying to imprint every detail. And suddenly, memories flooded in, sharp and vivid.

It was late, Madripoor again, somewhere between missions, you had found a rooftop no one else knew about, and he’d followed you there without thinking. 

You were sitting on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge like you weren’t afraid of falling. Like the world couldn’t hurt you unless you let it. 

He hated it. And envied it.

“I ever tell you what scares me?” he asked quietly, voice low and unexpected.

You looked at him, that little tilt of your head full of curiosity. “No.”

He paused, searching for the words. Then said softly, “That Steve was wrong about me.”

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t comfort him, you just looked at him, steady and unflinching.

“Steve was wrong about a lot of things Buck,” you said simply. “But not you.”

That was it, no dramatic pause, no grand gesture. Just that, and it lodged somewhere deep inside him, deeper than he knew what to do with.

Back in the present, one of the medics spoke again, snapping him back. “We’ve stopped the bleeding. She’s stable, for now. But we need to move her.”

The brunette nodded, barely.

He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

Bucky remembered that night.

You had been drinking something awful, street vendor liquor in some unlabelled bottle, still warm from the sticky heat of Madripoor.

He didn’t drink much, his enhanced body processing alcohol faster than most—but you were already halfway through your second when you shoved the bottle into his hand and teased, “You’re brooding again.”

“I don’t brood,” he muttered, taking a casual sip, unfazed by the burn that would have floored most people. You laughed harder.

You were sitting across from him on the rooftop ledge, your boots swinging lazily over the edge, the city flickering like a living thing beneath your feet. The humid air smelled of exhaust and ocean salt, thick and heavy, buzzing softly with neon hums from the streets below. 

You looked at home there, unbothered, untouchable, moonlight casting silver across your skin, lighting the sharp planes of your cheekbones, the slow, easy curl of your smile.

He couldn’t stop watching you. It struck him then, suddenly, how long that had been happening. How his eyes found you in crowded rooms before he realised, how his footsteps began matching yours without thought, how your voice, even when teasing or mocking, cut through the noise in a way no one else’s ever had.

It hadn’t hit him all at once. It crept in. 

A glance that lingered too long. A silence too full. 

The way his chest tightened when someone else touched you, when someone else smiled at you. 

But that night was different. That night was when it finally clicked. When he could no longer deny it.

You asked him a question, one of those late-night things you tossed at him when the city was quiet and you felt like neither of you were more than ghosts sharing space.

“If you hadn’t gone to war,” you said, chin resting in your palm, “what do you think your life would’ve been like?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Before Hydra. Before everything. What would it have been?” you asked softly. “A normal life. What would you have done?”

He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how. It was like asking a shadow what it would do if it had a body. You didn’t fill the silence. You let it hang. You gave him space to sit with it.

Finally, he said, “I think I would’ve married someone.”

Your brows rose, not in surprise at the thought but maybe at the fact he’d said it at all. 

He swallowed, thickly. “I used to want that, a family. Something quiet, someone who looked at me like I was enough.”

You nodded. “You still want that?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know if I get to.”

That was the truth, the brutal, naked truth. Deep down, beneath the soldier, beneath the missions, beneath the man who’d learned to live without wanting—he didn’t believe he deserved anything soft.

Then you said it. “You do.”

Two words, soft and certain, no hesitation.

You weren’t trying to comfort him, you weren’t trying to fix anything, you were just telling him something you believed.

He looked at you. 

The shape of you, perched so close. The tilt of your mouth, the stubborn glint in your eyes. You were always so sharp, so reckless, so much—and yet here you were—quietly offering him something no one else ever had.

Not pity. Not forgiveness.

Belief.

And in that moment, something split open in him.

He didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t, he couldn’t.

But the thought slammed into him like a punch to the ribs.

It’s you. It had always been you.

You were the one who made him believe there was still something good buried beneath all the wreckage, something, someone worth saving, even after everything.

The only person who could see him clearly, scars and sins, silence and violence—and not turn away. You didn’t flinch at the soldier. You didn’t fear the monster everyone ran from. 

And somehow, impossibly, you still saw the man, you saw him. He’d fallen in love with you long before he admitted it to himself.

But that was the moment he knew, and it scared the hell out of him.

Because love wasn’t safe. It wasn’t calculated.

It didn’t fit in mission reports or debriefings or the kind of life that came with blood on your hands and a kill count longer than your memory.

Love meant losing. Risk. Vulnerability.

And yet— When you looked at him that night, just a glance across the rooftop, city lights burning behind you, he thought, If she asked me to run, I’d go.

No hesitation, no questions.

Just go.

But you didn’t ask, you just leaned back on your hands, looked up at the sky, and let the silence stretch again.

Comfortable. Easy.

And he stayed beside you. He always would.

Even now, with blood on your skin and too many wounds to count, even now, he was right here.

Because there was never a world where he wouldn’t be.

Not for you.

Bucky sat there beside you, watching your chest rise and fall under the thin hospital blankets. Each breath came a little steadier than the last, a fragile rhythm in the quiet room. The dim light cast soft shadows across your face, revealing the faintest hint of color returning to your cheeks. 

Despite the stillness, every tiny movement felt like a victory, a quiet reassurance that you were still here, still fighting. He didn’t take his eyes off you, as if letting his gaze linger could somehow keep you tethered to the world.

And quietly, almost without realising it, as if the words slipped out on their own, he whispered it aloud for the first time.

It wasn’t an attempt to draw you back or demand a response. It was something raw, something vulnerable, carried on a breath that felt too fragile to hold inside any longer.

“I love you.”

You didn’t stir.

No flicker of recognition, no small smile to answer him. Just the steady rise and fall of your chest, the shallow rhythm of your breathing. But he stayed anyway. He remained rooted beside you, unwilling to leave or break the fragile connection you and him shared in that moment.

Just in case you heard him.

a/n: i am also proof reading chapter 7 and i am so so excited for you guys to read it! i am kinda sad this series is coming to an end :") and i hope you guys have enjoyed it so far!

taglist: @hughjackmanadict @vxllys @f1padfoot @mortallydistinguishedwolf @midnightvitality @starglory @benbarnesprettygurl @biggestfangirl @lexavalon52 @harrietandcats @cjand10 @loganficsonly @kqliie @kitkatyap @buckyslefttooth @its-in-the-woods @yessebastianstanus @buckysgirl27 @lokisgirlie @furiousprincesskingdom @keira-kaz2y5 @amatiswayland @emilyswortwellen @samanthaw16 @bobscucumber @rrosiitas @alicetesser @morphoportis @polkadot-567 @w-h0re @c3iiaaaaa @mouseratface @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

[himasgod]

Hello! How are you doing? May I ask a reader who is Lilia's wife (and consequently the boys' mother), she has been missing for years, but here suddenly they see her alive and well. Lots of tears of joy, figuring out what happened and at the end she says something like, "well, let me make your favorite food for dinner, shall we?" Boys: *rejoicing that their stomachs will be okay from now on* Lilia: happy, trying to hold back tears. I also want to say that you write so "deliciously" about Diasomnia! Especially about Sebek, I saw that another anon asked something about him and I'm sure it will be interesting and fun to read too!

DIASOMNIA AND READER

Where you are Lilia's wife, missing for years, and you return home.

It began on an otherwise ordinary afternoon in Briar Valley.

Silver had just returned from a training session, his hair still damp from the light rain outside.

Sebek followed at his heel like always, lecturing him about staying alert despite the weather.

Malleus stood near the great hearth of the main hall, idly watching the flames dance.

And Lilia?

Lilia was cooking.

Unfortunately.

The boys had long resigned themselves to his “creations,” though they shared one common silent prayer whenever he stepped into the kitchen: please, Great Seven, don’t let this one kill us.

“I believe I nearly unlocked the secret to curry-flavored cheesecake this time!” Lilia announced emerging from the kitchen with a bioluminescent dish.

Silver’s soul left his body for a moment. “F-father, maybe we could try—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the gate.

Not the main entrance. No, this was the old garden gate—rusted from disuse, half swallowed by ivy.

The room grew still.

“…That gate hasn’t opened in years,” Malleus murmured.

“I didn’t sense anyone approach,” Lilia said, suddenly more serious.

He handed the cheesecake off to Sebek (who immediately looked like he was holding a bomb) and moved toward the hallway.

The knock came again.

Once.

Twice.

Slow. Almost hesitant.

Lilia opened the gate.

And time stopped.

There, standing in the haze of the twilight garden, was someone who had been gone from their lives so long that seeing her again didn’t seem possible.

“Lilia?” your voice was softer now, worn by time. A little hoarse. A little tired. But undeniably you.

His eyes widened.

“…Dear?”

You looked up at him. A little older. But still smiling.

The smile he used to dream about and wake up heartbroken to realize was gone.

“I’m home,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Lilia pulled you into his arms so tightly you could feel the shudder in his shoulders. The way his fingers clutched the back of your coat.

You felt his breath hitch against your neck.

“You idiot,” he breathed. “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

The next moment, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.

“MASTER LILIA, WHO WAS AT THE—” Sebek’s voice rang out before he skidded to a stop, Silver nearly bumping into him from behind.

And then, silence.

Silver dropped his sword.

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

You looked at them with a trembling smile.

“My boys… You’ve grown so much.”

Silver’s eyes filled with tears . “M-mother…?”

The moment he said it, the dam broke.

He ran to you like a child again, throwing his arms around you and clinging tightly, nearly knocking you off balance.

You laughed, hugging him back, kissing the top of his head like you used to when he had nightmares.

Sebek, meanwhile, dropped to his knees.

“You… You were presumed… H-how can…?”

You knelt down to him and brushed his hair back, just like you had all those years ago when he scraped his knee climbing a tree. “I’m here now. I promise.”

He lunged forward and hugged you, sobbing uncontrollably.

And then Malleus.

Quiet Malleus.

“I had long accepted your loss. But even now… my heart dares not believe this miracle is real.”

You reached for his hand and placed it over your heart.

“It’s me, Malleus. It's me.”

A small laugh broke from him.

He drew you into a gentle embrace, forehead resting against the top of your head.

“Welcome home.”

For several minutes, you stayed like that. Surrounded by them.

The explanations came later, once everyone had calmed enough to speak without sobbing.

A magical accident—your disappearance had been the result of a sealed portal misfiring during a research expedition.

You were stranded in a temporal bubble, barely able to age, watching the years pass. It wasn’t until the rift finally weakened that you’d escaped, fighting your way home.

“I could hear your voices sometimes,” you admitted, sitting on the hearth now, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “In my dreams. I held onto them to stay sane.”

“And I stopped singing at night,” Lilia murmured, his voice breaking. “Because it hurt too much.”

You touched his cheek .

“Sing again. I’m home now.”

You stood up and stretched.

“Well…” you smiled at the boys, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “how about I make your favorite dinner tonight?”

Sebek actually yelped in joy.

“Master Lilia's wife cooking has returned. Salvation is upon us.”

Silver burst out laughing. “Father, please let her into the kitchen before you finish your cheesecake.”

“I will gladly yield the ladle- My culinary reign ends tonight.”

Malleus chuckled, a rare sound of true joy. “Then I shall summon the stars themselves to light your table.”

You cooked.

Lilia watched you with a soft smile, brushing away a tear every now and then when he thought you weren’t looking.

The boys sat at the table, basking in the comfort of a meal that tasted of home.

You were home.

[adhdwannabewriter]

How to use commas?

If you’re like me, you’ve probably wondered whether you’re using them correctly. Here, I’ve gathered some examples:

1. To separate items

She packed a lantern, a sleeping bag, a map, and some snacks.

Separate them with a comma.

In this example, the comma before the ‘and’ is not necessary. You can omit it, but many people don’t. It’s called ‘the Oxford comma,’ and it’s used for clarity.

2. After introductory elements

Yes, I’ll go with you.

After the rain stopped, we continued our journey.

Well, that was unexpected.

Slap that comma after introductory words or phrases.

3. Before conjunctions joining two independent sentences

He wanted to go for a walk, but it was raining.

Use a comma before for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so when they connect two complete sentences ('He wanted to go for a walk.' & 'It was raining'). If the second part is not a full sentence, skip the comma.

4. To insert non-essential information

My brother, who lives in Spain, is visiting next week.

The sword, rusted and forgotten, still gleamed faintly in the light.

Use commas to insert some extra information that isn't essential to the meaning of the sentence. If you could remove the phrase without changing the sentence’s core meaning, it’s non-essential.

5. With adjectives 

It was a long, tiring journey.

Use a comma between adjectives that describe the same noun. If you can put ‘and’ in between them or swap their order without changing the meaning of the sentence, slap a comma between those adjectives' cheeks.

6. To separate dialogue or direct address

"We must leave now," she said.

I don’t know, Marcus, if this is a good idea.

Slip that comma in to separate the dialogue from the speaker’s tag (‘she said’) or before and/or after the name of the person being addressed.

7. With dates, addresses, and titles

He was born on March 2, 1990, in Chicago, Illinois.

Dr. Alina Voss, PhD, will lead the lecture.

8. Between the main action and the simultaneous background action.

She stirred the soup, humming a tune.

He typed quickly, glancing at the clock.

They walked through the park, chatting quietly.

Want more? Here's how to use dashes. Here's how to use semicolons.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.9

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.10]

"Fan-sea meeting you here. You must be Phantom!"

Danny slowly turned around, grin blinding. "I shore am. Who's asking?"

Danny knew exactly who was asking. Bludhaven's vigilante, Nightwing. If the giant dark blue bird emblazoned on the front of his suit didn't give it away, the friendly demeanor and the puns would have. Plus, now that Danny's figured out who Tim was, the rest were pretty simple dots to be connected.

"Hi. I'm Nightwing. Thanks for saving Batman."

"I am Phantom. You are welcome. Please lecture him on the necessity of keeping the waters clean."

"Uh, I think he knows," Nightwing grinned. “So, why are you cleaning Gotham’s bay? I heard the Atlantic is nice this time of year.”

“Exactly. This?” Danny flapped a gloved hand around them, specifically at the moldy docks and the paint scraped board. “This is not nice. If it were nice, I wouldn’t need to be cleaning it. Look at that paint! It’s flaking off into the water! Does Gotham not have proper boat maintainance? That’s dangerous for the waters and seafarers!”

“Woah, you know a lot about boats,” Nightwing commented, crossing his arms and leaning back. What the hero didn’t know was that he knew more about boats than Danny did, as Danny’s hyper fixation was more focused on space ships and Dick had education à la maison de Bruce Wayne which usually meant an absurd amount of information for someone who doesn’t actually use boats as a regular mode of transportation.

“Rust! Rust is very much a thing!” Danny ranted, using his ice to scoop up water and using it like a makeshift filter. “It weakens bonds! It’s a tetanus hazard! And oh, don’t even get me started on how you people mutated the ocean life!”

“Mutated ocean life? I’m pretty sure we hadn’t. It’s just a little weird, right?”

Without another word, Danny dove into the weird ecosystem that was the Gotham bay. He came back holding a wriggling green thing the size of a worm.

“Do you know what this is?” Danny demanded. The thing flopped around on his gloved hands.

“A sea monkey?”

“They’re brine shrimp. Brine. Shrimp. Do you know what regular brine shrimp look like???” Danny shoved the thing at Nightwing, who took a step back.

“Not like that?” He replied, a quizzical look on his face.

“No, not like that! What in the ancients is this?!” Danny waved the weird sea brine that had started glowing faintly, like Danny’s natural ectoplasm glow. “Far be it from me of all people to judge evolution but this was all man made!” Danny gently tossed the brine shrimp back into the bay. “Brine shrimp is staple food for the ocean! You’ve got weird brine shrimp? You’ve got weird fish! Why is it impossible for this place to, for even one day, refrain from dumping hazardous chemicals or dead bodies in the water?”

“Ooookay, how about we take a breather?” Nightwing quickly glanced around, trying to find something to change the subject, feeling oddly guilty at the earnest expression on the kid’s face. “Uh, I was actually wondering if you’d swing by the waters near Blüd?”

Danny crossed his arms. “I clean the waters as a past time because you humans don’t know how to keep it clean. I am not a personal, on call, seakeeper.”

“Batman will pay you for your time,” Dick offered. Danny straightened. Amity didn’t actually cost that much to live well, but Gotham was a whole other ball park. The rent might be dirt cheap for a city, but the special pricey little add ons such as gas masks and space level insulation on top of the sky high insurance policies were draining what’s left of his half dead soul. As they say, Danny was a city dweller first and Phantom second.

“How much, when, and I won’t fish up the bodies unless he pays me extra.”

“Four thousand base pay, extra one hundred per identity, fifty for bodies with no shades, and on the weekends.”

Danny straightened as his mother’s steel spine, Jazz’s whip sharp wit, and his own craftiness made their appearance as he bargained. “Five thousand. Rate agreed, but I can only do every other weekends and I’ll have to call out some days.”

“Okay.” Nightwing rocked back on his heels with an affable smile. It’s Bruce’s money and it’s going towards his probable future baby brother, after all, even if said baby brother is a dead immortal Atlantis founder. Or something.

Danny groaned. “You are supposed to bargain back. But I’ll take it.”

“Great! Who do we got tonight?” Nightwing looked down at the plastic/burlap wrapped person Danny dragged onto the shores a bit ago.

“The lake kept the body cold, so it should be preserved adequately if you want to examine him,” Danny tilted his head to the side, the flames of his hair tilting with him. “He said his name is Gorganzo Bean.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a nickname he got for eating a whole can of beans straight.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Any more details?”

“Sure.”

When Danny reached to take the money from Nightwing, he found that the hero had tightened his grip on it.

Danny pointedly dropped his gaze from Nightwing’s face to the money.

“Wait. I- I heard from a source that you could possibly smell souls.”

Danny yanked the cash out of Nightwing’s hand and shoved it into his shoulder. If that didn’t confirm Nightwing’s identity, he doesn’t know what would other than the guy telling Danny who he was. “You’ve been speaking with Danny. Yes, I can.”

“Can you tell what’s wrong with my brother?” Nightwing blurted out.

Danny stared at him, his legs flickering in and out to his tail form. “…Other than dressing in probably leather or Kevlar and going out to beat criminals with his bare hands?”

Nightwing opened and closed his mouth. He coughed awkwardly. “Other than that. Why is he- um, stinky? Soul-wise,” Nightwing added, clearly humoring the tinny little voice at the base of his temples that was an annoyed Red Hood saying that he showered. “He showers often. And is definitely not stinky body odor wise.”

“I am not a doctor. Well, not now anyways,” Danny said, thinking about his future PhD. “But he’s got a… soul infection. His natural immunity- all souls have a natural immunity against regular outside influences- is working hard to repel the equivalence of chronic bronchitis.”

“There’s… no way to help him?”

“I never said that,” Danny tilted his head. “Bring your brother to meet Danny. He could probably handle it.”

“The civilian?”

“His parents hunted my kind, once. He helped protect me and my people. If anyone knows how to cure it, it would be him.”

Phantom could not afford to deal with this right now, because Danny had a presentation tomorrow that he needed to finish.

“Oh. Thank you, Phantom.” Nightwing said, looking relieved and pensive. Danny decided right then and there that was Future Danny’s problem.

Danny nodded distractedly, blinking out.

He blinked back in. Nightwing jerked back. “Do you happen to have any examples of corrupt politicians in Gotham?”

Nightwing blinked before laughing. “It’d probably be easier to name the ones that aren’t.”

“Good to know. Thank you!”

——

A couple of days later, Tim and two older guys ambushed him in the quad.

“Hi! I’m Dick! This is my brother Jason! We’re Tim’s older brothers!”

Danny looked down at his hand- trapped in an overexcited handshake- and back up at Dick.

Whatever expression he was making, it must have been ha-fucking-larious because Tim and Jason burst out into laughter. Danny cursed his past self.

“Yeah?” Danny blinked. Wait. His smile grew and he made a face like he just realized something. “Oh. So you’re Nightwing?”

The laughter cut off.

“Haha, what?”

“Phantom told me you’d be coming but I, uh, thought you’d be in gear. Not… straight up telling me who you are?”

“You’re in regular contact with Phantom?” Tim demanded.

“Yeah, dude. After you- wait, you’re Red Robin!” Danny whispered.

“Oh shit, B’s gonna be pissed,” Jason drawled, looking mildly amused and hiding an extremely cautious, possibly lethal (if it weren’t for the fact that Danny’s pretty much impossible to kill with regular weapons) reaction.

“You’re one to talk. I’d smell your soul no matter what your disguise was.”

“…About that.”

——

You might be wondering: wouldn’t Dick know not to show up in civvies?

Yes. Except for the fact that Tim stalked Danny for weeks after he met Phantom and Danny hadn’t hung out with (himself) at all. They think Danny doesn’t know Phantom well enough to even talk to him much, despite being from the same town because: they’re all big city kids and have never experienced small town solidarity and, more importantly, gossip grapevines + they have no idea these two are the same people.

A deleted scene:

“When did you have time to talk to Phantom?” Tim demanded. Jason nudged Tim. That had hinted too much at what Tim was doing on his off hours and stalking was usually frowned upon.

“When I wasn’t talking to you, duh.”

[aimasup]

Is your cat bill gonna be put down

Susan: "the pound tried to put him down before :D so he got them"

Stan and Ford: ah, understood.

Before officially setting sail, the Stans thought maybe they could bring Bill onto the boat, just to get him acclimated

First their new engine became rusted junk overnight. Then their sails got torn out in the water. Then the walls started bleeding. So this wasn't sustainable

Right that moment, Wendy called. Turns out she heard of the creature from Dipper and was like oh free cat fr? sweet

She visited them for more info. When she had to go back to college for a new semester, she took him with her. He's been running rampant there ever since

Bill has tried to kill her before. Like the Mystery Twins and the Grunkles, she's pretty good at surviving attempted murder. Though she's more annoyed than anything else at it.

She is a major procrastinator when it comes to assignments. It's her curse

Wendy is actually taking her studies seriously now because she's the first Corduroy to go to college, and she's mostly left her rebellious teen days behind. She does care about this opportunity!

That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate a good dose of domestic terrorism.

Bill's hauntings only spice up the students' lives <3 improvise adapt overcome

The trees are blinking and chanting? Class is cancelled yippee. Wildlife is acting hostile? The drunk partygoers were already pissing them off way before Bill arrived. School equipment getting mouldy or broken - they were already pretty bad before. No one really noticed that one.

And Bill has no specific attachment to anyone there so no more dead body 'gifts'

No one is even able to confirm that Wendy is the one who brought this plague upon their land. In the very least they can't get that information out of her or anyone who knows her 🤭

He does favours for Wendy, provided she do something for him in turn. They've communicated this wordlessly through nods and glances and expressions.

Bill's just a guy she knows at this point, they don't live together, she's not directly responsible for his food and bed situation, he's a campus cat now

Students are spending money on fresh meat to feed Bill by hand. Wendy informed them that he likes Bolognese sauce

There's shrines to Bill in corners of the school praying to him for good grades

The college had no choice but to make him the new mascot, after multiple linked cases of violent mascot costume maulings and reports of nightmares over several weeks

Staff took down the shrines once and bad things happened. So the Bill shrines went back up

All in good fun of course (?)

Now that Bill has a whole campus worth of humans who both fear and adore him, speaking of him in rumour and giving him offerings, he's...chilled out??

He only bites people gently. He purrs and flirts and crashes lectures. He raises his hackles and hisses at empty spaces regularly.

In other words he behaves almost like a regular cat of average intellect.

Nobody has died yet, that's all we need to hear 👍

He is going to outlive this school and Wendy tolerates him

[colouredbyd]

Web Of Secrets

🕸️ spiderman au: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader

part 2 of caught in the web

synopsis : when secrets unravel and danger finds you again, your fascination with Spider-Man only deepens. trouble has always had a way of finding you, but with Remus by your side, steady and unflinching, you begin to realize that heroes come in many forms—and sometimes, they are closer than you think.

warnings: violence ,explosions, injuries, free falling, and mentions of blood. (contains best friend regulus x reader, and potter reader. takes place in modern au)

w/c: 13k

a/n: i absolutly love this <3 also had to put my physics skills to write this

part 1 masterlist

The past week had been painted in shades of crimson and shadow, spider-silk threads connecting moments you could barely believe belonged to you.

It started with rooftops—peeling brick and rusted water towers, the whisper of wind brushing against your cheeks as you waited. He found you there more often now, like it was planned, though neither of you ever admitted it.

Remus would find you there with the kind of ease that felt almost instinctual, a soft smile always lingering on his face. You would talk sometimes. Quietly. He would ask if you were still running around in places you shouldn’t be, and you would laugh and deflect, watching the corners of his mouth twitch upward. Other times, there was silence—comfortable, almost familiar—as you watched the city stretch out like a heartbeat beneath you.

And it was ridiculous, really, the way your heart fluttered like wings caught in a web when he turned his head toward you, when he lingered just a little too long before heading back down the fire escape. 

Ridiculous because you had been here before—years ago, back when Remus Lupin was just your brother’s best friend and you were just a girl with stars in your eyes and scraped knees. You remembered the way you’d watch him from the corner of your eye, the quiet boy with kind eyes who always told you to stay out of trouble.

It was even more ridiculous now, considering the lecture Remus had given you just days ago, all furrowed brows and frustrated sighs, about staying out of Spider-Man's way. 

He had been so stern, so achingly familiar that it had stung more than you wanted to admit. But that was just Remus—always careful, always looking out for you in his own quiet, stubborn way.

James had been livid after your last rooftop rendezvous, pacing back and forth with all the fire of a hurricane. 

Even Regulus had been done with your obsession–fascination after you’d barely escaped last time, his hand still shaking slightly when he’d taken yours and told you to drop it, to let it go.

Yet here you were, knee-deep in dust and shadows, the empty warehouse stretching out around you like the ribcage of some long-dead beast. 

It was reckless, absolutely mental to be here just a night after Spider-Man had torn through the place like a storm. The police tape still fluttered at the entrance, yellow and bold, a warning you had ignored without a second thought. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and concrete dust, and shards of glass glittered like tiny stars scattered across the floor.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, weaving between splintered crates and broken beams. 

It was dangerous, maybe even unforgivable, especially after what had happened. But you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it—the mystery of it all, the rush of knowing you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, somewhere Spider-Man had been just hours before.

Your hands skimmed over metal scaffolding, brushing away cobwebs and collecting fragments of webbing left behind. They glimmered faintly in the pale light, stretching between your fingers with the tensile strength of something unbreakable. You twisted one carefully around your finger, feeling its strange elasticity, its softness. 

Proof that he had been here. Proof that you were just one step behind him.

But before you could examine further, the distant wail of sirens cut through the silence, sharp and sudden. Panic shot through you like ice water, and you scrambled to your feet, heart thundering in your chest. 

You shouldn’t be here. Not now, not ever. You spun around, eyes darting across the shadows, searching for somewhere to hide. The police were getting closer, the sound of their radios crackling just beyond the walls.

Without thinking, you bolted toward the far end of the warehouse, weaving through the scattered debris, lungs burning as you ducked behind a stack of forgotten crates. You pressed your back against the splintered wood, breathing hard, ears straining for footsteps. But instead, there was silence—a thick, waiting silence that stretched out like a thread pulled too tight.

Your hands brushed against something hard, and you looked down, eyes widening. 

Tucked between the crates, half-hidden by thick strands of Spider-Man's webbing, was a metal device—small and unassuming, barely the size of your palm, except for the faint glow of purple light blinking from its core. 

It was heavy in your hands when you peeled the webbing off, its surface warm and humming faintly with energy.

The device itself was sleek and metallic, etched with unfamiliar symbols that curved and twisted in patterns that made your eyes ache if you looked too long. 

Right in the center, a snake was engraved in emerald green, coiled and glimmering as if alive. It felt...otherworldly, humming with a power that had your fingertips buzzing. 

This wasn’t ordinary tech. This was something more.

And what was even stranger—it looked like it had been hidden deliberately, tucked away where no one would find it. Not unless they were searching. Not unless they knew where to look.

You swallowed, adrenaline still flooding your veins as you slipped it into your bag, fingers shaking slightly as you zipped it closed. There was no time to think, no time to question. The sirens were getting louder now, and you forced yourself to move, slipping through the shadows and back out into the night before they could catch you.

You slipped back into your room with the kind of silence only practice could perfect. The adrenaline still thrummed under your skin, your breath catching slightly as you locked the door behind you.

 The warehouse, the sirens, the device—they were a flurry of images that blurred together, half-formed and frantic. But before you could even catch your breath, a voice cut through the silence.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You jumped, spinning on your heel to find Regulus sitting at the edge of your bed, arms crossed and eyes sharp with irritation. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but the flicker of tension around his jawline told you enough. 

He had been waiting for you.

"I was out," you replied, shrugging off your jacket and throwing it over your desk chair. "Had to get some things."

His gaze was unyielding, icy and calculated as it roamed over you. "Getting some things," he repeated, voice flat. 

"You were out getting some things at one in the morning? Dressed like that?" He gestured to your dust-streaked jeans and scuffed boots, and you fought the urge to flinch.

You forced a smile, dropping your bag onto the floor with a muffled thud. "You know me, always up to something."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "That’s precisely the problem."

You ignored him, moving to your desk and shuffling papers around for the sake of distraction. Your heart was still hammering, and you tried desperately to will it into submission. 

The last thing you needed was for Regulus to dig deeper. But before you could even think of diverting the conversation, a metallic clink echoed from the floor, sharp and damning.

Regulus's eyes narrowed instantly. "What was that?"

"Nothing," you said too quickly, bending down to grab your bag. "Just some stuff from class. Projects and...and things."

He was faster. Before you could pull it away, his hand snapped forward, catching the strap and yanking it open. 

The zipper gave way with a harsh rasp, and the device tumbled out onto the wooden floor, glimmering under the low light. The purple light pulsed once, twice, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Regulus stared at it, his expression unreadable. "What the hell is that?" His voice was low, sharper than usual, and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You snatched it up, cradling the cold metal to your chest. "It’s for a project," you lied smoothly, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. 

"Something for class. Advanced tech. We’re studying...uh...hybrid mechanics."

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, taut and fragile. Then Regulus released the bag strap, leaning back with a sigh. "You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days," he murmured, the edge in his voice softening just enough to make your stomach twist.

You forced a laugh, tucking the device back into your bag. "Not today," you replied, and he just shook his head, pushing himself off your bed with a fluid motion.

"Just...be careful," he said finally, pausing at your door. His eyes flickered to the bag once more, suspicion simmering just below the surface. But then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.

The room felt colder without him there, the silence heavy and looming. You exhaled slowly, sinking into your desk chair and pulling the device out once more. It sat in your hands like something alive, humming gently, its purple light flickering with a hypnotic rhythm.

You turned it over, fingertips grazing the emerald-green snake carved into its surface. The symbols etched along its sides pulsed faintly, shifting in patterns that made your eyes blur if you looked too closely. 

It was heavy, impossibly so for its size, like it was carrying the weight of something far larger than itself.

Experimentally, you pressed your fingers along its sides, searching for seams or buttons. Nothing. 

You tilted it, shook it gently, but it gave no hint of its purpose. It was maddening, this enigma of metal and light, and you found your curiosity only sharpening with each failed attempt.

Finally, you leaned back, fingers tracing absent patterns across its surface. It blinked steadily in your hands, as if taunting you, its purple light casting shadows across your walls. There were secrets here, tucked into the crevices of its design, and you intended to uncover every single one of them.

You just needed time.

Sleep came reluctantly, pulling you under only after hours of restless turning and the purple glow of the device still blinking faintly from where it sat on your desk. When you finally surrendered to the weight of it, dreams flickered like shadows behind your eyes, indistinct and lingering.

Morning came harsh and unyielding, sunlight spilling through your curtains and casting patterns across your face. 

Your eyes blinked open slowly, heavy with sleep, before snapping wide in realization. "Shit." The word tumbled from your lips as you shot upright, heart pounding. The clock on your bedside table flashed the time in unforgiving red digits. 

You were late.

You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you threw on the first clothes you could find. The device lay untouched on your desk, still humming faintly, but you barely spared it a glance as you grabbed your bag and tore out of your room, feet pounding down the hallway. 

The rush of air did little to wake you up, but adrenaline coursed through your veins, sharpening your senses as you navigated through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts University.

Students milled about, unconcerned and unhurried, and you weaved through them with practiced ease, barely avoiding a head-on collision with a group of first-years before turning a sharp corner. 

That was when you nearly barreled straight into him.

Remus was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy sort of grin playing on his lips. "In a bit of a rush, aren’t we?" he mused, raising an eyebrow as you skidded to a stop just short of him.

You huffed out a breath, brushing stray hair from your face. "You try being late to McGonagall's class and see how fast you run," you shot back, and he laughed—soft, warm, the kind of laugh that curled around your heart and squeezed just a little too tightly.

"I’m fairly certain she’d just take my head off," he replied, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. 

"And what’s little Potter been up to lately?" he asked, voice dropping into that familiar, teasing lilt. "I hope nothing dangerous, or you know James will die at the fine age of twenty-one purely from stress."

You snorted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "Me? Dangerous? I’m an absolute delight."

"Is that what you call it?" he shot back, amusement lighting his eyes. "I’m pretty sure James calls it a heart attack waiting to happen."

You bumped your shoulder against his, the contact brief but grounding. "Well, he’s still alive, isn’t he?"

Remus just shook his head, but his smile softened, eyes flickering over your face in that way that made your stomach twist and settle all at once. "Barely," he replied, voice gentler now. "Just...be careful, alright?"

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something careful and deliberate that made your heart stutter. 

You forced a grin, shrugging off the heaviness of it. "You know me. Always careful."

"That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," he murmured, and it was almost too soft to hear, almost lost beneath the noise of students rushing past. But you caught it. 

You looked away before he could see the blush creeping up your cheeks, focusing instead on the hallway stretching out before you, wondering—not for the first time—if maybe you weren’t the only one who felt the pull of something just beneath the surface.

Class felt like a slow, dragging stretch of monotony. Words blurred on the board, lectures drifting through one ear and out the other as your mind wandered—to the web samples stuffed carefully in your bag. 

You took notes out of habit, the tip of your quill scratching mindlessly across parchment, but nothing stuck. Spiderman lingered at the edges of your thoughts, his webs glimmering silver in the moonlight, the way he seemed to belong to the city itself, like its shadows and its secrets were his to command.

When the final bell rang, you slipped out of the room with the rest of the crowd, your head still clouded with half-formed thoughts. You made your way down the main corridor, and that was when you saw them.

Regulus and Sirius were leaning against a pillar, heads bent close, talking and—laughing? You stopped in your tracks, blinking in surprise. 

The two of them were always a wildfire, crackling and unpredictable. Lately, they had been nothing but sharp edges and bitten-off words, yet there they were, Sirius throwing his head back with a bark of laughter while Regulus shook his head with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It was a fragile thing, their relationship—built on the remnants of something broken and hastily stitched back together. 

They had been raised in a house of silence and shadows, where affection was a language spoken in hushed tones, if spoken at all. Years of biting words and icy stares had carved deep lines of distrust between them, but now...now there were moments like this, rare and glimmering, like shards of glass catching the light.

You almost approached them, the instinct to nudge your way in and tease them both flaring up, but you stopped yourself. Whatever this was—this brief flicker of peace—you didn’t want to ruin it. 

So, you turned away, slipping through the crowd and heading down the hall. That was when you saw James.

He strode forward with purpose, eyes locked on Sirius and Regulus, mouth set in a grim line. He grabbed Sirius by the arm, pulling him away from Regulus. 

Sirius' confusion melted into something sharper, more focused, as they turned the corner. You caught a glimpse of Remus waiting for them, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes wary and flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

You slowed as you passed, catching just the edge of Sirius’ raised voice, sharp and unyielding: "What do you mean when you went there you didn’t find it!"

And James, loud and incredulous: "Gone? You're kidding, right?"

The door creaked open, the familiar groan echoing off the walls of your room as you stepped inside, shutting it behind you with a quiet click. 

The weight of the day settled over your shoulders, and you dropped your bag onto the floor, not caring as it slumped against the leg of your desk.

Your room was chaos—organized, in your eyes, but chaos nonetheless. Stacks of notebooks, scribbled with half-formed ideas and rough sketches of spiderweb patterns, were piled haphazardly across your desk. The walls were papered with articles, photographs, strings of red yarn linking pieces together like some kind of conspiracy theorist's fever dream.

 In the corner, half-taken-apart gadgets lay scattered on your dresser, gears and wires spilling out like entrails. It was a mess, but it was yours.

You kicked off your shoes and crossed to the desk, fishing out the sample of Spider-Man’s web you had collected the night before. You held it up to the light, watching the way it shimmered, silvery and impossibly strong. It stretched and flexed in your hands, thin as thread but sturdy as steel. 

You’d been studying it for hours the night before, picking apart its structure, analyzing its durability, its tensile strength. 

It was unlike anything you’d ever seen—more synthetic than organic, yet somehow...alive. The way it glimmered when light hit it made you think of silk spun by moonlight, delicate but unyielding.

You frowned, fingers brushing over the delicate strands. They weren’t natural, you were certain of that. 

Someone had made this, engineered it. Which meant Spider-Man wasn’t just swinging off buildings and fighting crime solo—someone was behind the curtain, pulling strings, creating tech that defied logic. 

And that someone...they were good. Very good.

Your gaze drifted to your desk, and that’s when you saw it—the device, still where you left it, except now, it wasn’t glowing anymore. 

The soft purple light had dimmed, flickered out like a candle snuffed by the wind. But something else had taken its place. The snake symbol etched onto its surface was glowing now, a vivid, almost hypnotic green, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You swallowed hard, nerves and excitement pooling in your stomach as you stepped closer, fingers hovering just above its surface. It was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive, thrumming with energy beneath your fingertips. 

You turned it over, inspecting the smooth metal casing, the strange symbols engraved along its edges, symbols you didn’t recognize—sharp and twisting, like some ancient language long forgotten.

The device was heavier than it looked, the size of your palm but dense, like it was packed with secrets. Light bled from its seams, streaks of neon-purple that pulsed rhythmically, like it had a heartbeat of its own. At its center, the snake emblem gleamed in emerald light, flickering softly as if it were breathing. 

You traced its edges, fingers brushing over the cool metal. It was smooth, almost unnaturally so, with no visible seams or screws. Whoever made it, made it to last.

A thought flickered to life at the back of your mind, reckless and dangerous, the kind of thought that should’ve been smothered the moment it sparked. 

But it wasn’t. Instead, it grew, catching like wildfire, spreading through your veins with a thrill that had you clutching the device tighter. 

If this was Spider-Man’s...if he’d left it there, hidden away behind webs and shadows, then it was important. 

And if it was important, then maybe...just maybe...it could lead you straight to him.

You felt your heart begin to pound, adrenaline sparking through your veins as the idea solidified, reckless and daring and entirely too tempting. A grin tugged at the corners of your lips, and you turned the device over in your hands once more, determination settling like iron in your bones.

If Spider-Man wanted it back, he’d have to find you first.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when you burst out of your room, heart pounding with the thrill of what you were about to do. 

You grabbed a matchbook, a lighter, and a half-empty canister of fuel from under your bed—leftovers from a very ill-advised experiment last semester that had nearly cost you your eyebrows. Not your finest moment, but at least it left you with supplies.

Your hands moved quickly, scrawling out a note on a bright yellow sticky note before slapping it onto your door. In your messy handwriting, it read:

Gone to make a deal with Spider-Man. 

P.S. James, try not to throw Regulus out the window while I’m gone xoxo

You stepped back, admiring your handiwork with a grin before turning and bolting down the stairs, sneakers slapping against the pavement as you made your way into the heart of the city.

The streets were quiet this early, the sun still stretching its fingers over rooftops and alleyways, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at your ankles as you sprinted past. 

You ducked under scaffolding, slipped through narrow alleyways slick with last night’s rain, and finally found yourself standing before the rusted gates of an abandoned building. Its windows were shattered, jagged shards of glass clinging to their frames like teeth. The walls were scrawled with graffiti, layers upon layers of paint peeling back to reveal years of rebellion and lost causes.

Perfect.

You squeezed through a gap in the fence, heart thrumming in your chest as you made your way inside. Dust kicked up around your feet, swirling in the soft light that spilled through broken windows. 

The air was heavy, stale with the scent of rust and decay, but you barely noticed as you ascended the stairs, two at a time, until you burst onto the rooftop, breathless and alive with adrenaline.

The city sprawled out before you, stretching towards the horizon in jagged lines of steel and glass. You stood at the edge, toes curling over the lip of the rooftop, staring down at the dizzying height beneath you. 

Cars crawled like ants, oblivious to your presence far above them. You took a breath, the air sharp and cold in your lungs, and pulled the device from your pocket.

It gleamed in the sunlight, the snake emblem glimmering with that same eerie green light. You tossed it between your hands, weighing it carefully before raising it above your head and striking it against the metal railing of the roof.

Nothing.

You frowned, glancing around before trying again, harder this time, sending sparks flying into the air. 

The device vibrated, thrumming beneath your fingers, and you Held it up with a grin. “Come on, Spider-Man,” you whispered under your breath, voice carrying off into the wind. “Let’s see if you want this back.”

A flash of movement caught your eye, and your heart leapt into your throat as a streak of red and blue zipped through the skyline, landing on the rooftop opposite you with a grace that should’ve been impossible. 

He straightened, hands resting on his hips as he regarded you with what you imagined was disbelief behind that mask.

“Well, well,” you called out, tossing the device between your hands again. “There you are, Spider-Boy.”

He tilted his head, arms crossing over his chest. “Didn’t I save you a week ago?” His voice was distorted through the mask, but you could hear the incredulity in it.

You shrugged, holding up the device. “I think this belongs to you, bug boy.”

He stiffened, gaze snapping to the object in your hand. You could almost feel the tension ripple through the air, crackling with electricity. He took a step forward, hands dropping to his sides. “That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be carrying it around.”

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I’m not carrying it around. I’m giving it back.” 

You tossed it up in the air and caught it again, his shoulders tightening as he watched it flip. “Or, I was. Haven’t decided yet.”

He stepped closer, voice edged with something sharper now. “Look, just hand it over. You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

Your smile turned sharp, taunting. “Maybe I want to find out.”

His head tilted slightly, and you could feel his eyes on you, even through the mask. “You’re reckless,” he murmured, almost like an accusation.

“And you’re dramatic.”

“Please,” he said, voice dropping to something softer. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity bleeding through his tone. But you covered it with a laugh, shaking your head.

 “That’s cute, but I’m not the one swinging off buildings in spandex.”

He took another step forward. “If you don’t give it to me, I’m gonna have to take it.”

You raised the device high, eyes glimmering with mischief. “If you want it,” you called, voice carrying over the wind, “you’re gonna have to catch me.”

Before he could reply, the air shifted. A crack of metal, harsh and jarring, split the rooftop silence, and something massive landed with a thunderous slam. 

You stumbled back, hands instinctively gripping the edge of the building as the ground shook beneath your feet.

Spider-Man moved in an instant, body coiling like a live wire as he stepped in front of you, stance low and defensive. 

The thing—no, the machine—stood ten feet tall, a monstrosity of green and black steel that glinted under the pale morning light. Its eyes, if they could be called that, glowed an acidic green, and coiling tendrils of smoke leaked from its joints. 

The symbol of a serpent, coiled and poised to strike, gleamed from its chest.

It tilted its head, a screech of metal against metal, and the voice that came out was smooth, dripping with venom.

 "Hand over the device," it commanded, green lights flickering as it spoke. "And maybe the girl comes out of this alive."

You stiffened, heart pounding, but Spider-Man’s arm shot out, stopping you before you could step forward. "Don’t," he whispered, voice tight with something raw and desperate.

The machine’s head cocked to the side, almost as if amused. "It’s simple," it drawled, each word stretched out like it was savoring them. "Give her up, and I might let her live. Refuse... and I promise she’ll wish you did."

Spider-Man’s hands balled into fists, and before you could say a word, he turned to you, fingers cradling your face with surprising gentleness. His eyes—hidden behind those white lenses—burned with urgency. 

"You run," he whispered, voice cracking just a bit. "And you don’t look back. Not for me, not for anything. You hide that device. You throw it in the ocean, bury it under a mountain, I don’t care. Just don’t keep it with you. Please." 

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, steadying you, grounding you. "Promise me."

Your breath caught, words failing you for a moment before you finally nodded. He let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering just a heartbeat too long before he released you.

Then he turned, muscles coiling as he launched himself toward the machine with the kind of reckless bravery that took your breath away. You stumbled back, the device heavy in your hands, its pulsing glow seeming to thrum in time with your heartbeat.

And then you ran.

The rooftop shook beneath the weight of colliding metal, the world vibrating with each hit that Spider-Man took. You watched from the narrow edge of the stairwell, heart thrumming painfully in your chest, breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. This was different. 

More brutal, more desperate. The villain, all jagged edges and searing green light, moved with the kind of precision that spoke of ruthless experience.

Spider-Man swung wide, webs slinging him to the far edge of the roof, but the villain was relentless, smashing through concrete like it was paper, claws raking through stone with shrieks of splintering rock. 

You wanted to scream, to yell at him to run, but your voice was stuck somewhere between your ribs, tangled with fear and something deeper—something sharper.

You forced yourself to move, stumbling back down the stairs, feet slamming against each step as you tried to make sense of the pulsing device in your hands. 

It throbbed, slow and steady, the light blinking in time with your heartbeat. You stared at it, the snake symbol flickering with every step you took. 

The further you moved away, the more violently it pulsed; when you edged back up, it softened, almost like it was... responding.

Your mind spun, puzzle pieces clicking together in a rush of realization. 

The villain’s chest—there had been a symbol, the same snake coiled and glimmering, and when Spider-Man had struck him, the light had flickered, just for a second. 

You turned the device over, fingertips grazing the surface, searching for... there. A seam, barely noticeable, like it was waiting to be slotted into something.

The thought was insane. Reckless. Borderline suicidal. And yet…

You were already moving. The rooftop exploded back into view, chaos stretching out in jagged lines of smoke and fury. 

Spider-Man swung left, barely dodging a strike that cratered the concrete, but he caught sight of you instantly. 

"What the hell are you doing? I told you to run!" His voice cracked with something raw—panic, maybe. Fear.

You ignored him, eyes locked onto the villain’s glowing chest. 

"Hey!" you shouted, voice cutting through the violence. Both heads snapped towards you, one masked in crimson, the other gleaming with emerald fire. 

You held up the device, feeling its weight heavy and dangerous in your grip. "You want this?" you called out, voice steady. "Come and get it."

Spider-Man’s curse was swallowed by the metallic roar of the villain charging. You spun on your heel, heart lurching as you sprinted to the edge of the rooftop. 

It was instinct, it was madness, it was pure adrenaline. And it was too late to stop.

Wind screamed past your ears as you flung yourself off the edge, gravity seizing you with ruthless hands. The city stretched out beneath you, endless and uncaring, but you barely saw it. 

You heard the crash of metal as the villain followed, felt the rush of air as he plummeted after you, close enough that you could feel the crackle of energy in your bones. One breath. One heartbeat. 

You grabbed the device, hands steady, and slammed it into the symbol on his chest. 

Light exploded, brilliant and searing, cutting through the sky with blinding intensity. You heard metal shriek, felt the impact of something colossal and unforgiving, and then you were weightless again, falling.

But in that brief flash of light, you saw it: the metal plates groaning and shifting, peeling back like the petals of some iron flower. 

Beneath the fractured shell, his real face almost came into view. You caught the faintest glimpse of a scar on his wrist, thin and silvered with age, before the world splintered around you.

An explosion tore through the air, deafening and absolute, flinging you back with the force of a tidal wave. Smoke and fire curled into the sky, swallowing the fragments of metal and light. There was no time to think, no time to breathe—just the sensation of weightlessness, of falling once more into the abyss.

And then arms—strong, steady—wrapped around you, yanking you from the air. Spider-Man’s grip was unyielding, his body curling around yours as the explosion above bloomed with violet light. 

You buried your face in his chest, his heartbeat thrumming through the thin fabric of his suit, and he held on, even as the world shattered around you.

The world was a smoldering ruin of jagged metal and drifting ash.

 You woke with your cheek pressed against rough concrete, the taste of smoke heavy on your tongue. Blinking against the haze, you sat up slowly, head swimming, and the first thing you noticed was the blood—thick and dark, smeared across your hands and arms. 

It took a sharp, panicked breath to realize it wasn’t yours.

Spider-Man lay sprawled a few feet away, his suit torn open at the ribs, blood pooling beneath him. His mask was still on, but the fabric clung to his face like it was barely holding together, ragged edges soaked through. 

You scrambled forward, knees scraping against the grit and rubble, hands shaking as you pressed them against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice cracking. 

“Hey, come on, you gotta wake up.” He didn’t move. Fear clawed its way up your throat, sharp and unrelenting. 

Then a crackle of static caught your attention—a tiny device, nearly hidden behind his ear. An earpiece. It was barely clinging to life, sparking with flickers of green light.

Through the static, you heard a voice—muffled, frantic. "Moony? Moony, are you there? We’re coming to you, just hold on, alright? Hold on." 

You frowned, the name tickling at something familiar in your memory, but it slipped away too quickly to grasp.

Your gaze drifted back to Spider-Man, his breathing shallow, his blood warm and slick beneath your palms. You hesitated only a second before your hand moved to his mask, fingers curling at the seam. You could help him. Maybe if you just—

But your hand stopped. Something about the way he’d always kept his distance, always shielded his face, it felt sacred. A choice. 

One you couldn’t bring yourself to break. Swallowing back frustration, you ripped at your own shirt, tearing a strip free and pressing it against the gash in his side, tying it off as best as you could manage. 

Blood soaked through instantly, but at least it was something.

You barely had time to register the footsteps before a cloth was pressed to your mouth, a sharp, sickly-sweet scent flooding your senses. 

You tried to fight it, hands clawing at the grip that held you, but your limbs felt heavy, disconnected.

“Shhh, little Potter,” a voice murmured, low and familiar, dripping with an accent that sent ice trickling down your spine. “You’re alright.”

You caught the glimmer of long black hair before the world faded to black.

You woke to sunlight filtering through blinds, soft and golden against the walls. It was the smell that hit you first—clean linen, a hint of cologne you knew too well. James’s room. 

His old hockey jersey was slung over the back of his desk chair, a heap of his sneakers scattered by the door. You touched your face instinctively, fingertips brushing over the tender stitches at your temple, and everything came crashing back.

Spider-Man. The fight. The explosion.

You were out of the bed in an instant, the covers flying back as your feet hit the hardwood. "Spider-Man," you whispered, the name barely more than breath. 

The door creaked open before you could make it, and Peter slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind him.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he soothed, hands up like he was trying not to spook you. Your eyes flicked over him, and something odd snagged your attention.

A faded scar, thin and pale, curled over his wrist, just visible beneath the edge of his sweater. Something about it felt familiar, nagging at the edges of your memory, but you couldn’t quite place it.

Before you could question it, footsteps sounded from the hallway, and the door burst open—James, Sirius, Remus, and Regulus all crowding in, faces tight with worry. 

Remus was leaning heavily on a crutch, his head wrapped in thick layers of bandages. He gave you a small smile, strained but real.

“Finally awake, huh?” Sirius asked, attempting nonchalance, but his eyes were sharp, watchful. 

Regulus stood a step behind him, arms crossed, gaze flicking over you like he was checking for injuries. His eyes were darker than usual, rimmed with something you couldn’t quite name—worry, maybe, or something heavier.

"What happened?" you asked, but your mind was somewhere else. "Spider-Man. Is he—"

James’s face darkened, eyes flashing as he stepped forward, voice rising in a way that made everyone else stiffen. 

"Would you stop worrying about some masked hero that means nothing to you?" he shouted, and the room went silent. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. 

"You keep putting yourself in danger for some vigilante who you don’t even know. I almost lost you before, Y/N. I can’t—" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady, and for a moment, he looked impossibly young. 

"I can’t lose you. You’re my sister. The only family I have left."

His voice wavered, trembling under the weight of unspoken fears. "Do you know what it was like seeing you like that? Seeing you not move? I thought..." He stopped, voice breaking, and his hands flew to his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes. 

"I thought you were gone," he whispered, so quiet it was barely a breath. "I thought you left me too."

He was crying now, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Sirius and Peter exchanged glances, both helpless. Regulus looked away, jaw clenched tight, fists curled so hard his knuckles were white. Remus watched you, eyes full of shadows you didn’t understand.

Without thinking, you reached for James, arms going around him tightly. He clutched you back fiercely, hands grasping at your shirt like if he let go, you’d disappear. His breaths came out ragged, harsh against your shoulder.

 "I was so scared," he choked out, voice muffled. "I can't do this without you. I can't."

"I'm here," you whispered, voice cracking. "I’m right here. I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m so sorry."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "Promise me," he demanded, voice rough. "Promise me you won’t do this again."

Your throat tightened, the words caught somewhere in the ache of your chest. "I… I promise," you murmured, the lie slipping through your teeth like smoke. 

His gaze searched yours for a long moment, something breaking in his eyes before he nodded, pulling you back into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

For a while, there was only silence. His heartbeat thudding against your ear, his hands gripping you like you were the last solid thing in his world. And you clung back, because maybe you needed it just as much.

The room was hushed, fragile, like a single breath might shatter it all. And then, quietly, your mind snagged on something sharp and sudden. 

You stiffened in his hold, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

"Wait," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. "Wait… how did I get here?"

James stiffened, expression going taut. "Spider-Man's fucking fine," he bit out, sharp and edged with something you couldn’t place. "He got you here when you went unconscious."

He looked away, and you swore you saw Sirius and Peter exchange glances, just for a second. It felt wrong, stilted.

 Your gaze flickered to Remus, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes, just stared resolutely at the floor, fingers flexing around the handle of his crutch.

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest tightening. Spider-Man brought you back. But then… why didn’t you remember it?

James pulled back, running a hand through his hair with a sigh that carried both exhaustion and relief. “I’m gonna head out. Got a date with Lily.” He glanced at you, softer now. “Regulus will stay with you. Just—please, rest. Take care of yourself.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, honest and pleading.

You nodded, still shaken, as he slipped out, Sirius following without a word. The silence that settled was heavy but less suffocating.

You turned toward Remus, who leaned awkwardly against the wall, still gripping his crutch. “Hey,” you said quietly. “Where did those injuries come from?”

He shrugged, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Failed prank. Went wrong yesterday. I ended up with a concussion and a mess of bruises.” His eyes twinkled as if daring you not to believe him, but you didn’t press. Something about the way he said it felt like a shield.

You eased down onto the bed, muscles still tense but willing to soften just a little.

Remus nodded at you, gave a tired but genuine smile, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, the room felt too empty.

Then the door creaked open again. Regulus stepped in silently, eyes searching yours. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled you into a careful, guarded hug. Your breath caught. Regulus never hugged anyone. 

It was like breaking a secret code.

“I won’t lecture you,” he said softly, voice low. “I know what you did. It was reckless. Dangerous. But…” He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his rare kindness sinking deep.

Regulus spoke up from the beanbag, patting the spot next to him. "Come on, you’re wasting valuable movie time."

You glanced over, surprised to find him watching you with something close to amusement. "Since when do you want to watch movies with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "You almost died. I’m feeling charitable." He gestured again, a touch more insistent.

You huffed, but joined him, settling into the beanbag with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I’m picking the movie."

He groaned. "Just don’t pick one of those horrible rom-coms. I’m begging you."

The night slipped by in laughter and groans, Regulus arguing with you over the plausibility of action scenes and you smacking his arm every time he tried to fast-forward through a "boring bit." 

At some point, he fell asleep, head tipped back against the edge of the beanbag, arms crossed over his chest, mouth slightly open. 

You bit back a laugh at the sight—Regulus Black, passed out during The Princess Diaries. You’d never let him live it down.

But then the stillness settled, and boredom crept in. You nudged him with your foot. "Reg," you whispered. 

Nothing. He was out cold.

Regulus’s breathing evened out beside you, eyelids drooping, until finally, his head lolled to the side, and he was asleep.

You tried to focus on the screen, but the quiet gnawed at you. Restlessness crept up your spine. 

You shifted, sat up, and glanced around the room. James’s desk caught your eye—promising a treasure trove of distractions.

Curiosity overpowered fatigue. You pushed yourself up and padded over, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath your bare feet.

Drawers, papers, tangled cords—nothing exciting. Until your fingers brushed something cold, smooth, and unfamiliar. You pulled it out carefully, heart skipping.

It was sleek and mechanical, shaped like a wrist device but unlike anything you'd seen before. 

Thin webs of synthetic fibers stretched taut from tiny nozzles along its edge—webbing that gleamed faintly under the light.

Your breath hitched. The webbing was exactly like the synthetic strands Spider-Man used.

Hands trembling, you rummaged deeper in the drawer and found a tiny black earpiece, shaped perfectly like the communication devices Spider-Man’s allies wore.

Everything clicked inside you like a lock snapping open. James wasn’t just some reckless friend—he was Spider-Man’s ally.

You dropped the earpiece back in the drawer, slamming it shut harder than you intended. Your hands shook, breath coming fast and shallow. This changed everything.

You swallowed hard, the room suddenly closing in around you. Questions flooded your mind, but one burned brighter than the rest 

If James is Spider-Man’s ally… then who is Spider-Man?

You backed away from the desk, thoughts clashing into one another with dizzying speed. You had to tell someone, ask someone—no, not James. 

Not Sirius. Not yet. You needed to think. 

You slipped back out into the hallway, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. But as you crept back towards Regulus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground had just shifted beneath your feet.

Your feet moved of their own accord, faster and faster, until you were practically running down the corridor, heart slamming in your chest. There was only one place you needed to check.

Remus’s room.

You reached his door, breathless and shaking. It was unlocked, which was strange—Remus never left it unlocked. 

You pushed it open, the hinges groaning. The room was empty, untouched, but the window was open, curtains flapping gently in the night breeze. 

Your mind spun, piecing together fragments of moments you’d never questioned before. 

The bandages. 

The injuries. 

The late nights and the cryptic glances between him and James. 

A thousand little things that seemed trivial until now.

You took a step forward, then another. The room felt colder somehow, empty of the warmth that Remus always carried with him. 

And then—a shadow moved outside the window. A flash of red and blue, streaking across the night sky before landing silently on the window’s edge.

Spider-Man.

You sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back a step as the masked figure climbed inside, graceful and measured. 

He didn’t see you at first, his back turned as he ripped off his mask and tossed it onto Remus’s desk. Brown hair spilled free, mussed and tangled, and a hand reached up to wipe blood from his temple.

Remus.

It was Remus.

The room spun. You gripped the doorframe to steady yourself, eyes wide and unblinking. He turned then, and the moment he saw you, every ounce of color drained from his face. 

His hands stilled, still streaked with crimson, his gaze locked with yours.

“Y/N…” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. He took a step forward, hand half-extended. “I… it’s not… I can explain.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Remus was Spider-Man. The one who saved you. The one who bled for the city. The one who had cradled you from free-falling off a rooftop just days ago.

Everything shifted. Nothing made sense. 

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but the words never came.

You’re frozen, chest tightening, every breath shallow and ragged as the words land like a hammer: You’re Spider-Man. 

You stare at him—Remus—who’s sitting there, the faint moonlight catching the edge of his face, the same face you’ve known for years. But it’s different now. Everything is different.

“How…” Your voice cracks, barely more than a strangled whisper, “How is this even possible? What the fuck?” The shock is raw, a fire racing through your veins. 

Your heart pounds so loud you’re afraid it might tear right out of your chest. Your hands tremble, and you feel like the ground beneath you has crumbled away entirely.

Remus shifts, panic flaring in his eyes, a flicker of desperation that makes your stomach twist. “I never wanted you to find out like this,” he says, voice thick with something you can’t quite place—guilt, fear, regret. 

His hands twitch at his sides, as if holding back something that’s clawing to escape.

But your voice is sharper now, breaking through the silence, tearing into the space between you. 

“You all lied to me. You knew. James knew. Sirius knew. You all knew and never told me. How could you? How could you keep this from me? From me?” The words spill out in a torrent of betrayal, pain, disbelief. 

Your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall, because if you do, you might drown in them.

You feel small, raw, exposed—like the trust you built was a fragile castle, and they’ve shattered it with secrets.

Before you can pull away, his hands are on your face—warm, steady, insistent. His fingers cradle your jaw gently, but there’s an urgency in the way he holds you, as if afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low, thick with emotion, so fierce it vibrates through your bones.

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, everything falls away—the anger, the confusion, the heartbreak. There’s just this moment, fragile and trembling between you.

“I am not Spider-Man right now,” he says, and the words drip like honey but taste of something far heavier. 

“I am Remus. The same Remus who sits with you on rooftops when the city is silent, the same Remus who watches the stars with you, who talks with you about everything and nothing.”

His voice falters for a second, a crack that makes your chest ache.

“I am Remus who cares about you. Not as a hero. Not as a mask. Just as me.” His thumb strokes lightly over your cheek, tracing a path that sends shivers down your spine.

You blink back the storm behind your eyes, the knot in your throat tightening.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m here,” he breathes. 

“I’m not some untouchable symbol or a secret you can’t reach. I’m the boy who knows your scars, your fears, the way you smile when you think no one’s looking.”

The intensity of his gaze pulls you in, raw and vulnerable. It’s like he’s tearing down the walls between you piece by piece, laying everything bare. 

His honesty is almost too much, a fierce, aching kind of love that makes your breath hitch.

Your throat tightens as your own voice trembles. “But why... why didn’t you tell me? Why keep me in the dark? Was I not enough to trust?” The hurt is suffocating, but beneath it, something deeper pulses—longing, a desperate hope for connection.

He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper, “Because I was scared. Scared that if you knew, if anyone knew, you’d see me differently. Scared I’d lose you—not just as Spider-Man, but as Remus. And I wasn’t strong enough to carry both.”

You stand frozen, caught in the raw vulnerability radiating from his trembling hands cradling your face. His voice, soft yet weighted with fear, breaks the silence between you.

“I am not Spider-Man without the mask,” he confesses, his breath shaky. 

“That mask… it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m something — like I’m not just broken pieces drifting without purpose. Without it, I’m nothing. Just Remus, scared and lost.”

His eyes search yours, wide and desperate, as if begging for understanding. “I never wanted you dragged into my world. I thought if you saw me — the real me — you’d run away. You’d see all my cracks and be gone.”

The tension coils tight in the air, thick and electric. Your heart pounds loud enough to drown out the world, every word tearing through you, yet igniting something fierce beneath the surface.

Then, without warning, his hands tighten around your face, pulling you closer. The fear, the desperation, the raw need in his eyes crash into you like a tidal wave. 

His lips slam against yours—rough, urgent, aching.

The kiss is everything he’s been holding back: fierce and trembling, wild and vulnerable, desperate and demanding. Your breath catches, your body aches for him, and all the unsaid words burn away in the heat of that fierce connection.

He clings to you like you’re the only anchor in his shattered world, and you melt into the storm, fierce and unyielding, knowing this—this chaotic, broken passion—is the closest thing to truth you’ll ever find.

You pull back from the kiss, your breath mingling as your eyes lock with his—intense, searching, vulnerable. 

For a long moment, the world outside this quiet room disappears, leaving only the weight of this shared silence between you.

Then his voice slips out, barely more than a breath, trembling with a mix of fear and humor, “James is gonna kill me.”

A soft laugh bubbles from your chest, surprising even yourself, breaking the tension in the air. 

But then you catch the glint of red, the dark smear on his temple. Your laughter halts instantly. “Bug boy, you’re bleeding.”

He raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bug boy? Is that what I am now?”

Before he can respond, you push him gently but firmly back onto the bed. “Stay put,” you say with a grin that doesn’t quite reach your worried eyes. 

You grab the med kit nearby and kneel beside him, careful as you open it. Your fingers work deftly, cleaning the blood from his skin, the warmth of your touch making him quiet, watching you with something soft and unfamiliar in his gaze.

He speaks again, breaking the comfortable silence. “You know, I have powers. I can heal quickly.”

You look up, surprised and genuinely impressed. “Really? That’s so cool.”

His smile falters just a little, touched with something sad. “Though the only way for me to heal this,” he gestures to the fresh wound, “is with some secret remedy I don’t have right now. So… I’m just gonna keep bleeding.”

The sadness in his voice makes your chest tighten, and panic flickers across your face. “What is it? What do you need?”

Without a word, he pulls you gently into his chest. The weight of him settles around you like a shield. “Kisses,” he whispers into your hair, voice soft and almost playful.

You grin, teasing him, “Well, I guess I’m just the remedy then.”

And with that, you tilt your head, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, then another to his lips. It’s light and warm at first, then deepens into a tender promise—sweet—the kind of moment where everything feels just right, fragile and infinite all at once.

The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of your breathing mingling with his steady heartbeat beside you. 

Remus’s arm rested lightly over your waist, the warmth of his skin seeping into you, grounding you in a way nothing else could. The night stretched on, gentle and slow, as if the world had paused just to give you this moment.

You shifted slightly, your eyes catching the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting a pale glow over everything. 

The comfort of being here, so close to him, made your chest ache with a sweet kind of ache you hadn’t expected. You wanted to say the words—the ones that floated on the edges of your thoughts—but you didn’t need to. He was here. That was enough.

Then suddenly, a wave of unease washed over you, an unexpected chill creeping down your spine. 

Your breath hitched and your skin went pale, the warmth draining from your face. Remus stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open to find yours clouded with something unspoken.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with concern, gentle as a whisper meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I just realized you saw my room. You saw everything... all my notes, the pictures, the way I was stalking you.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you looked away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

There was a pause before he laughed, low and full, not mocking but filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter wildly. “I found it very adorable.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, disbelief etched deep in your expression. “Adorable? You found me stalking you adorable?”

He smiled, that crooked, slow smile that made you forget every worry you’d had just moments before. “Anything you do is adorable.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again, a flush that wasn’t just embarrassment but something softer, more intimate. 

It was as if the space between you was charged with quiet electricity, a pulse you both could feel without needing words.

Remus shifted closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You could kill me for all I want,” he murmured, voice low and filled with something fierce, “and I wouldn’t mind. I’d be honored to die at the hands of Y/N Potter.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a blanket, thick and comforting and impossible to ignore. 

Your heart hammered wildly, and for a moment the world stopped turning, held captive by the intensity in his eyes.

You laughed softly, a breathless sound that slipped out unbidden. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned, eyes shining with an unspoken promise. “Maybe. But I’m your ridiculous.”

Just as you opened your mouth to retort, the door burst open so hard it crashed against the wall.

 Sirius stood in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes wide. "Remus—the villain isn’t dead—"

His words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him. 

Remus, still in his Spider-Man suit, mask tossed on the floor. You, tangled in the sheets beside him, cheeks flushed and hair wild. 

Sirius blinked once. Twice. Then, with the most dramatic flourish you’d ever seen, he slapped a hand over his eyes.

“What the fuck?” he finally managed, voice tinged with both horror and something akin to amusement.

Remus groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Sirius—"

Sirius peeks between his fingers. "You—wait. She knows?"

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the flush on your cheeks only deepens.

Sirius drops his hand and points at the two of you accusingly. "James is going to absolutely murder you, Moony. What the hell were you thinking?"

Remus tries to sit up, wincing as his sore muscles protest. "It’s—complicated."

"Oh, I bet it is," Sirius mutters. Then he shakes his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. 

"Wait. Why are you in bed, in the Spider-Man suit, with James’s sister? Are you out of your mind?"

You press your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, and Remus shoots you a look that’s half pleading, half exasperated.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "So, what? You decided to just have sex?"

You and Remus speak at the exact same time, voices loud and full of mortification. "We didn’t have sex!"

"Oh my god, no!" you add, shaking your head rapidly. "Definitely not!"

Sirius blinks, then smirks. "Alright, alright. Just checking."

Remus rubs his hands over his face, muttering something under his breath, and you can’t help but laugh at the shade of red creeping up his neck.

Sirius just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Well, this is officially my favorite morning of the year."

Remus groans, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he glances back at you. 

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, still flustered from Sirius’s endless teasing, but the grin on your face made it all worth it. 

He finally straightened, running a hand through his messy hair. “Where are James and Peter?” he asked, voice steadying as he shifted back to business.

You adjusted the sheets around you, still fighting the blush on your cheeks. “James went on a date with Lily,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though the idea of your brother actually on a date was a little surreal.

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. “And Pettigrew is…out,” he said with a shrug, like that was explanation enough.

Remus paused, gaze sharpening. “Out?”

“Yeah, out,” Sirius replied. “Probably running errands or something. He’s been a bit more…secretive lately. I just assumed it was some…Peter thing.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed for just a moment, but then he shook it off. “Right. Well, I’m going to go get rid of that villain. I’ve let him play around long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

A sly smile curved his lips as he bent down, reaching under his bed. From beneath the frame, he pulled out something sleek and silver, wrapped carefully in cloth. He peeled it back, revealing a high-tech version of his Spider-Man suit—polished, reinforced, and far more advanced than the one he currently wore. 

Tiny lines of blue circuitry glowed faintly along its surface. “He can’t beat that,” Remus said confidently, brushing his fingers over the smooth material. 

“And the best part? The villain doesn’t know about this new tech I’ve got in here.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Remus grinned, that familiar spark of mischief back in his eyes. “You coming?”

Sirius scoffed. “You think I’m letting you have all the fun? I gotta be in your earpiece, making sure you don’t trip over your own feet.” 

He gave you a wink and a salute. “Try not to miss us too much.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get yourselves killed.”

Remus moved toward the door, steps heavy with purpose, but before he left, he turned back to you. 

His eyes were molten with something unspoken, the kind of thing that lingered in rooms long after someone left. His hand found the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness that nearly broke you. 

"Come back to me, okay?" you whispered, voice cracking just enough to reveal the fear clawing at your heart.

He gave you that lopsided grin, the one that was all Remus and none of Spider-Man. "If I don’t," he said, voice soft, "then who’s gonna save you from all that trouble you always find?"

You laughed shakily, and before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you. It was quick but fierce, his hands tangled in your hair like he was afraid you might vanish the moment he let go. 

He pulled back, breathless, and then with one last look, he was gone.

Sirius clapped you on the back, though a bit more gently than usual. "I’m off. Gotta make sure our boy doesn’t do anything stupid out there," he said with a wink. You nodded numbly, still tasting Remus on your lips.

When they left, the room felt impossibly silent. Too big. Too empty. Your thoughts roared back in, louder than ever. 

You let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the kiss, from the way his hands had cradled your face like you were something fragile. 

But then something nagged at the back of your mind. A whisper of a memory you hadn’t quite pieced together.

You leaned back against the pillows, mind replaying the events from the rooftop, the chaos of the fight. You remembered the villain’s hand, reaching out to grab you. You remembered the scar on his wrist—thin, jagged, unmistakable.

You froze.

That scar. You had seen it before. A million times, in fact. 

At parties, during missions, lazy days lounging around headquarters. 

Peter had that exact same scar. You had always wondered where he’d gotten it, but he’d brushed you off every time you asked.

The room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as the realization sank in, icy and sharp. 

Peter. 

Peter was the villain. 

Peter had been betraying all of you this whole time. He knew Remus’s plan. He knew the new tech. He knew everything.

And Remus was already gone.

Your hands shook as you stumbled out of bed, heart in your throat. How long had Peter known? How much had he seen? Your mind was racing with questions, each one darker than the last.

A flicker of movement caught your eye from the window, something darting between shadows too fast to be human. You rushed to it, throwing it open, and for a moment, the city sprawled out before you seemed quiet. 

But then you saw it—far in the distance, flashes of blue light sparking against the skyline, too sharp and erratic to be anything but a fight.

Your breath caught. Remus was out there with no idea he was walking into a trap. Peter knew. Peter always knew.

And now, you were out of time.

The realization crashed into you like a tidal wave, too strong and too consuming to push away. 

That scar on his wrist was the missing piece, the mark you’d seen a thousand times without a second thought. And now Remus—Remus was walking right into a trap, armed with his confidence and a suit that Peter already knew everything about.

You couldn’t breathe. The walls seemed to close in on you, suffocating and sharp-edged. 

He knew Remus’s plan, the new tech, the strategies. He had been playing all of you like puppets on strings, pulling tighter with each lie and every fake smile. 

Panic clawed its way up your throat as you stumbled out of the room, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, heart hammering in your chest. 

You dialed James’s number, praying he would pick up. It rang and rang, each passing second stretching thin like wire. “Come on, come on…” you whispered, voice cracking.

Finally, there was a click. “Y/N?” James’s voice was breathless, wind rushing past him as if he were running. “What’s going on?”

“Peter,” you gasped, shoving your feet into your shoes as you spoke. “It’s Peter. He’s the villain. I saw the scar. It matches. He knows everything, James. Remus—he’s walking right into a trap.”

There was silence, heavy and stretching, before James cursed so violently you flinched. “What do you mean Remus? What the hell are you talking about?”

You paused, breath hitching. “Gosh, Spider-Man. I know everything, James.”

Another pause, sharper this time. “How do you even know all this?” he demanded, but there was no accusation, only shock and urgency.

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, running down the stairs two at a time. “Where are you?”

“City center,” James said, voice clipped. “I’m heading back now—”

“No!” you shouted, hailing a cab as you stumbled onto the sidewalk. “I’m coming to you. Remus is already out there. He—he’s fighting him, I saw it.”

James cursed again. “Get here fast.”

The line went dead, and you threw yourself into the back of the cab, voice breathless as you gave the driver directions. 

The city blurred past, buildings stretching into smears of light and shadow. Your fingers tapped anxiously on your knees, thoughts racing faster than the car could move.

When you finally arrived at the city center, chaos had already erupted. Crowds of people were screaming, scattering like ants as bursts of blue light ricocheted off metal and concrete. 

Above the skyline, two figures clashed—one clad in crimson and silver, the other in jagged steel, metal gleaming under the flicker of broken streetlights.

Your heart stopped. Remus. He was out there, alone, fighting against the very person who had been one of your closest friends. Betrayal and fear tangled in your gut, sharp and twisting. 

The metallic villain’s fist crashed into Spider-Man with a force that shook the ground, sending him sprawling across the pavement. 

People screamed, scattering like leaves in a storm. The air was thick with panic, the chaos of it nearly blinding as you pushed your way through the frantic crowd, heart pounding like a drum.

Your eyes locked on the scene unfolding before you. Remus—Spider-Man—was struggling to get up, shaking his head as if to clear it. His new suit shimmered under the flickering streetlights, cracked slightly at the shoulder where the impact had hit hardest. 

The villain loomed above him, mechanical limbs whirring with each predatory step forward.

You sucked in a breath. The last time they had defeated him, it had been with that device—an energy amplifier. 

Your mind spun with the memory, grasping at every detail. If you could replicate it, if you could make something similar…

There wasn’t time to second-guess it. You turned sharply, pushing your way through the throng of terrified bystanders until you found what you were looking for: a tech vendor's stall, abandoned in the chaos. Pieces of scrap metal, circuit boards, wires—it was a mess of technology, but it was something.

Your hands moved on instinct, gathering what you needed: a copper coil, lithium batteries, a panel of solar conductors, anything that could channel raw energy. 

The amplifier worked by redirecting kinetic force into a concentrated pulse—if you could just build something close to it…

Your fingers flew, twisting wires and connecting circuit boards. 

The copper coil would act as the conduit, the lithium as the charge, and the solar conductors to boost its power intake. You pulled open a panel, exposing the wiry guts of it, and started connecting everything together. Sparks flew, the hum of energy rising beneath your palms. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you worked, heart hammering as you glanced back at the fight.

Spider-Man had gained some ground, landing a kick to the villain’s chest that sent him stumbling back, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. 

You jammed the final piece into place, tightening the last wire and securing it with a twist. The device pulsed once, then lit up, a soft blue glow emanating from its center.

 The air was thick with tension, shattered glass crunching beneath frantic footsteps, and the sharp crackle of energy bouncing off cold metal. 

Shitty news reporters had swarmed in, their cameras casting the entire fight live for the world to see, their voices a distant drone beneath the roar of the crowd scattering in panic.

Remus lay on the ground, winded and battered from a brutal blow the villain had just landed. His crimson and silver suit was scuffed and torn, but he pushed himself up, grimacing through the pain.

You knew you had to act fast. The device—the energy amplifier—was the only thing that had worked before. But this time, the stakes were even higher. 

The amplifier was powerful enough to disrupt the villain’s defenses, but it had one cruel catch: whoever wielded it had to maintain direct contact with the target. The energy surge would course through you as well, and you wouldn’t come out unharmed.

With no time to waste, you darted behind a broken stall and gathered whatever materials you could find: frayed wires, twisted metal strips, bits of a shattered electronic billboard. 

Your hands moved quickly, weaving and twisting, soldering circuits in a makeshift bow—an amplifier bow wired to release a focused burst of energy. It was crude but brilliant, a weapon born of desperation and ingenuity.

You stepped into the clearing, heart hammering in your chest, and called out loudly, voice steady despite the chaos. “Or should I call you Pettigrew, you fucking traitor?”

The villain—metallic and menacing—slowly turned to face you. His snake symbol glinted on his chestplate, a dark promise of betrayal.

From the distance, a shout pierced the noise. “No!”

James had arrived, breathless and frantic, but too far to intervene just yet.

Remus, lying on the ground, looked up at you, eyes filled with pain and warning. He shook his head weakly. “Please… don’t.”

But you had no choice.

Raising the amplifier bow, you steadied your aim. The wires hummed with electric energy, circuits pulsing like a heartbeat in your hands. 

You released the shot—a brilliant surge of raw power blasting toward the snake emblem on the villain’s chest.

The moment the energy connected, it was like a thunderclap. The force surged through the air, wrapping around you in a shocking embrace. 

Pain flared up your arms, your vision blurred, and the world spun wildly before everything went black.

-

-

-

You woke slowly, the world coming back into focus in fragments. The ceiling above you was painfully white, sterile, the kind of brightness that belonged to hospital lights. 

Your body felt heavy, limbs weighted down and wrapped in tight bandages. There were wires connected to you, snaking out from beneath the covers, their ends disappearing into beeping machines by your bedside. 

A wave of panic surged up your throat, and your fingers twitched, searching for movement.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice murmured, gentle and reassuring. You blinked hard, vision clearing enough to make out Remus sitting beside you, bruised and bandaged himself, but very much alive. 

His hand found yours, squeezing it softly. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Regulus was there too, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and watchful. He offered a small nod when your eyes met his. “You scared the hell out of us.”

The door swung open, and James all but burst inside, eyes wide and frantic. “Thank god you’re awake,” he breathed out, stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to your bedside. 

He looked you over with a mixture of relief and exasperation, ruffling his hair as if trying to shake off the adrenaline. “You’re insane, you know that? Completely reckless.”

A weak laugh bubbled up from your throat, more relief than amusement. “Nice to see you too, Potter.”

James snorted, dropping into the chair opposite Remus. “You’re lucky you’ve got these two looking out for you. That was…insane. I mean, brilliant, but insane.”

Remus’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unspoken and fragile. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he murmured, voice low. 

“You could have died.”

“Yeah, well,” you managed, voice cracking just slightly. “I couldn’t just stand by.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, finally pushing off the wall and coming closer. “You might want to consider standing by next time. You nearly got yourself killed.” But there was no bite to his words, only a thin veil of concern he didn’t bother to hide.

You tried to sit up, but a sharp pain flared in your side, forcing you back down with a wince. Remus’s hand pressed gently to your shoulder. “Easy,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “You’re still healing. Just…take it slow.”

For a moment, there was only the soft hum of machines and the steady rise and fall of your breaths. 

Then James leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “So,” he drawled, a grin creeping onto his face. “When you’re back on your feet…we’re going to have a long talk about your definition of ‘safety.’”

Regulus scoffed. “Safety? She ran into the middle of a full-on fight with a homemade amplifier. I’d say her definition of safety is a bit skewed.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, the sound cracking the tension that had built in your chest. 

Despite everything, despite the pain and the panic and the aftermath, you were here. 

James stretched his arms above his head, glancing at Regulus with a grin. “Okay, well, me and Reg are gonna go catch up with Sirius, who’s currently losing a battle with a vending machine.” He rolled his eyes affectionately. 

Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to you and Remus, eyes narrowing playfully. “And don’t get too cozy with my sister, Lupin.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and James ruffled your hair on his way out, Regulus following with a parting nod. 

The door shut softly behind them, leaving the room draped in quiet warmth.

Your eyes immediately met Remus. “I know you don’t like what I did, but—”

Before you could finish, his hands cupped your face, pulling you in with a kind of desperation you hadn’t expected. 

His mouth met yours, soft and searching, like you were something delicate he was terrified of breaking. 

You melted into him, hands slipping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His breath stuttered against your lips, and when you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed. 

“You’re everything I tried not to want. And now…I can’t imagine wanting anything else.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, words trapped in your throat.

A crooked grin played at his lips as he pulled back, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Come on. I’m going to show you something.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I thought I was supposed to rest.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Good thing I’m Spider-Man, right?”

Remus moved toward the backpack stashed behind the door, unzipping it and pulling out his Spider-Man suit piece by piece. 

He slid it on with the kind of practiced ease that came with repetition, the mask hanging loosely from his fingertips as he turned back to you. There was a flicker of hesitation before he stepped closer, his gaze softening. "Ready?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"

He grinned, a flash of mischief lighting up his features. "To get out of here." Without another word, he slipped the mask over his face, the familiar lenses locking into place, and in one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms.

A startled laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck. "Remus! What are you—"

But he was already moving, pushing the window open with a flick of his hand. The city sprawled out below, lights blinking like distant stars. 

Before you could protest, he stepped onto the ledge, his grip on you firm and steady. "Hold on," he murmured through the mask, and then you were airborne.

Wind whipped past your face, the rush of it stealing the breath from your lungs. The hospital fell away beneath you, replaced by the glittering sprawl of the city as Remus swung from one skyscraper to the next with effortless grace.

 Your heart pounded wildly, caught somewhere between exhilaration and disbelief. You tightened your hold around him, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow.

It was nothing like you’d ever experienced—weightless and wild, the world stretching out beneath you like a living, breathing thing. 

You laughed, the sound lost in the wind, and Remus’s grip on you tightened just a fraction, almost like he was savoring the way you clung to him.

When he finally landed again, it was on the pavement just before the city’s grand bridge. Its arching structure loomed above, glittering with strings of lights like stars hung low enough to touch. 

But what stole your breath wasn’t the view—it was the webbing stretched across its iron frame, glistening silver in the moonlight, spelling out three simple words: 

I Love You.

Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide and heart thundering. You turned to him, and he was already looking at you, mask off, eyes raw and unguarded. 

"I wanted you to see it from here," he murmured, voice trembling just enough for you to hear it. "Before I said it."

The world felt impossibly still. "You… you did this?"

He nodded, taking a step closer. "I’ve loved you for a long time," he confessed, voice thick with emotion. 

"Way before I walked into your room and saw that mess of clues and pins and theories. Hell, I think I loved you the second James introduced you as his 'forbidden-to-date' sister."

You laughed, the sound cracking with disbelief and joy. "You’re serious?"

"I’m completely serious." He took your hands in his, the warmth of him grounding you, anchoring you. 

"I’ve tried not to. I swear I’ve tried. But you’re everything I can’t shake. You’re everything I want. You could kill me for all I care, I’d be honored to die at the hands of Y/N Potter."

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in like the softest kind of devastation. 

He was so close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Remus," you whispered, voice cracking. "I... I love you too."

His eyes flashed with something wild and desperate, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. 

It was slow and aching at first, like he was savoring every second, but then it grew deeper, more consuming, his hands coming up to cup your face as if he was afraid you might slip away. 

You kissed him back with everything you had, fingers tangling in his hair, breath mingling with his until the world around you blurred away into nothing.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed, lips parted. "You made this for me," you whispered, voice trembling with awe as you looked back at the bridge, the words shimmering like spun silver.

He opened his eyes, gaze softening as he looked at you. "I’d make you anything if it meant I got to see you look at me like that."

“Wait, I’m not done,” Remus whispered suddenly, reaching behind the doorframe where his backpack lay hidden. 

He fished through its contents with a sort of hurried excitement before pulling out a small, glimmering necklace. It hung from a delicate chain, a tiny spider charm nestled at its center, its eyes gleaming with a crimson shimmer.

He stepped forward, lifting it so it dangled between you, catching the streetlights. "This," he murmured, voice soft and sincere, "is linked to my suit. If you press it, I’ll find you. Wherever you are."

Your fingers reached out to brush against it, eyes wide with wonder. "You… you made this for me?"

"I did," he nodded, fastening it around your neck with a gentleness that made your heart lurch. "And there’s more." 

He reached back into the bag and pulled out a matching bracelet, sleek and shimmering, threaded with the same crimson accents. "You can’t seem to stay out of trouble," he teased, his eyes sparkling. "Consider this my way of keeping an eye on you."

You laughed, light and breathless, fingers touching the necklace that now rested against your collarbone. "Gosh," you whispered, looking up at him with a grin so wide it hurt. "I love you."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss so soft and slow that it stole the breath right out of you. 

i highly suggest playing Honest by The Neighborhood here for the perfect outro <3

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—minutes or hours, time blurring into something infinite. But at some point, the silence grew heavy, and you turned to look at him, his profile bathed in moonlight. 

His mask lay beside him, the eyes still fixed in that eternal wideness, but his real gaze was softer, warmer.

“Remus?” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

He turned to you, brow lifting in question. “Yeah?”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “When I found out you were Spider-Man...it just...it made so much sense.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sense? I’m pretty sure it’s the most nonsensical thing that’s ever happened to me.”

But you shook your head, voice steady now, charged with quiet certainty. “No, really. It made perfect sense. Spider-Man isn’t just a hero to me—he’s everything you are. Brave beyond reason, endlessly kind, carrying the world on his shoulders but never losing that spark of selflessness. Always giving more than anyone could ask for, even when he thinks it’s not enough. That’s you. Has always been you.”

Your voice grew softer, almost confessional, as your fingers entwined with his. “When I found that earpiece in James’s room, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I didn’t run to Sirius’s or Peter’s room. I ran straight to your room. Because you’re the one I believed in. The one who’s been there even when the world wasn’t. I could have assumed it was James—maybe that would’ve made sense, especially after seeing the webs in his room—but I didn’t. Because no one wears Spider-Man like you do. No one.”

He gave you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You squeezed his hand, your voice a soothing balm against his fears. “You do. More than anyone else. The suit is just cloth and webbing. But you... you breathe life into it. You give it heart and soul. The mask isn’t a shield—it’s a window and I always knew it was you beneath it. The way you move, the way you fight, how fiercely you love even the people you’ve never met.”

He swallowed hard, eyes locking with yours, raw and unguarded. “The way I love?”

You leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. “You don’t do anything halfway—not even love. It’s reckless, it’s fierce, it’s everything. I knew it was you because Spider-Man loves the way you do—with every inch of his heart.”

“I’ve spent so long hiding, pretending no one could see me,” he murmured. “But you… you see all of me. The hero and the man. The fear and the strength. The light and the shadows.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned into his touch. “I’ve always seen you. And I always will, spider-boy.”

His breath came out shaky, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Honest?”

You cupped his face, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone. “Honest.”

He watched you with those gentle brown eyes, a question unspoken on his lips. 

But before he could say anything, you moved, the cool night air brushing your skin as you stood up, brushing off the dust from your jeans. Remus blinked up at you from where he sat, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice laced with surprise.

You did not answer—not right away. Instead, you moved, steps soft and measured as you wandered toward the edge of the rooftop. 

Your heels scuffed against the concrete, a whisper of sound against the city's distant hum. Below, the world stretched vast and shimmering, lights flickering like scattered stars, restless and alive. 

You turned back to him, the wind catching in your hair, loose strands dancing around your face. For a moment, you were still, arms at your sides, eyes holding his like a promise.

“Hey, Bug Boy?” Your voice was soft but sure, lacing through the space between you like a silver thread.

And before he could shape the words on his lips, you leaned back, tipping off the edge with your arms spread wide, surrendering to the night. 

There was no scream, no flinch of fear—just weightlessness, the air rushing past you in ribbons of wind and light. The city blurred beneath you, gold and white streaks smearing across your vision. Your eyes slipped shut, heart hammering wild and free.

Because you knew he would jump immediately after you.

There was no question, not even the whisper of doubt. Because Remus Lupin had always caught you, always been the net beneath your fall. In all the ways that mattered. In every small, unspoken gesture. In every steady gaze and every soft-spoken promise. This was no different.

The wind howled louder, rushing past your ears like the roar of the ocean, and you just let it take you. Down and down, the city lights smearing into wild streaks of gold, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears like the rush of wings. 

And still, you did not open your eyes.

You thought of his hands, steady and warm, always reaching, always finding you. 

You thought of rooftop nights and whispered promises, of moonlight slipping through cracked windows and the way he always called you reckless with that crooked smile.

Maybe this was what flying felt like.

The wind howled one last time, and you smiled into the rush of it, arms still wide, eyes still closed.

And then, just as the city lights began to fade into shadow, you felt it: a tug, gentle as breath, soft as the brush of a fingertip.

He caught you.

He laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound vibrating through you. He held you tighter, like he was terrified to let go, and you realized then that maybe you didn’t need wings to fly. Maybe you just needed him.

Because some part of you always knew: you would fall, and he would catch you.

Every. Single. Time.

a/n: sooo? i honetsly loved writing this and id love to make more blurbs of this au with spiderman remus <33

[gingernut1314]

Turkey and Cheese ch. 2

Summary: On the run from enforcers, you collide straight into someone in your rush. Someone whose seafoam eyes take your breath away and all you want to do is spend a little bit more time with him.

Content: female reader x Silco, pre-season 1 arcane, first meeting, gendered terms, reader has water manipulation powers, young Silco, young reader, you share a stolen sandwich with Silco, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: The characters will age up, but the plan I have set up is reader meets Silco and the others when they are all still teens so there is only going to be like...one or two more chapters as teens and then we're getting aged up. I hope you all enjoy!!

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You got too much joy picking on the Enforcers that hang around the bridge that separated the shining city of Piltover and the not-so-bright Undercity. You stole their lunches and their coin, called them every name under the sun, and threw rocks at them from dark corners. 

It pissed them the fuck off making it prime entertainment for you.

Your guardian, Janna, disapproved of your shenanigans. The lectures were too long whenever you were caught. Lectures about reasonability and grace and blah, blah, blah . 

So, to avoid such mind-numbing lectures, you waited until Janna disappeared for days on end to let chaos ensue.

And this fog-heavy day was one of those days.

Your stomach growled, clenching and twisting in hunger as you knelt on top of one of the run-down tenement houses near the bridge. You watched four Enforcers walk out of the broader toll house, switching posts with the other four Enforcers standing before the bridge. 

You had been watching them for most of the night, counting and double counting how many Enforcers were on duty. You counted nine in total, which was one less than there had been last time you’d done this. 

Someone must be sick or had been fired or, maybe, they were dead. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter one bit to you. All you cared about now was earning a few coins and getting a homemade meal from someone's spouse for a late dinner.

You rushed into action after one last scan of the area, before rushing across the roofs. When you came to the end of this line of tenements, you hopped down onto the fire escape below, a small grunt escaping your lips before starting down the rusting stairs. 

Once on the ground, you yanked your hood up and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to keep a low profile as you walked the short distance across the recently redone cobblestoned road. You disappeared into the large shadows the street lamps cast, walking along the smooth wall of the tollhouse.

“Beth just got accepted into that fancy college she wanted.” A gruff voice filtered out from a small, open window. 

“Well, shit--” Was the last of that conversation you heard as you climbed up a ladder around the back of the building. 

You stayed crouched low as you made way to the vent in the center of the roof. You had used this vent for years, but, as you quietly pulled the metal covering off and lowered yourself into the vent system, found it might be one of your last times. 

You were getting too big to fit in the vent.

This was a child's game, as unfortunate as it was to admit, and at the ripe age of fourteen, you were no child anymore. 

“We’ve been saving up--” And blah, blah, blaaahhhh . 

Enforcers rarely had anything exciting to talk about. It was always about someone's family or about whatever game they had gone to watch. It had nearly sent you into tears as you crawled through the vents. 

Where was the excitement? The danger? 

Didn’t Encforcer beat Undercityians up for fun? 

You finally made it to the vent in the locker room area. It was bland and hardly fit hardly enough lockers for every enforcer stationed here, but to you, it was a gold mine. 

You opened the vent, placing it slowly on the other side of the vent shaft, and hopped into the room, hitting the ground on near-silent feet and a held-in grunt. You waited a few seconds to see if anyone had heard you before starting on opening each locker and taking as many coin potches as you could find. The only good thing the last locker had to offer was a piece of gum instantly shoved into your mouth. 

Just as you opened the fridge and grabbed someone's paper bag lunch, the door opened. 

Your blood went cold. You've been caught one too many times over the years, but each time it happened it never helped ease your nerves. 

A younger-looking Enforcer saw you instantly, his eyes narrowing in something like confusion. You didn’t recognize this Enforcer from past interactions, so you assumed he was new. 

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” 

“No one.” You pulled on the most innocent look you could muster, hiding the lunch behind your back. “I think I might have taken a wrong turn.” 

“A wrong--” The Enforcer then saw the open and ransacked lockers. It clicked then, what had happened here right under his nose. 

Before the Enforcer had time to speak, you pushed past him into the small hallway. 

“Hey!” He shouted after you but you were already booking it into the office area where six enforcers sat. They noticed you almost instantly, rising from their seats in the blink of an eye. One tried to grab you, but you twisted out of his way and dodged another on-coming man. 

The front door open with a bang and all but threw yourself into the street, your gum falling from your mouth in the process. 

“Grab her!” One of the enforcers shouted, singling the four others standing before the bridge. Those four were too far away to do any grabbing, so you didn’t feel the need to be worried about them. 

You ran downwards, toward the looming city you called home. As you ran closer and closer, the air seemed to get thicker-- dirtier than that of the air by the bridge. This wasn’t anything new to you, your throat and lungs taking less than a second to adjust to the polluted air. 

The continuous shouting from behind let you know that the Enforcers were still hot on your tail. You would either lose them eventually in this maze of run-down buildings and streets or they would give up, finding they didn’t want to venture as far into the city as you were going to take them. 

Time would only tell which it would be, so you pushed yourself harder. 

You made the first sharp turn into a familiar alleyway, an enforcer that had been getting too close to you tripping and falling into a couple of barrels full of fish. You gave a sharp laugh, looking over your shoulder to watch that scene unfold in your utter glee.

And just as you made to turn back around, you collided into something solid and bony.

You and the person you’d just hit at full speed went tumbling to the ground, each giving own round of curses. 

A pair of blue-green eyes halted your escape. A pair of eyes that took your breath away…well, maybe it had been from the impact but your breath was differently stolen and these eyes--eyes like seafoam weren’t helping.

The blue-green eyes were attached to a thin, sharp face covered in skin that looked like it hardly got out in the sun. 

Though everyone down here always had that “hardly seen the sun” look about them. 

This guy was very attractive. Too attractive some might say. 

So attractive it almost had you forgetting about the four enforcers running after you. 

 The blue-green eyes narrowed up at you, completely pissed off. 

“Get the hell off--” 

 “She’s in there!” The enforcer that had just fallen into fish guts shouted to his coworkers. The boy’s eyes widened and he looked past you to find what you already knew was coming into the alley. 

“Do you have a canteen?” The boy snapped back to you, anger written clear on his face. 

“What? No--” You gave him an eye roll. 

Who didn't carry a water canteen with them? 

Well…you didn’t, but that was beside the point. 

“A flask?” You tried again.

“You ran into me and brought enforcers with you and you're asking me if I have a--” He gave a startled sort of sound as you began patting him down. You’d grown tired of his rambling. You found a flask in his jacket in an inner pocket and gave a little sound of triumph. 

“Thank you!” You sweetly spoke, pushing yourself off the guy who looked so bewildered by you it was cute . You turned your attention back onto the four enforcers blocking the exit. 

“Thought you could get away with it this time, girl .” One of them hissed through his mask. You recognized this man to be Rufus, an Enforcer that had been stationed on the bridge the longest. 

“But whatever did I do, sir? ” He gave a growl, taking a step forward that was meant to be threatening. 

“Give it back and we’ll forget this ever happened.” You knew that was a lie. As soon as you got close enough, they’d grab you and throw you in jail. 

“Promise?” Rufus was growing impatient, you could see it in his brown, tired eyes.

“ Promise .” He grit out. This made you smile. 

“Alright, mister.” You pulled the flask out from behind your back then. “Catch!” And the flask was tossed Rufus’s way. 

You let your magic flow through your veins and felt for the water in the alcohol. 

Rufus caught the flask with ease. He looked from it to you. 

“What is--” With great effort, you made the little bit of water in the alcohol explode. The flask broke into pieces, shooting up into his eyes. He gave a scream and that was your queue to leave. 

You snapped around, finding the boy standing there, shock on his face. He had a lean build and was very, very tall. It just added to his overall attractiveness. 

Focus!  

“Time to go!” You swiped the fallen lunch off the ground and grabbed for the boy in one go, pulling him further down the alley.

It only took the boy a moment to regain his right mind and in a split second, he was the one pulling you along.

You followed the boy, climbing up on top of the dumper closest to the broken fire escape. You let go of his arm so he could launch himself at the escape, slamming into the railing with a bang. Once he was over the rusting railing, you were quick to jump and slam into the escape.

The boy grabbed your wrist once your two feet were safely on the other side of the railing before continuing to drag you up stair after stair until you made it to the roof, which someone had been trying to grow some kind of plants on. Just with a quick glance at the spotting plant, you could tell it wasn’t going very well. 

Shouting from the enforcers below had you wiggling out of the boy's grip and looking over the edge, finding one had climbed up onto the dumpster while the others looked defeated. 

“If it's any consolation, you’ll be feeding a poor underling for a day or so.” You shouted down to them, waving the bag mockingly.

“Don’t think this is over, girl!” Rufus spat. You only gave him a cheeky smile. 

“Tell your wife she makes the best turkey and cheese sandwiches. I’ve been looking forward to it all month.” Rufus gave a growl before storming out of the alley. Slowly, the other enforcers followed after him, throwing you dirty looks as they left.  

The boy grabbed you then, whipping you around to face him. 

You weren’t always the best at figuring out how people were feeling, mainly thanks to being raised by a seemingly emotionless wind spirit, but you could tell in a moment this guy was angry. 

“If this is about your flask, I’m--” The guy was quick to not let you finish. 

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing enforcers to the Lanes?” He snapped. You merely gave him a very slow blink.

“I’m fully prepared to buy you a new one.” You finished, earning a frustrated growl from the guy. 

You liked what he had going on--this uptight, angry, authoritative thing. You liked it so much it made you want to tease him to no end. 

“Why I’m trying to get a child to see reason--” 

“Whoa there.” You held a hand up, further cutting him off. “You’re like--what, a year older than me?” He narrowed his seafoam blue eyes at you once more.

“You can’t be older than twelve.” 

“Nope! Fourteen.” The guy rolled his eyes.

“A child.” 

“Alright, mister-high-and-mighty. How old are you then?” 

“It hardly matters.” Your mouth fell open in disbelief, but before you could nag him anymore, he continued. “You realize they will be back.” You pulled out of the guy's grip again and began walking across the roof. 

To your surprise, the boy followed. 

“The reason I pick on those buffoons at the bridge is because I know their threats are empty.” You opened the brown paper bag and rummaged around until you found a foil-wrapped sandwich your stomach had been growling to get a bite out of. “Especially Rufus.” You took one of the halves out and extended it to the boy. “Want some? It’s the good stuff.” He looked it over for a moment, eyes still narrowed. 

You could tell he didn’t want to take it from you, not when he still looked so annoyed at you…so you gave it a little wiggle that pulled a sigh from his mouth. 

“Thank you.” He took it from you, his eyes finally softening. His fingers brushed the tiniest bit against yours, but it was enough to send sparks running through your every last nerve. 

You watched the boy as he took a bite from the sandwich. Watched as his eyes widened the slightest bit. It was so slight most wouldn’t have noticed, but you had been watching him too intently. 

“Right? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” You gave him a bright smile. One you rarely ever gave--one that was genuine --before chomping down into your own half.

You hopped up on the edge of the roof, which overlooked the whole of the Lanes. From up here, you could spot the tops of the highest buildings and the smoke billowing up from the mines beneath the city. Smoke that danced and twirled upward, illuminating the lights shining from across the city. In the day, the smoke would cast the sky in murky shades of gray, depending on how bright the sun was shining. 

It was quite beautiful, despite its run-down and polluted nature. 

It was still your home. 

“I didn’t mean to bring the enforcers here…but maybe I gave someone the chance to get across that golden bridge--for them to seek their fortune or a fresh start.” You looked back to the boy who had jumped up onto the edge with you. He turned his gaze towards you, scanning you over with seemingly all-seeing eyes. Eyes that made your skin seem to burn.

“Is that what you want?” The question shocked you.

In The Lanes, most didn’t get too close to one another. Not unless they had to. It was a very lonely world, but you endured.

“No,” You scoffingly said. You wouldn’t even last a day over there. You were too wild, too much a part of the Undercity. You gave the boy a look over of your own, though much less all-seeing as his had been. 

“What about you?” You cautiously asked. Though you didn’t at all mind sharing things about yourself, you didn’t know how this guy was. All you knew is you enjoyed his company….and you didn’t want to be alone all over again quite yet. 

“No,” He replayed, looking back over the city. “There’s too much potential here.” 

You liked that. You liked that a lot . 

You took another big bite from your sandwich, letting the night air fill the quiet between you two. 

You swallowed, glancing back over him as you worked up the courage to speak again. 

And once that small bit of courage was wrestled up, you told him your name.

The boy turned his eyes back on you, his longish brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He seemed to hesitate too for a moment.

“Silco.” He spoke before finishing off his half of the sandwich. 

You liked his name. You liked it almost as much as you liked his face. 

“How did you manage to make my flask to explode?” You smirked, turning away from the boy, Silco , once more. 

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” Silco gave a laugh. It was a tiny huffing one, but a laugh nonetheless. 

You liked his laugh. You liked more than his name and face.

Previous | Next

[whisperingwispp]

I don’t think my mind can comprehend Rust before trauma…

you should totally make a rust/claire series 🤭 need to see this man slightly less traumatized and as a good dad 😭

accidentally thought of him bringing home Sophia from the hospital because of this ask and had to lay my head down mid political science lecture, but gosh who would that man be before trauma— it would feel so far removed from the series, then again I suppose I’ve got something on the back burner about a spooked colt getting lassoed by one Claire Smith, would be neat if it became something worth reading

[roseyodditea]

You're Back - Wriothesley x gn!Reader

Summary -> 1k words. Wriothesley missed you. Very soft Wriothesley! Warnings -> None A/N -> My husband has been let out of jail!!! Life has meaning again!

Oh you’d never thought you’d miss this place, but for some reason the stale air filling your lungs filled you with a sense of comfort you had longed for this past month. A past month spent in Sumeru, talking to some of the most intelligent scholars in Teyvat, learning of ways you could improve the efficiency of the production zone of the Fortress of Meropide. You counted six things on the way back to your private room that needed to be fixed. Apparently this rust bucket falls apart while it’s head engineer is gone. You’d have to lecture your mechanics tomorrow.

You set down your backpack, opening your notebook and watching the notes and sketches from your trip spill out onto your desk. Your drive to create and repair had been repaired by your month long research trip, and it was good to be back. But all of this was an issue for tomorrow. Your travels were long and you were tired. You sink into the comfortable chair by the radiator, closing your eyes as the warm heat seeps into your body. Your eyes were closed when the sound of a knock on your door roused you from your relaxed state. 

“The Duke would like to see you!” Sigewinee’s small voice greets you. “Tell him I’m not back yet!” You shout back through the door. 

“The guards already reported to him, he knows your back.” SIgewinne started. “I’d like to see you for your checkup before you begin work tomorrow.” “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it, Winne…” You sigh as you open the door, starting to walk alongside the melusine. “Did he say what he wanted?” Sigewinne shook her head. “I imagine he wants to ask about your trip. Although I will warn you, he’s been rather moody this month.” “When is he not moody?” You scoff and wave as you turn down a different corridor from her. 

You walk across the path to the giant doors, swinging them open and walking up the staircase. “Hey, Boss.”

Wriothesley looks up from the prisoner files he was flipping through, heavy bags under his eyes. “Welcome back.” His voice held an unmistakable warmness.

“Missed me?” You start the kettle in the corner of his office, knowing you’d be staying for tea. You flip through the box of tea varieties, picking something with no caffeine, hoping to get to sleep at a reasonable time. You flip through the sweeteners, still waiting for a response from the man, when instead you feel arms wrap around your waist, a chin resting on the top of your head. “Oh you really missed me.” “I did.” He confesses like it sat uncomfortably on his chest. 

“Are you… dying?” You try to look up, but the weight of his head makes it uncomfortable. 

“Not that I’m aware of. Just… been a while since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed your company.” He stays still, unsure of what to do now that he has you. He only loosens his grip so you can turn around and return the hug, more used to affection than he is. 

“I’ve missed you too, Wriothesley.” Your voice was soft, unable to hide back the affection. “Give me three days. You’ll want to kill me again in no time.” His shoulders shake with a chuckle as he moves his head to your shoulder. “You think it’ll take three whole days?”

“You’re right. Give me until the end of tomorrow.” You make no move to let go of him until the kettle finishes, fixing up two cups of tea and moving to his desk.

“I’m done with work tonight.” Wriothesley’s voice was gentle as he led you to the couch in his office, both of you relaxing against the cushions. “Glad to be back?”

You thought about it for a moment. You were currently in an underwater fortress, miles from the Court of Fontaine, outside contact to the world limited, imported food limited, and the entire fortress had this dank, slightly rusty smell. Then you looked to the man sitting next to you, the man who had picked up the soul of the fortress in his years of living down here, the man that carried the terrifying reputation of the fortress on his back. A smile cracked across your face and you let your head fall to his shoulder. “Yeah… I am.” He awkwardly runs his finger over the rim of his cup of tea, gently moving his arm to drape across your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re back too.”

**********

Your tea sat on the table, having gone cold hours ago. The conversation had stretched out way longer than either of you had intended, the fortress now quiet in the late night. Wriothesley finally let out a breath, having been holding uncomfortably still for the past thirty minutes you had been asleep. He needed to go to bed himself, unable to sit with you any longer. He let out a sigh before shifting you as a test, and once he realized you were fast asleep he scooped you up in his arms, walking silently through the quiet fortress. 

You only stirred awake when he set you down on the bed, the feeling of your blanket being draped across your shoulders filling you with comfort. He noticed you were awake and he smiled gently, making sure you were comfortable. 

“Goodnight, (y/n).” “What, no forehead kiss?” You chuckle as he rolls his eyes.

“You’re a grown ass adult.” “A grown ass adult you just tucked in without a forehead kiss goodnight.” He sighs and leans down, his chapped lips pressing against your forehead. The second he tried to pull away you cup his cheek, sitting up a bit to meet his lips halfway in a quick kiss that said more than words ever could.

“Goodnight, Wriothesley.”

I have his C3 right now and 430 something wishes. I WILL get his C6. He WILL be my first limited C6

[critrolesideblog]

The lecture hall was in surprisingly good shape, considering the rest of the building was in utter ruin. A quick peer through the door and detect magic revealed no creatures or traps. Essek glanced back over his shoulder, spying Caleb some 30 feet away, picking through some fallen rubble, and stepped through the open doorway into the hall.

Not only was the room in good shape, it was almost eerily untouched -- the toppled professor's desk on the dais the only true indication of something awry. Once-polished, wooden chairs with adjoining desks were arranged in tiers around the dais, built into the floor and, if his arcane sight did not deceive him, magically reinforced against being removed or altered in any way. He wondered idly what sort of rowdy behavior Aeor's elite arcane students got up to that warranted such reinforcement as he glided silently toward the professor's desk. The windows of the surrounding walls were similarly reinforced, framed by columns that guided the eye up and overhead where they held aloft a dome inlaid with golden arcane sigils in a calligraphic script that appeared merely decorative in nature. It was easy to imagine such a room flying, majestic, among the clouds, filled with light and learning.

Regrettable, then, that his own search for learning in this hall was looking to be fruitless: there were no papers strewn on the surrounding floor around the desk, and it appeared the room was unoccupied at the time of destruction. Spying no traps, he pulled perfunctorily on one of the desk drawers, and -- shrreeeeeekk -- the ancient slides, long rusted from disuse, grated against each other. He froze, listening for any disturbed monsters in the shadow. There were no creeping abominations to be heard, but something else caught his ear.

He glided slowly to the center of the dais and spoke quietly with a quick practiced twist of his hand. He barely registered the dancing lights that floated up from his fingertips as he listened to the way his voice reverberated through the room, filling the space. He gave an experimental hum, first one note, then another, and relished in how they danced among the dust motes. He took a deep breath and, unsure if he still remembered how, began to sing softly.

Across the fields, the windswept fields, Across the fields, oh Light, oh Light, the windswept fields, my lover came to me.

Across the mountains, the western mountains, Across the mountains, oh Light, oh Light, the western mountains, he went away.

The northern wind, the howling wind, The northern wind, oh Light, oh Light, the howling wind, is all that dries my tears.

It was fine, he thought. The ornamentations weren't as smooth or detailed as he once managed, but still, he listened with satisfaction to the last notes lingering in the air.

The sound of quiet applause caused him to start, and he twisted around to find Caleb standing in the doorway. Essek could feel heat rising in his face at being caught singing so roughly, but he gave a mock bow to go with the mock applause before gliding over.

"That was lovely," Caleb murmured as Essek glided near, and Essek stopped short, realizing the look on Caleb's face was not one of amusement but of intermingled affection and delight. Was he serious? Caleb continued. "Was it a hymn of some sort?"

"A hymn?"

"I thought I heard--ah," He stopped short, suddenly serious, and cleared his throat. "Light?" He ventured in Undercommon, and Essek felt warmer still, though no longer from embarrassment. He floated closer to Caleb, compelled by a sort of gravitational pull he was only recently becoming familiar with.

"Widowgast, you did not tell me you were studying Undercommon."

"Ah, well," Caleb's eyes found a spot on Essek's shoulder as a small smile tugged his lips. "Studying is generous term. I've just pieced together a few things." He reached out a hand and interlaced his fingers with Essek's, tugging him into the doorway with him, which Essek allowed with pleasure. The smile on his face had a warm mischievousness that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he added, "Though I certainly wouldn't say no to some private lessons."

"Private lessons?" Essek reached up his other hand and hooked a finger under Caleb's scarf, pulling them closer still, until their foreheads rested against each other. "That will cost you a favor, I think." And Caleb obliged, tilting his chin up and closing the distance between them, and their lips met with a rush of warm affection and pleasure. "Mm, I'll consider it," he murmured as they parted at last.

"Wunderbar. And how much would another private concert cost me?"

Essek laughed -- it was a silly thought after all -- him give a concert. But, Caleb was not laughing. His brows were furrowing together as he tried to determine what he had said that was so funny. Oh. "Apologies," Essek said, straightening up. "I-I cannot say I have ever been asked to sing before. It took me by surprise." Caleb's brows furrowed further.

"No one noticed you have a beautiful voice?" Again, he seemed utterly sincere. Essek had heard human ears were not as discerning as elven ones. Perhaps, it was true.

"I took singing lessons as a child -- all noble-born children do. Music is an important part of temple services -- a hymn was a good bet on your part. I enjoyed it well enough, but my teacher concluded my voice was only good for --" He paused, unsure if the phrase was the same in Common, but forged ahead. "--kitchen songs and said I would be better off playing an instrument."

"He sounds like an Arschloch."

"Indeed."

Caleb raised their clasped hands and pressed a sweet kiss to Essek's knuckles. When he lowered them, there was mischief glittering in his eyes again. "You know, I never had music lessons, and kitchen songs sound fun. Perhaps you can teach me that as well." Essek grinned back at him.

"The price for that will be very steep."

"I was hoping you would say so."

*****

*shows up to Shadowgast Week 2025 fifteen minutes late with black moss cupcakes*

This was supposed to be for Light / Culture, but better late than never! It was inspired by this video that crossed my dash recently and a conversation with a friend about their childhood music teacher. The folk song Essek sings is inspired by this one.

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Thirteen

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Allusions to panic attacks, excessive gore, fluff with Simon at the end <3

Taglist: @waves-against-a-cliff @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan @dlishus05

Masterlist

I HATE THIS CHAPTER LIKE USUAL BUT I HOPE U ALL ENJOY IT

All you could feel was burning.

Your lungs were aflame, sucked into your ribs with every gruelling indent. Your thighs were worn down, almost skinned to the bone, oozing wounds of blood and puss pooling at your knees as you heaved, scraping past thorned bushes.

The trees felt alive, clawing at you with pointed wooden talons, the prickle of sharpened sticks tearing at exposed flesh. Swollen feet met tar, the eldritch smell of a metallic tang consumed you, rotting away in every sense as you panted.

Your skin was like leather, worn down and bleak as your body collided against the abandoned roads, the slaughtered sound of the walking dead nearing with every passing frame. The sight of them was familiar, only mangled now.

You weren’t sure what had happened.

All you remember is how it started.

The day was darker than usual, consumed by an epiphany of greying clouds. The rumble of thunder stalked your every move as you committed to your daily rounds, your heart smouldered by the grief that had caught up to you.

They had all smiled at you as they welcomed you with breakfast. Why did Gaz seem different? Was he ill? You shook it off with a smile.

Why did you shake it off with a smile?

Your stomach was hot now, a building sensation of nausea washing over you as you tended to your garden. You locked eyes with Soap, his own staring back with a darkened hue of blue, any surrounding white slowly turning into a bleak red. Was he tired? You would lecture him about sleeping earlier later.

You felt caged in as you entered the house once more, kicking off your over-worked shoes with a grunt as you headed for the sink, desperate to scrub off the caking dirt that stuck to your fingers.

Gaz was sweating now, droplets of milky residue working down his forehead as he coughed, spluttering into the palms of his hands. His skin turned a ghastlier shade by the time you faced him, his hands shaking before the rest of him followed suit, his body convulsing as it clattered onto the floor.

Your voice was mousy as you called out, your limbs plastered together as you overwatched Ghost press two fingers to his neck, chasing a pulse that wouldn’t come.

The timber that held the house felt weaker now, almost rotten, as it clattered under your feet.  It was crumbly, squeaking under you with every step as you heaved in what felt like mould.

Where was your gun?

You could hear Soap calling out to you, his voice nasally, almost inaudible as he choked on his accent before it turned to blood, his uvula dangling at the back of his throat with every metallic form of discharge from his lungs.

You were in your bathroom now, the tap running with what seemed like extra force as the drain clogged, murky water soon flooding the kitchen as you pounded at the door, rattling with the rusted knob. Your feet were drenched as you kicked in the wilted timber, the frame clattering under you as you climbed through the formed hole you had made, a wooden shard catching onto your forearm with a drag, a pained wince leaving your mouth as you clutched onto the wound.

Everything felt blurred, almost like you were stuck in slow-mo. You could feel Price’s shoulder under your fingers, his skin cold. Why was his neck bleeding? Your touch was soggy now, a familiar squelch sounding from under you as greying eyes met yours.

His grip was strong, holding you onto the breaking floorboards with every snarl, your skin tearing as you were pulled along wilted frames, the oak crumbling under your shoes as you cried. Price’s hands were at your stomach, clawing at the breaking skin with rotting claws.

You could hear your blood thumping as you kicked at his drooping frame, the bones in his legs tumbling into his ligaments as he clattered to the floor. You were dragging yourself to the door now, the grumble of corroding mouths swarming you as you trailed a bloodied path to your frame.

How did you make it to the forest?

The grass mocked you as you watched it die, the blades sphacelating with every step you took. Your hands were on your abdomen, clutching onto the open wound as blood spluttered, your grip pushing against the seeping organs that writhed against you.

Your vision had turned orange now, any welcoming colours forgotten as you pushed against a shrub with your shoulder. The sweet berries you used to eat now turned poisonous as you mewled into the air.

Your throat was closing in now, curling against your oesophagus as your hands pushed into your mouth, pressing into the back of it as you gagged, forcing bile across the ground as you heaved.

Why did you stop clutching your stomach?

You were on the road again. Your trail had gotten stronger as you skinned your knee against the blackened pavement. You felt your eyes close, fluttering to an abnormal silence as your lids ceased any light.

Everything was static now. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? Greedy hands pulled at your flesh, a searing pain moulting into your chest as festering digits tore at your insides, digging through your organs with a tug before holding them to degraded teeth.

You could feel them at your neck, tapping against your skin with uncertainty. Your mouth was parted open, the skin from your lips torn as you attempted to scream only to be consumed by one’s hand.

They were pushing down your throat now, scraping along sensitive walls. Your lungs were drowning, your nose heaving as you attempted to breathe before infested fingers held them closed.

Your eyes were open now, looking down in desperation. There was a strange indent against your chest, tugging and pulling at the veins that penetrated beneath the surface. You could see fingers now poking from inside you, rotting talons digging through the flesh before they pierced the exterior.

How were you still alive?

Greedy hands ripped at your ribcage, snapping your bones like measly twigs. It was red-hot pain everywhere. Your brain stopped thinking, overwritten by the intense agony that writhed through you.

You weren’t breathing. Your lungs were empty. They were mouthing something to you now, their lips consumed by gore. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you hear? Hands were by your head, pressing along your scalp tenderly as bloodied fingers dyed your hair. Your eyes were wide, begging for sanity.

Your body was emptied now, the residue of beating organs trailed along the road. Your heart was spluttering inside someone’s stomach. Fingers toyed at your scalp, dragging along your forehead with a permanent indent.

You mourned the last of you, your brain repeating the words ‘you’re dead’ in a constant stream. Or was that your own voice? The faces around you were a blur now, their bodies melting into the tar as a swarm crowded you. Your eyes blurred as you took in the faces around you.

They were all you.

Your body was writhing against the sheets, a strum of sobs tearing through you as your teeth tucked into your lips, drawing blood. Simon was fast, his hands resting against the side of your head as he guided you back to reality.

Your voice cracked as you screamed out, shoving him away as you sucked in a breath.

“Sweet’art, you were having a nightmare, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

“S-Simon?”

Your voice was hoarse, stripped from all moisture as you pressed against your stomach, looking down at your perfectly fine frame.

“I’m sorry,” you mewled, finding your voice as you swiped the sweat against your forehead. The Lieutenant was harder to see in the dark, but you could make out the softness in his eyes.

“Don’t have to apologise. I get them too.”

Your brows raised momentarily before you smiled at him, holding your hand out as he grasped onto it. He paused for a moment before he held it to his chest. He was warm.

It was subtle but you could feel it. He could feel it too.

“When they used to get bad, I used to search for my heart and feel the beat. Reminded me that I was okay.”

“I can feel it,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his chest before it met with the apple of his cheek.

“I can feel you too.”