your eyes only

Jake knew how much you loved his long hair.

His hair had gotten longer over the past few months, soft dark strands falling into his eyes whenever he looked down.

You were constantly fixing it, playing with it, or taking photos of him whenever you had the chance.

“You’re staring again, love.” Jake said, trying not to laugh.

“I can stare all I want.” you replied, reaching over and brushing a piece of hair away from his face. “I just think your hair looks nice.”

Jake rolled his eyes affectionately.

Across the table, your five year old, Jaehyun was eating his pancakes while looking between the two of you.

“Eomma likes appa’s hair.” he announces, mouth full of pancakes.

“Close your mouth baby.”

Jaehyun quickly chewed and swallowed, grinning innocently. “Sorry, eomma.”

You smiled and ruffled his hair, “Thank you, baby.”

Jake laughed softly before taking another sip of his coffee, “Well, me and Jaehyun are going to get our hair cut today.”

The smile from your face immediately dropped. “No.”

“I have to babe,” he says, now hugging your waist, “It’s going to grow back.”

“C’mon Jaehyun, it’s time to go.” he says, grabbing his keys and putting on his shoes.

Jaehyun immediately slid out of his chair. “Bye eomma.” he said, hugging your waist.

You kissed his forehead before letting him go and grabbing Jakes sleeve. “Don’t cut too much hair. This hair was the reason Jaehyun was born.” you whispered the last part.

Jake laughs before pulling you into a quick kiss. “You’ll be fine.”

An hour later, you heard the front door open. “Eomma! We’re back!” you heard Jaehyun yell while running to the living room where you were. Jake closely behind.

“Look eomma! My hair!” Jaehyun ran into your lap, showing off his haircut. You looked down at Jaehyun and smiled. He looked so much like your Jake.

His dark hair was neatly trimmed now. He looked so proud of it that you couldn’t help reaching up and fixing it. “Oh my baby,” you cooed, pressing kisses all over his cheeks. “You look so handsome.”

Jaehyun giggled and squirmed in your lap. “Thank you eomma!”

You finally looked up at Jake, and paused. His hair was shorter, not short-short, but definitely shorter than before. The long pieces that would cover his eyes were gone, and the back had been cleaned up too.

You stared for a second, not saying anything. “What?” Jake asked, noticing.

You carefully shifted Jaehyun off your lap before standing and walking over to him.

Jaehyun immediately followed behind you like a curious little shadow.

You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. You couldn’t automatically tuck his hair behind his ear anymore. “It looks nice,” you admitted.

Jake grinned, “See, I told you babe.”

“But I liked it longer.”

“I know, but it was annoying.”

You rolled your eyes. “But it was my favorite thing ever.” Jaehyun giggles, seeing your reaction to his appas hair.

“Hehe, eommas upset.”

“I am not upset,” you quickly replied.

“You are eomma!”

Jake laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Go put on a new shirt Jaehyun.”

“Okay, appa!” Jaehyun ran off towards his room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

The second he disappeared, Jake pulled you closer, “You’re really cute and dramatic, you know that?”

“I’m just saying, long hair really suits you.”

“Well, atleast i’m still handsome.”

Your expression softened, admiring him. “You’re right on that part.”

Jake grinned, but before he could respond, Jaehyun came back running into the living room. “Eomma!” he said seriously. “Appas hair will grow back, don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad baby, don’t worry. Eommas just gonna miss appas hair.” you reassured him, crouching down. Jake laughing next to you.

as self-centred as soojin is, she would give Jungkook her whole entire world, she'd give up anything and everything for him if he'd ask. chloe, as a petite as she is, would move mountains if it meant getting into his heart. maya, as confident as she is would change her way of living if it meant pleasing him. actually every single old love interest in his life would orbit around his axis if he wanted them to. but they were not really love interests to Jungkook. no, they were merely distractions. distractions from the woman who could own him in any way possible. the one woman he longs for with such desperation. the woman he's obsessed with in a way he should understand is unhealthy.

you. his beautiful, smart, sexy, perfect woman. you're not officially his yet, but he needs you to be or else he'll probably lose his mind.

Jungkook's life would be so euphoric if only you felt the same way he did. but you don't and just thinking about it is enough to depress Jungkook. he has it all – the looks, the confidence, the figure, the money. so why can't you just like him as much as he likes you? not to say he doesn't work for your love. he does. he works so fucking hard for it, without trying to embarrass himself too much, of course.

he does various things, trying to prove it to you, obvious actions that practically sing about how much he wants you. but you just can't seem to get the hint, can you? or maybe Jungkook's current worst fear is true. you know how he feels but you just don't care. that thought causes Jungkook's heart to tighten in his chest. he likes the first option, so that is the one he chooses to believe. as ignorant as Jungkook is, the intellectual part of him questions it. how can you not know how he feels for you when he does everything a guy in love would do? for a few examples, he cares for your likes and ambitions, he changes his busy schedules just to accommodate yours, he takes care of you when you're sick, he's constantly checking up on you when you aren't with him, he buys you flowers and chocolates. he makes the best love* to you, just like he is right now…

Jungkook grunts through gritted teeth as he thrusts as deep as humanly possible into you, hitting the perfect spot inside you that makes you let out a breathless, high moan of his name. the sweet sound you've made under him only motivates him to do it again and again. Jungkook thrusts his massive cock into your pussy, keeping his pace fast, hard and a little rough – just as you like it. your nails dig into his broad shoulders and rake down his back, causing it to sting. Jungkook groans at that, knowing it's going to leave marks on him. Jungkook loves any form of possession you show over him, he loves when you leave marks on him or tell him that he's yours. it's as if you know the power you have over him and you can see how badly you affect him.

Jungkook is one strong man, yet you have the ability to make him the weakest and most pathetic on earth. before you walked into his life, things were normal. he had gotten into short situationships, he fucked whoever he wanted, he could do whatever he wanted without you being in his every thought. but after he understood the depth of his feelings for you, things had become complicated and absurd. after a while, Jungkook could no longer live his life the way he used to. he couldn't fuck anybody else, he couldn't touch anybody else, he couldn't even bring himself to look at a woman who wasn't you. it would feel like he's cheating, cheating on you and cheating on himself – cheating on himself because you're a part of him, a big crucial necessity in his life. it shouldn't make sense, but it does to him. you're the other half of his soul, you just don't feel it like he does, as yet.

at the thought of his seemingly unrequited romantic feelings, Jungkook thrusts into you even harder than before, earning him a sweet gasp from you. he hums at the sound before watching you, your eyes are almost rolling to the back of your head and you look so heavily cock-drunk. well of course you'd be, this is the sixth? seventh round? Jungkook's hands that had been on either side of your head now move – one grips your hip, feeling your soft skin and the other goes to the back of your neck to guide your face to his, to meet him in a kiss. His kiss immediately starts off passionate, wet and filthy. you eagerly kiss him back, moaning into his mouth when his tongue slides into yours. you kiss him with equal fervour as he pounds into you so good.

you break away from the kiss, a string of saliva joining your lips to his. you keep your eyes open and on his, gazing up at him. he's sweaty and staring down at you with dark, hungry, heavy-lidded eyes. he looks so fucking hot, you're so grateful to have this beautiful man fucking the living daylights out of you, looking at you with such need. but beneath all the lust, you think that you notice something else. it looks so sincere, so precious. you think hard what it is you see there. you might have an idea, but that's just preposterous. right?

you don't dwell on that forbidden thought, since your seventh orgasm of the night is approaching. your moans become louder and you start clenching around Jungkook's cock. he thrusts become sloppy but he still keeps the animalistic pace, wanting to make sure your approaching orgasm is as good as the previous ones – maybe even better.

"f-fuck," he groans. "you feel too good, baby. always feel too good."

his praises always have your head spinning and pussy throbbing. your nails dig into his back as you mumble incoherent nonsense. you're on cloud nine, just as you usually are when Jungkook fucks you. he's the best you've ever had in bed, you wish you could be full of his cock every day and night.

"k–kook," you gasp.

"hmm?" he hums, looking at your parted lips and hazy eyes.

"gonna come." you mutter shakily.

Jungkook grips your thighs with both his hands and lifts you up a little. he finds the angle that's even deeper, making you whimper and arch up, throwing your head back into the pillows.

"yeah?" he asks before leaning down to lick your now exposed neck. "me too, baby."

you're so gone and drunk on his cock, Jungkook thinks you might finally agree to what he's been wanting to do for the longest time now – to come inside you. oh fuck, the thought of it makes Jungkook want to bust immediately. he imagines filling you up with his release, fucking it back into you, watching it drip out of your pussy. he hopes you'll finally allow it. he's feeling lucky tonight, perhaps you'll allow it since your walls are clenching so hard around his pulsing cock.

"want me to come inside, hmm?" please say yes, please say yes.

"no." you say, panting.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, feeling bummed. but rest be assured, he will release inside you one day.

you release first, crying out his name. he thrusts inside you a few more times before pulling out and releasing over your belly with a groan. he looks at your belly messed with his come, it's not where he wishes it was but it's still so fucking hot. after he reels from his high, he collapses beside you, staring up at the ceiling for a long while. your chest heaves and your eyes threaten to close. despite your body feeling like jelly, you decide that you really have to shower. you turn toward Jungkook, placing your hand on his chest, over his racing heart and throwing your thigh over his hip. Jungkook feels warmth spread through his body at the contact. he turns to you as well, placing a hand on your hip to tug you closer.

"can we take a shower, kook?" you ask, so soft and tired.

Jungkook smiles at how cute you sound. he'll obviously take a shower with you, he's more than happy to do that.

"yeah, baby." he says before gently kissing your forehead. "we'll go soon. I'm too comfortable to move right now."

"Jungkook the sheets are wet and i have your come on me." you state, threading your fingers through his soft hair. "let's go now and we'll come back and cuddle."

Jungkook nods, happy with that deal. he helps you out of bed and picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom since you're drained and walking on very weak legs – it's understandable, he's done a number on you. inside the shower, he steps behind you and turns on the water, setting the temperature to exactly how you like it. you lean against Jungkook and sigh in contentment as the hot water washes over your sore body. the both of you spend a long time in the bathroom – washing up thoroughly and sharing heated kisses. Jungkook initiates more intimacy by reaching between your thighs, but you smack his hand away with a little laugh, telling him that any more of this would leave you rotting in bed due to the inability to walk. he pouts but respects your decision of course.

after the shower, you both change into sleep wear and cuddle just as you've said. Jungkook brings you right against his chest, holding you tightly against him while breathing you in. he feels so full of everything nice at this moment. you're where you're meant to be, safe in his arms. he wishes that all of his nights could be like this, instead of a few nights only. he does appreciate what you do give him. after all you are the woman he loves with all his heart. he yearns for you in a way that borders on madness, so he needs all of you entirely.

"Then, by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest's voice echoed through the chapel, a strange numbness settled over you.

The stained glass windows bathed the aisle in coloured light, painting shades of gold and crimson across the marble floor. Everything looked beautiful almost dreamlike. If only you felt the same.

"And now," the priest said with a smile, "you may kiss the bride."

A nervous flutter stirred in your stomach , the chapel fell silent. You slowly turned towards Jeon Jungkook. Up close, he was even more intimidating than the newspapers made him seem. Tall , Broad-shouldered , Dressed impeccably in black. There was something unsettling about how composed he remained while your own heart threatened to beat straight out of your chest. Not once throughout the ceremony had his expression changed , not when you exchanged vows , not when the rings were placed upon your fingers.

He stepped forward, you became painfully aware of every pair of eyes watching. Your parents , Margaret , Cecilia , The priest. The staff standing quietly at the back of the chapel. Jungkook's gaze lingered on your face, as though searching for something.

His hand lifted, resting lightly against your cheek. Then he leaned in his lip touches yours, Merely a formality carried out before witnesses. The sort of kiss exchanged by two strangers fulfilling an obligation rather than a promise. When he pulled away, the chapel erupted into polite applause.

Your attention remained fixed on the man standing before you. The man society whispered about. The man accused of murdering his first wife.

Six months ago, if someone had told you that you would become Jungkook's third wife, you would have laughed in their face. You had other plans, your world revolved around architecture. Endless sketches covered your desk, half-finished models occupied every spare corner of your room, and your greatest concern was whether your final project would impress your professors.

Marriage was nowhere on the list. Certainly not marriage to a man eleven years older than you. Yet one evening, your father sat you down and informed you that your future had already been decided. You were to marry Jeon Jungkook , you remembered staring at him in disbelief.

Everyone knew who Jungkook was. One of the most influential businessmen in the country. Owner of countless companies, estates, and investments. A man whose name appeared in newspapers almost weekly. A man who already had two wives and according to society, a dead one.

You refused at first you argued , pleaded , cried. None of it mattered. The agreement had already been made. In the end, you were left with no choice but to accept. That was how you found yourself standing in a chapel, exchanging vows with a man you barely knew.

His first wife, Margaret, was another matter entirely. Margaret Jeon was elegance personified. At thirty-five, she carried herself with a grace that made everyone around her feel slightly inadequate. Kind-hearted, patient, and endlessly composed, she possessed none of the bitterness one might expect from a woman sharing her husband with others.

Jungkook had married Margaret years ago not for love. Margaret's mother had been his own mother's closest friend. When she fell gravely ill, she had only one final wish , that her daughter would never be left alone in the world. Jungkook had honoured that wish and from what little you had observed, Margaret had never once regretted becoming Mrs. Jeon.

His second wife Cecilia was entirely different. Beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. At thirty, Cecilia possessed a sharp tongue and a sharper mind. Unlike Margaret, she made no effort to hide her displeasure regarding your presence.

Jungkook's marriage to Cecilia had been born from another arrangement. Her father, a powerful businessman whose health had rapidly deteriorated, had made a rather extraordinary declaration. Whichever man married his daughter would inherit everything. His companies ,estates , investments, fortune an empire worth billions. Many men had sought Cecilia's hand for precisely that reason. Jungkook had simply been the one chosen. Whether Cecilia had ever wanted the marriage was another question entirely.

And now there was you. The third wife the unwanted addition to an already complicated household.

The journey to the Jeon estate passed in near silence. You spent most of it staring out of the carriage window, watching the countryside blur past while a single thought repeated itself in your mind.

By the time the iron gates appeared, dusk had already begun to settle. Your breath caught the estate was enormous , not a house , not even a mansion. An estate.

Stone walls climbed towards the evening sky, ivy curling around ancient pillars. Tall windows reflected the fading sunlight, while perfectly trimmed gardens stretched farther than the eye could see. It looked less like a home and more like something from a novel.

The moment you stepped inside, that feeling only intensified. The entrance hall was magnificent. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead. Marble floors gleamed beneath your feet. Portraits lined the walls. You found yourself glancing around uneasily.

"Welcome home." Margaret's gentle voice broke the silence. Before you could respond, you felt another gaze. Cecilia , she stood a few steps away, arms folded across her chest. The look she gave you could have frozen a river. You quickly looked away. Jungkook removed his gloves before turning towards Margaret.

"Would you show her to her room?"

"Of course." Margaret smiled warmly. Then, as though struck by a thought, she added .

"Although, darling, shouldn't she be staying in your room tonight?"

You nearly choked. Jungkook's expression didn't change, but his eyes lifted towards Margaret. A warning glance. Margaret immediately looked amused.

A laugh escaped Cecilia "How considerate of you, Margaret."

Margaret sighed "Cecilia."

"No, please continue," Cecilia said sweetly. "You've always been so invested in Jungkook's marriages." The sweetness in her voice somehow made the remark worse.

Margaret rolled her eyes "You make everything sound scandalous."

"Only because everything here usually is."

You suddenly felt as though you had walked into the middle of a conversation that had been ongoing for years. One filled with private jokes and old grievances. Jungkook looked entirely unimpressed.

"Enough." The single word was calm. Yet both women immediately fell silent. An impressive achievement, considering Cecilia looked capable of arguing with a brick wall.

His gaze shifted towards you. For the first time since arriving, he seemed to notice how uncomfortable you were.

"You needn't worry." His voice was even. "There will be no expectations placed upon you tonight."

You wished the marble floor would swallow you whole. Across the room, Cecilia muttered something beneath her breath. Margaret elbowed her.

"What?" Cecilia complained.

"You are behaving terribly."

"I'm being honest."

"You're being insufferable."

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. You almost felt sorry for him.

"Margaret," he said, clearly choosing patience over murder, "please show her the room."

Margaret immediately brightened "Come along, dear." As you followed her towards the grand staircase, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Margaret's room was on the east wing. Yours, apparently, was not far from it. As the two of you walked through endless corridors, she pointed out various parts of the estate along the way.

"The library is downstairs." You nodded. "The conservatory is at the back." Another nod. "And if you ever get lost,which you absolutely will, just find a servant. I've lived here for years and still take wrong turns." A surprised laugh escaped you.

Margaret smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. The room she eventually led you to was beautiful. Far larger than your bedroom back home. Tall windows overlooked the gardens. A fireplace occupied one wall. Fresh flowers rested on a small table near the bed.

"It's lovely," you admitted quietly.

"I'm glad you think so." Margaret moved towards the wardrobe. "Would you like some help with those dreadful wedding layers?"

You laughed softly "Please."

Within minutes, she was helping you unfasten buttons and remove various pieces of your wedding attire. The atmosphere remained surprisingly comfortable. Not once did Margaret make you feel embarrassed. In fact, she seemed determined to avoid awkwardness altogether.

"So," she began casually, folding a piece of fabric, "architecture."

You glanced up "What about it?"

"I heard you're studying it."

A smile appeared before you could stop it "I am."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"I love it." The answer came instantly. Margaret noticed of course she did.

For the next several minutes, she asked question after question. What buildings inspired you? What was your favourite project? How long had you wanted to become an architect? The conversation flowed so naturally that you almost forgot where you were. Almost forgot that only a few hours ago you had married her husband. Margaret listened attentively to every answer. By the time you finished changing into a comfortable nightdress, some of the tension had finally left your shoulders.

Margaret seemed to notice "Better?"

"A little."

"Good." The older woman smiled. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt strangely peaceful. Then Margaret stepped closer. Before you could react, she gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture reminded you painfully of your mother. Something softened in her expression.

"You've had quite a day. That's one way to put it."

A small laugh escaped her. Then, unexpectedly, Margaret leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The gesture was entirely maternal. When she pulled back, her eyes were kind.

"So listen to me carefully. This house can be overwhelming at first." Her gaze drifted briefly towards the door. "And the people inside it can be even more overwhelming."

That earned a reluctant smile from you. Margaret smiled back. Then she took your hands in hers.

"This is your home now, alright?"

The words caught you off guard. Nobody had said them since you arrived nobody except her.

"If you ever need anything, come to me."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly "Anything?"

"Anything." There was no hesitation in her answer.

Margaret left your room only after making certain you had everything you needed. The corridors were quiet as she made her way towards Jungkook's . She wasn't surprised to find him there. He stood beside an open window, a cigarette between his fingers. The night air drifted through the room, carrying away the smoke.

"You really should stop doing that."

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder "Good evening to you too, Margaret."

Margaret rolled her eyes before walking over and taking the cigarette from his hand "You know the doctors keep saying the same thing."

"And yet here I am."

"Unfortunately." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Margaret moved closer, straightening the collar of his shirt before wrapping her arms around him from behind. It was an old habit. Neither thought much of it anymore.

"New bride is frightened."

Jungkook's expression softened slightly "I know."

"She's twenty-four, Jungkook."

His gaze remained fixed on the darkness beyond the window "I know."

Margaret rested her chin against his shoulder. "Please don't let anything happen to her. She wants to study. Let her finish."

Jungkook sighed "Margaret."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She frowned. He finally turned towards her. The door suddenly swung open. Cecilia entered carrying a bottle of wine. She stopped her eyes immediately landed on Margaret standing close to Jungkook. A flicker of irritation crossed her face.

"There you are." Without waiting for an invitation, she crossed the room and placed herself directly between them. Margaret sighed.

"Cecilia."

"What?"

"You've interrupted a conversation."

"You were hugging my husband."

"Our husband."

Cecilia ignored her. Jungkook looked exhausted already. Margaret immediately reached for the bottle "No."

Cecilia pulled it away . "Margaret."

The two women stared at one another. Jungkook looked as though he'd rather attend another board meeting. Margaret pointed towards the door.

"You should go and speak to her."

"Who?"

"The new bride."

Cecilia laughed "I would rather not."

"She's new here."

"Not my problem."

"She's alone."

Cecilia uncorked the bottle "Still not my problem." Margaret folded her arms "At least make an effort to know her." That earned a sharp look. Margaret opened her mouth. Cecilia continued before she could speak.

"Leave it alone. He doesn't love her."

The room went silent. For a brief moment, nobody spoke. Then Margaret tilted her head.

"Neither does he love you." The words landed with remarkable precision. Jungkook closed his eyes. Cecilia stared at Margaret in disbelief.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must the two of you do this every evening?"

The following morning, you woke earlier than expected. For several moments, you simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above you. There was little point attempting to fall back asleep. After getting dressed, you slipped from your room and wandered through the corridors. The house was surprisingly peaceful at this hour.

Eventually, a warm scent drifted through the air. Fresh bread , Tea, something sweet. Curious, you followed it. The scent led you towards the kitchens. You paused at the doorway.

Margaret stood at the centre of the room, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows. A servant was helping prepare ingredients nearby, but Margaret herself was occupied with a mixing bowl. She looked remarkably at home. As though she belonged there more than anywhere else. You couldn't help smiling.

"Good morning."

Margaret looked up immediately. A smile spread across her face "Good morning, darling."

You stepped inside "I didn't expect to find you here."

"Most people don't." She wiped her hands on a cloth. "Welcome to my kitchen."

You glanced around the enormous room. At least half a dozen servants were already moving about.

"My kitchen?"

Margaret looked thoroughly pleased with herself "Yes." You laughed softly "You're cooking?" She nodded.

"But there are so many servants."

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it yourself?"

Margaret looked genuinely confused by the question "Because I enjoy it."

"As simple as that?"

"As simple as that."

She stirred something before continuing "The servants are wonderful, but I've always loved cooking." A fond smile appeared on her face. "And besides, I only cook for everyone."

Margaret poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup. Without warning, she held it out towards you. You blinked. She blinked back.

"...What's this?"

"Tea."

"I can see that."

"Excellent."

You narrowed your eyes. Margaret looked innocent. A dangerous sign.

"Margaret."

"Take it upstairs."

Your stomach sank "To whom?"

"Jungkook."

You stared at her. She smiled. You continued staring. Her smile widened.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, come now." You lowered your voice. "I barely know him and it's awkward."

Margaret laughed "You're married."

"That doesn't make it less awkward. If anything, it makes it more awkward."

The older woman considered that "Fair point." You looked victorious. For approximately three seconds. Then Margaret placed the cup directly into your hands. The warm porcelain nearly made you drop it.

Balancing the cup of tea carefully, you followed Margaret's directions through what felt like an endless maze of corridors. The estate was far too large for any reasonable person. Eventually, you found the door.

You hesitated then knocked. You knocked again. Still nothing. After a moment's consideration, you carefully pushed the door open. The room beyond was surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the estate. A large bookshelf occupied one wall. Papers were neatly arranged across a desk near the window. Everything was orderly.

Your gaze drifted towards the bed and froze. He was asleep. You hadn't expected that. For a man who always seemed perfectly composed, there was something strangely human about seeing him asleep. The sharp edges of his expression had softened. You quietly crossed the room and placed the tea on the bedside table.

"Mr Jeon?"

No response. You tried again.

"Jungkook?"

Margaret had sent you all this way. You couldn't exactly return downstairs carrying the tea. But taking a breath, you stepped closer.

"Jungkook."

Just as you reached out to lightly touch his shoulder, your foot caught against the edge of the rug.

"Oh—" Your balance vanished instantly. Before you could stop yourself, you stumbled forward. A startled sound escaped you. The next thing you knew, you had landed against the mattress. Far closer to Jungkook than was remotely appropriate. His eyes opened immediately. Dark eyes meeting yours from only inches away. For a brief, mortifying second, neither of you moved. The world seemed to stop. You could hear your own heartbeat. Feel the warmth radiating from him. Feel the embarrassment rapidly taking years off your life.

Jungkook blinked once then twice. Clearly trying to understand why his newest wife was suddenly hovering above him at seven in the morning. Heat flooded your face. You scrambled backwards so quickly you nearly fell a second time.

"I—" Wonderful start "I brought tea." Excellent recovery. Your face burned. The corner of Jungkook's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"The tea attacked you?" You stared. He stared back. For the first time, you realised he was teasing you. Very subtly , Very rarely. But definitely teasing.

"It was the rug."

"Of course. The rug is dangerous. I'll inform the staff immediately."

You narrowed your eyes. Jungkook sat up, looking far too amused for a man who had just been awakened in such a ridiculous manner. Your gaze immediately darted towards the cup.

"The tea will get cold." he reached for the cup. "Thank you."

You awkwardly folded your hands behind your back. "Margaret made it."

"I know." Of course he knew. Something about that answer felt unexpectedly familiar.

You took a step towards the door then another.

"I should go."

Jungkook nodded.Yet as your hand reached the handle, his voice stopped you.

"Good morning." You glanced over your shoulder. He was holding the cup of tea, looking considerably more awake now.

"Good morning, Mrs Jeon."

An hour later the dining room was already prepared. The table seemed to stretch endlessly beneath a glittering chandelier. Silver cutlery gleamed beneath the morning light, while servants moved quietly around the room, placing dishes in their proper places.

Margaret was already seated. She smiled the moment she saw you. You took the seat beside her. A few moments later, Cecilia entered. Elegant as always not that she looked pleased to be there. Her eyes swept across the table before settling on Jungkook. Without hesitation, she pulled out the chair beside him and sat down.

"Good morning, Cecilia," you said politely. Cecilia looked up from pouring herself coffee. For a second, you wondered if she would ignore you entirely. Then she gave a short nod.

"Morning."

A servant began serving breakfast. For a while, the table remained quiet. Until Cecilia decided silence was unacceptable.

"Jungkook."

"Hm?"

"You're leaving for the office today?"

"After lunch."

Cecilia immediately brightened . To your surprise, Cecilia reached over and adjusted his tie. The action seemed completely natural. The sort of thing someone did after years of familiarity. Jungkook didn't even react clearly this was normal. You focused very hard on your breakfast.

Margaret, however, looked entertained. "You do realise he's capable of adjusting his own tie."

Cecilia didn't even glance at her. "He's capable of many things. That doesn't mean he'll do them properly."

Jungkook sighed "I am sitting right here."

Margaret nearly choked on her tea. You hid a smile. Cecilia noticed Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Something amusing?"

"No."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

Margaret laughed outright. Jungkook folded his newspaper.

"You've frightened her."

"She's still here, isn't she?"

You decided that was probably the closest thing to affection Cecilia was capable of expressing. Margaret leaned towards you slightly.

"That's Cecilia being friendly."

You blinked "Friendly?"

"Terrifying, isn't it?"

Breakfast eventually came to an end. The household seemed to move with practiced efficiency the moment Jungkook prepared to leave. You found yourself unsure whether you were expected to do anything at all.

Margaret, apparently, knew exactly what was expected. She approached Jungkook carrying his watch. "You forgot this."

Margaret looked entirely pleased with herself as she fastened the watch around his wrist. Cecilia appeared moments later. She stepped forward, adjusted his collar, and pressed a quick peck on his lip .

"Don't work too late."

"I'll try."

"You always say that."

"And yet you keep asking."

Cecilia huffed dramatically. You remained where you were. A few steps away. After all, what exactly were you supposed to do? You had known the man for barely a day.

Jungkook's gaze drifted across the hall. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours. Then they shifted towards Margaret. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. Before you could think about it further, he turned towards the door. The massive front doors closed behind him.

Margaret immediately clapped her hands together. "Come along, darling." She linked her arm through yours before you could protest. "I shall show you the estate. Trust me, you'll need a tour."

Cecilia snorted. "She'll get lost within an hour."

Margaret shot her a look. "Cecilia."

"What?"

"Be nice."

Cecilia folded her arms. Then her gaze landed on you. You weren't entirely sure how a single person could communicate so much judgement without speaking. It was almost impressive. You found yourself pouting slightly.

Margaret looked at you. Then looked at Cecilia. Then back at you. The tiny pout on your face was so unexpectedly sulky that her heart nearly melted.

Margaret immediately reached over and patted your cheek. "There, there."

You looked scandalised "I am not upset."

"Of course not." Margaret smiled sweetly. Across the hall, Cecilia stared at the interaction. Then, for reasons known only to herself, looked even more annoyed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

With that, she turned sharply and marched away. The sound of her heels echoed through the corridor. You watched her disappear.

"Does she always do that?" Margaret considered the question. "Every day"

Then she tucked your arm through hers once more. "Come along."

"Where first?" A mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes. "The library." Your face immediately brightened. Margaret smiled.

For the next hour, Margaret guided you through what felt like half the estate. The west wing , the library , the conservatory. A music room nobody seemed to use anymore. Several drawing rooms you were fairly certain all looked identical. By the end of it, your feet hurt. Margaret looked perfectly fine. You suspected she possessed supernatural abilities.

"You'll get used to it eventually," she said.

"To walking five miles just to find breakfast?"

Margaret laughed "Precisely."

The two of you turned another corner before she suddenly stopped. A door stood at the end of the corridor. Unlike the others, it was locked. The brass handle gleamed untouched. Something about it felt different. You glanced at Margaret.

"What's in there?"

For the first time all morning, her smile faded. "That was Eleanor's room."

Your heart skipped. Eleanor The name seemed to linger in the air. You hesitated then curiosity got the better of you.

"I've heard about her. What was she like?"

A strange expression crossed Margaret's face. A little later, the two of you found yourselves seated on a garden bench overlooking the rose gardens. The morning breeze carried the scent of flowers through the air. For several moments, Margaret simply stared ahead. Then she spoke.

"Eleanor was beautiful. The sort of beautiful people write poems about." A faint smile touched her lips.

"When she entered a room, everyone noticed. She was kind too," Margaret continued. "Very kind." The smile on her face became genuine. "Most people assumed she'd hate me."

You frowned "Why?"

"Because I was another wife."

"Oh."

Margaret shrugged "Instead, she became my friend."

You blinked "A close friend?"

"My best friend."

The answer came without hesitation. A small ache settled in your chest. Margaret looked down at her hands.

"Eleanor never treated me like a rival. Nor Cecilia. Oh, Cecilia was impossible back then. She argued with everyone. I find that very difficult to believe."

Margaret gave you a look. You both burst out laughing. When the laughter faded, Margaret continued.

"Eleanor always knew how to handle her. She knew how to handle all of us."

You looked towards the estate. Towards the countless windows.

"You loved her."

Margaret's eyes grew suspiciously bright "Very much." Margaret's gaze drifted towards the gardens. Towards nothing at all.

"She loved Jungkook. So much that it was almost frightening."

Then Margaret's expression darkened. "The day she died..." Her voice trailed off.

You felt your stomach tighten "Margaret?"

She exhaled slowly "One day she was here and the next...We found her dead."

The words landed heavily between you. You didn't know what to say. What could anyone say? Margaret stared ahead. Lost somewhere in the past.

"I remember thinking the house had become too quiet and somehow it never stopped being quiet after that."

That evening, the estate felt quieter than usual. Jungkook had returned one look at him told you the day had been difficult. His tie had been loosened, his hair slightly dishevelled, and there was a weariness in his eyes that even his usual composure couldn't hide.

Margaret immediately stood "Long day?"

"The longest." His answer earned a sympathetic smile. Before either of you could say anything else, Cecilia appeared. As though she had been waiting.

"There you are."

Jungkook glanced at her. Cecilia took his coat from his shoulders before any servant could. Her arms travel on his chest she push her body closer to him , she took his hand place on her lower waist .

"Come upstairs."

"Cecilia—"

"No arguments." She put her index finger tip on his lip looking directly in his eyes in a seductive way .

Jungkook seemed too exhausted to argue. With a quiet sigh, he allowed Cecilia to lead him towards the staircase. The two disappeared upstairs.

Margaret lowered her gaze. For a brief moment, her expression looked unbearably sad. As though she were trying very hard not to feel something. Your heart squeezed. Without thinking, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around her. Margaret froze. Then slowly relaxed into the hug.

"Oh, darling." Her voice was soft. You rested your chin on her shoulder.

"Come to my room. We'll watch a film."

"A film?"

"Yes."

Margaret smiled despite herself "I believe that's your solution to everything."

"It usually works."

The older woman shook her head affectionately. "You are ridiculous."

"Maybe."

"But very sweet."

The film had been Margaret's choice. It was some impossibly romantic story involving stolen glances, handwritten letters, and a handsome gentleman who spent half the film staring longingly at the heroine.

You had spent most of the time making sarcastic remarks. Margaret had spent most of the time telling you to be quiet. By the end of it, neither of you were paying much attention to the screen. The two of you sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing biscuits and tea.

Margaret glanced at you "So. Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

You nearly choked on your tea. Margaret looked delighted. "Oh, there was someone."

You groaned "A very long time ago. I was practically a child."

"You still are."

You stared at her "Margaret. "I'm twenty-four."

"Exactly." She smiled sweetly "So what happened?"

You rolled your eyes "He moved away."

"Tragic."

"It wasn't tragic."

"Heartbreaking?."

"It really wasn't."

Margaret laughed. The sound filled the room. For a moment, you simply watched her. It struck you how easy it was to speak with her. As though you had known her far longer than a day. Margaret studied your face.

The following morning was unusually peaceful. You were curled up on one end of the drawing-room sofa, a book resting in your lap. Margaret sat nearby, carefully slicing fruit for breakfast. The estate was quiet. Then Cecilia entered. One glance at her face told you she was in an exceptionally good mood.

Which, somehow, was far more concerning. Margaret didn't even look up.

"Good morning, Cecilia."

"Good morning."

You lowered your book "Morning."

Cecilia sat down and helped herself to a strawberry. A smile lingered on her lips.

"Honestly husband didn’t let me sleep last night , he was so much in mood "

Margaret's knife paused briefly. You shifted uncomfortably.

"Cecilia." You snap "Maybe we don't need to discuss this."

The room went quiet. Cecilia slowly turned towards you. Her smile vanished.

"What did you say?"

You immediately realised your mistake "I just meant—"

"No."

She look so offended "What exactly did you mean?"

Margaret looked up "Cecilia."

But Cecilia wasn't listening anymore.

"You've been here for what? A few days? And suddenly you're telling me what I can and cannot talk about? You really are ill mannered."

You swallowed "I wasn't trying to—"

"OF COURSE YOU WERE." The words came sharper now. "You walk into this house and immediately start acting as though you belong here."

Margaret stood "Enough."

"No." Cecilia's voice cracked through the room. "No, I'm tired of pretending. You know what your problem is?"

You blinked rapidly "Cecilia..."

"You think being young makes you special." The words struck harder than they should have. "You're not the first wife. You're not even the second."

Margaret looked horrified "Cecilia!"

"But somebody should tell her."

The older woman stepped forward "Cecilia, stop." Yet Cecilia continued. As though every insecurity you'd carried into this marriage had suddenly been given a voice.

By the end of it, your vision had blurred. You hated that. Hated that tears had appeared at all. You looked away quickly. Margaret saw. Her expression immediately softened.

"Oh, darling..." At that exact moment, footsteps echoed through the hall. Everyone turned. It's Jungkook he stopped the moment he entered the room. His gaze moved from Margaret... to Cecilia...and finally to you. Your eyes were red and suddenly, every single person in it looked guilty.

Cecilia moved first as she always did. She crossed the room quickly and wrapped her arms around Jungkook. " Honey ." To your astonishment, her eyes were suddenly shining with tears.

"She disrespected me."

You stared. Margaret stared. Even Jungkook looked mildly unconvinced. Cecilia buried her face against his shoulder. "I was only talking and she told me to stop."

Margaret looked as though she wanted to throw a fruit bowl. Instead, she walked over to you. "Look at me."

You tried looking away. Margaret gently cupped your face. She wiped away a tear that had escaped despite your best efforts. Across the room, Cecilia continued her performance.

Slowly, his gaze shifted towards you. Your eyes were still red. Your book still lay abandoned on the sofa. For several seconds, he simply studied you. Then he stepped away from Cecilia. Jungkook stopped in front of you.

"Look at me." Reluctantly, you did "Did you disrespect her first?"

You shook your head "No."

His expression didn't change "Did you insult her?"

"No."

"Raise your voice?"

Another shake of your head "No."

Jungkook nodded once. Then his gaze moved towards Cecilia. A terrible sign Cecilia immediately straightened.

"What?"

"Did she?" The room became very interested in the answer. Cecilia opened her mouth. Margaret folded her arms. Finally, Cecilia huffed.

"No."

Jungkook sighed quietly "Cecilia."

"What?"

"Apologise."

Cecilia looked genuinely offended.

"To her?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"Cecilia."

She stared at him. Then at you. Then at Margaret.

"I'm...sorry."

The evening settled over the estate in uneasy stillness. You sat curled on the sofa with a newspaper. At first, you only skimmed it. Then your eyes caught the headline.

JEON HOUSEHOLD SHROUDED IN MYSTERY: FOURTH MARRIAGE, DEAD FIRST WIFE, AND WHISPERS OF CRIME

Your stomach tightened. The article went on and on exaggerations, rumours dressed up as facts, cruel speculation about Jungkook, about Eleanor, about you. You turned another page.

A sharp voice cut through the room.

“Don’t read that.”

You flinched. Jungkook stood near the doorway, tie loosened, expression unreadable but his tone wasn’t. “Don’t read that bullshit.”

Your fingers tightened around the paper. A question had been sitting inside you since the morning, growing heavier with every whispered rumour, every locked rooms . You lifted your gaze.

“…Did you really kill Eleanor?”

The air changed. Jungkook’s expression shifted not slowly, not subtly. It hardened his eyes darkened in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“What did you just say?”

Your throat tightened you stood up.

“I just—people say—” You didn’t get to finish.

In a single stride, he crossed the distance between you. The newspaper slipped from your hands. Your back hit the wall before you fully registered what was happening. Jungkook’s hand came up fast but it wasn’t around your throat. It was against the wall beside your head. The impact made your breath stutter. His other hand caught your cheek , not gently, but firmly enough to make you still.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, voice low and shaking with something dangerous, “take her name again.”

Your chest rose sharply. Fear spread through you before you could stop it “I didn’t mean—”

“Do you hear me?” His grip tightened slightly, not hurting you but close enough that your mind couldn’t tell the difference.

“Never. Say that. Again.”

Your eyes burned. You nodded quickly, breath uneven “Okay… okay…”

From the side of the room “JUNGKOOK.” Margaret’s voice. She had entered without you noticing. Her eyes moved from him… to you… to his hand still near your face.

“Let her go.”

Jungkook didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he stepped back. Like something inside him had snapped loose. You slid down the wall slightly, shaking. Margaret was there in an instant. She pulled you into her chest.

“It’s alright,” she murmured softly, stroking your hair. “You’re alright.”

You clung to her without thinking. Across the room, Jungkook stood very still. His breathing changed. His hand pressed against the edge of the table. His jaw tightened. Margaret noticed immediately.

“Jungkook…”

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at you. Or maybe through you. His breath became uneven like he couldn’t catch it properly.

“No…” he muttered under his breath. Margaret’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, don’t move.”

Jungkook took one step back. His hand went to his chest. He looked… lost. For the first time since you’d known him he panicked and then his breathing broke completely and then he fell. Hard. The sound of it snapped through the room.

“Jungkook!” Both you and Margaret moved at once. You reached him first, dropping to your knees beside him, your hands shaking as you tried to steady his shoulder.

“Hey hey, look at me,” you said quickly, though your voice trembled. “Breathe… just breathe.”

His eyes were unfocused, chest rising unevenly. Margaret was already there, grabbing a glass of water from the side table and splashing a little on her palm before pressing it gently near his face.

“Easy,” she murmured. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” Slowly, his breathing began to settle. The sharp panic in his eyes dulled still there, but no longer consuming him.

Only when his grip loosened did you realise how tightly you’d been holding him. Jungkook pushed himself upright, though unsteadily. The silence that followed was heavier than before. Then his gaze snapped to you. Something in him hardened again.

“Don’t ever mention her name like that again,” he said, voice low and rough. “Do you understand me?”

You flinched slightly. He continued before you could answer.

“If you do… you’ll see something you won’t like.” The words landed like ice. “Go to your room.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t argue. You stood slowly, eyes lowered “…Okay.” And then you left.

Margaret stayed behind. Jungkook was still sitting on the floor, one hand pressed to his forehead, trying to steady himself.

“You scared her,” Margaret said softly. His jaw tightened. “She crossed a line.”

Margaret didn’t look away “Truth is always bitter.”

Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.  

The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.  

Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.   

She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).  

Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing. 

So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him? 

Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence. 

It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless. 

He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out). 

After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided. 

Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend. 

He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything. 

He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face. 

And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset. 

"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-" 

"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-" 

"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm  

"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-" 

"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?" 

She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.

"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!" 

"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 

"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..." 

He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle. 

"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."  

"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms. 

He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from. 

The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is? 

"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.” 

“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly. 

“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I” 

“I never-” 

"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. 

“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”  

"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her. 

“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.” 

Peter was fuming. 

"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You’re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it. 

What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.  

You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within. 

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure 

“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears. 

It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return. 

“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you” 

But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there. 

“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!” 

And... silence. Complete and utter silence. 

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced. 

Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that. 

Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter. 

She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing. 

“A liability, huh?” 

Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling 

He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone. 

“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.” 

He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense. 

“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.” 

His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.  

“And I won't forgive myself either”  

Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet. 

Peter cleared his throat. 

Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer. 

Soon enough the silence became unbearable. 

“Maybe it's best if we just-”  

“I should-” 

As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing. 

Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak. 

Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. 

“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”  

Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well. 

He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?). 

But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her. 

Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?  

He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol. 

He reluctantly nodded. 

“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?” 

She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.

Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving. 

Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.  

(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh) 

Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.  

Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him. 

He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her. 

He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him. 

He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense. 

He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge. 

Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.  

He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.  

“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep. 

As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him. 

He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.  

He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness. 

He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions. 

Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away. 

With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak. 

This is bad, she thought. 

Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole. 

Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion. 

After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning. 

She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room. 

She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him. 

She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep. 

Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. 

At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little. 

He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part. 

But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness. 

He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm. 

"Yes, I am." 

They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone. 

“Are you very mad at me?” 

Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her. 

"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you." 

She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more. 

"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?" 

Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness. 

After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile. 

"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed." 

"I don't like sleeping without you" 

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.  

"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?" 

That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order. 

But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all. 

She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process). 

“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch. 

"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. 

Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly. 

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked. 

While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.  

She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter. 

She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books. 

Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all. 

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do. 

In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.  

As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end? 

She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her? 

She cried even harder. 

Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern. 

Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer. 

Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door. 

Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking. 

Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve. 

Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.  

“I could hear you from the living room” 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down” 

"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.  

"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting. 

Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape. 

"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly. 

Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.  

"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?" 

He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt. 

"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-" 

Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love. 

"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever." 

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-" 

She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds. 

"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again." 

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears. 

"Peter..." 

She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.  

Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.  

"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done." 

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said- 

"W-what? You can't be serious”  

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose” 

As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future. 

"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me." 

"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks. 

"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed." 

"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"  

The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears. 

"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely. 

“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us." 

After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles. 

“Would you do it?” 

“Would I do what?” 

"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it. 

"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-" 

"Okay, then.” 

There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era. 

The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end? 

"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-" 

“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?  

His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered. 

"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-" 

"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying. 

She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things. 

Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong. 

His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.  

Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.  

Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions. 

The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti. 

The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast. 

But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.  

Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now. 

He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay." 

She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.  

Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this? 

Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay." 

He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain. 

"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone” 

Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.  

Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n. 

He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.  

"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay." 

“But it won't be *our* stuff” 

Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him. 

"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me." 

"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face. 

Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake. 

"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you." 

"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face. 

"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"  

"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side 

Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.  

"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?" 

"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"  

Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well. 

Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis. 

"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal." 

He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her. 

“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date” 

Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it. 

He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.  

"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk." 

He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.  

"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound. 

“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away. 

Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be. 

"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?" 

His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action. 

"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.  

He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit. 

"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care. 

"And you're still talking" 

He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination." 

He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are." 

“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all. 

"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings 

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked. 

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it." 

He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words. 

She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it. 

Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart. 

"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness." 

"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head" 

Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.  

"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?" 

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina." 

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry" 

"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?" 

He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser." 

"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together" 

"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?" 

He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection. 

"So what do you say? For old time's sake?" 

"Old time being... yesterday?" 

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime." 

He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice. 

"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together." 

“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement. 

Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake." 

He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart." 

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?" 

She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself. 

"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips. 

“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his. 

"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime." 

With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist. 

Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?" 

"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again. 

Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?" 

He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night." 

She snorted in amusement “That was so bad” 

“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment. 

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build. 

After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.  

“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully. 

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together” 

With that, they fell in silence. 

The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew. 

“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?” 

A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer. 

because somewhere between sharing an apartment and becoming officially his, mornings gradually stopped revolving around routine.

now they revolved around you.

sunlight slipped lazily through the half-open curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the bed where you remained fast asleep beside him, while yudai stayed shamelessly awake with one arm tucked behind his head, quietly admiring you like he hadn’t spent nearly every morning doing exactly this.

honestly, he should have gone running almost thirty minutes ago.

instead, he found himself reaching toward you again.

his fingers brushed gently across your forehead before tracing down the bridge of your nose, gliding slowly along the curve of your cheek and settling near your jaw as though he was memorizing features he already knew by heart.

beneath the blanket, your entire body felt heavier than usual, every muscle sore in ways you didn’t even want to think about. unfortunately for you, that had everything to do with the smug wolf hybrid currently staring at you like he had done absolutely nothing wrong.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter.

if you stayed still long enough, maybe he would assume you were still asleep.

“you know,” yudai murmured, voice low and rough with lingering sleep, “pretending doesn’t really work when i can hear your heartbeat.”

your eyes snapped open immediately.

“i hate your wolf senses.”

his grin widened instantly. “you say that now.”

you shot him the driest look possible before attempting to sit up.

bad idea.

the second your body protested, you froze halfway before slowly collapsing back onto the mattress, a quiet groan escaping despite yourself. beside you, yudai had the audacity to look amused.

you turned your head sharply.

“this is your fault.”

“is it?”

“don’t act innocent.”

he only laughed softly before leaning closer, burying his face against your neck while inhaling slowly like your scent alone was enough to satisfy him.

dating a wolf hybrid had taught you one thing very quickly.

they were unbelievably attached to scent.

at first, it started with small habits. stealing your hoodies because they smelled like you, insisting on sleeping on your side of the bed whenever you woke up first, randomly pressing his face against your shoulder whenever he missed you.

then eventually—

well.

you learned mating season apparently made everything significantly worse.

which explained why he had been impossibly clingy all night, and why every part of your body currently felt like filing a formal complaint.

“stop sniffing me,” you muttered weakly.

“can’t help it.”

“you absolutely can.”

“not really.”

you stared flatly at him. “you’re impossible.”

that earned another laugh before he shifted upward, resting his chin lazily against your shoulder while staring down at you with eyes far too affectionate for someone responsible for your inability to walk properly this morning.

for a moment, he stayed strangely quiet.

then—

“i love you.”

the sudden confession caught you off guard despite hearing those words from him more times than you could count.

you blinked slowly. “…where did that come from?”

he shrugged, but something softer lingered behind his usual expression.

“just thinking.”

“about?”

his fingers absentmindedly played with the blanket while his gaze shifted upward toward the ceiling.

“…whether i deserve this.”

you frowned immediately.

there were moments like this. rare ones, where his usual confidence slipped just enough for you to catch glimpses of what he kept hidden underneath.

because beneath all the teasing and shameless confidence, werewolf carried instincts far stronger than most people understood. possessiveness, attachment, and an overwhelming need to keep what belonged to them close enough to touch.

sometimes, it scared even him.

“sometimes i think i get too attached,” he admitted quietly. “like… ridiculously attached.”

you stayed silent.

he let out a weak laugh. “i leave for work and somehow spend the entire time thinking about whether you’ve eaten. whether you’re sleeping enough. whether some random guy looked at you too long on the subway.”

“…yudai.”

“and i know it sounds insane,” he continued, voice quieter now. “but sometimes i feel like i physically can’t stay away from you for too long.”

he paused.

“…what if one day you get tired of that?”

something inside your chest softened immediately.

slowly, you reached up, grabbed his cheek—

then bit down hard enough to make him yelp.

“ow— hey.”

“there.”

he stared at you.

you stared back.

“did that answer your question?”

for exactly three seconds, he said nothing.

then his eyes softened in that exact way that always made your stomach twist.

“god,” he muttered under his breath. “…you’re so cute.”

before you could react, he leaned forward and immediately began covering your face in kisses. forehead, cheeks, jawline, the corner of your lips—

completely relentless.

“yudai—”

“i love you.”

another kiss.

“seriously.”

another one.

“so much.”

“okay enough—”

“never.”

you shoved him backward with what little strength remained before forcing yourself upright despite every protesting muscle.

“i’m hungry.”

yudai blinked once.

“that’s romantic.”

“i haven’t eaten since yesterday because somebody refused to let me sleep.”

“worth it.”

without hesitation, you grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him directly in the face.

he clutched his chest dramatically.

“you deserved it.”

you carefully pushed yourself off the bed and immediately regretted standing.

your knees nearly gave out.

before you could fall, warm arms wrapped securely around your waist from behind. yudai’s chest pressed against your back while his chin settled comfortably against your shoulder.

you could feel him smiling.

“…where are you going?”

“kitchen.”

“unnecessary.”

“i need food.”

“also unnecessary.”

you turned slightly. “did you hit your head?”

he only tightened his hold.

sometimes, moments like this reminded you just how instinct-driven wolf hybrids truly were. yudai genuinely acted as though being separated from you for five minutes might physically hurt him.

it was ridiculous. and somehow—

weirdly adorable.

“yudai.”

“hm?”

“let go.”

“no.”

“why?”

he nuzzled deeper against your neck, breathing you in without the slightest bit of shame.

“because i missed you.”

“…we’ve literally been together all night.”

“exactly.”

you couldn’t help laughing quietly.

sometimes you wondered whether his attachment came from instinct alone. sometimes you wondered if this was simply who yudai became whenever he loved someone. but either way, it made your chest feel annoyingly warm.

before you could continue arguing, he suddenly moved.

one second you were standing. the next, he had effortlessly lifted you into his arms.

you stared down at him immediately. “what are you doing?”

“offering a better suggestion.”

“which is?” his grin returned instantly. dangerously familiar, “we go back to bed.”

you narrowed your eyes.

“absolutely not.”

“i have the day off.”

“…that changes nothing.”

“i can order food.”

you hesitated. and he noticed immediately.

of course he did.

“see?” he smirked. “you’re considering it.”

“i’m considering breakfast.”

“same thing.”

“that is absolutely not the same thing.”

instead of answering, he turned and began walking back toward the bedroom while holding you securely against his chest. instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck.

traitorous reflex.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

he stopped beside the bed before looking down at you, amusement dancing across his face while morning light softened every sharp edge of his expression.

your face warmed instantly.

“…fine.”

“fine?”

you sighed dramatically before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him slightly closer.

“but before anything else…” you smiled sweetly. “feed me first.”

yudai stared at you for exactly two seconds. then slowly—

dangerously—

he smirked.

“well…” his eyes lowered meaningfully. “i was planning on having breakfast first.”

• the kind of man everyone warns you about

— everybody tells you not to get involved with jungkook. he has the exact kind of reputation that follows people into rooms before they even arrive — whispered conversations, dangerous stories, late-night rumors about money and fights and people being a little too scared of him.

— and honestly? the warnings should work. except then you actually meet him, and suddenly he’s leaning against the hood of a black car outside some dimly lit convenience store at two in the morning, tattooed fingers flipping a lighter open and closed while he watches you with those unreadable dark eyes.

— calm. lazy. way too attractive to be trusted. he talks to you like he already knows you’re going to become a problem for him.

— little smirks. quiet teasing. the kind of eye contact that lasts slightly too long.

— the worst part? he never flirts obviously, he just stands too close, looks at your mouth while you talk, lets his hand brush your waist casually when he moves past you.

— small things. subtle things. which somehow affect you more.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• late-night drives with dealer jk

— being alone with jungkook at night feels dangerous in a way that’s difficult to explain. there’s always music playing quietly in his car, always city lights reflecting against his rings while he drives one-handed through empty streets like he owns them.

— and he drives like he does everything else: completely calm. completely confident. half the time he doesn’t even look at the road when he talks to you, his attention keeps shifting back toward you instead.

— especially when you’re dressed up. he notices immediately, that slow glance up and down before his jaw tightens slightly and he looks away again like he’s forcing himself to stay normal about it.

— then later he’ll casually say something that completely ruins you. “you know you make it so hard to focus, right?”

— meanwhile HE’S the one sitting there looking unfairly good beneath streetlights with veins visible beneath tattooed hands and his chain resting against tan skin where his shirt hangs open slightly. it’s impossible not to stare at him, and he knows it.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• the kind of tension that feels addictive

— being around jungkook feels like making bad decisions on purpose. not because he pressures you into anything — honestly, he barely tries at all — but because everything about him pulls people in naturally. the confidence. the quietness. the way he watches instead of talks.

— he’s usually leaning somewhere when you see him. outside clubs at impossible hours, against black cars with cigarette smoke curling into cold air, in crowded kitchens during parties while everyone else gets louder and messier around him.

— and somehow, despite all the noise, he always notices you immediately. every single time. his eyes find yours across rooms like instinct. then comes that look. slow, heavy, completely unreadable unless you know him well enough to catch the tiny shift in his expression whenever you walk closer.

— because that’s the thing nobody tells you about jungkook: he’s patient, dangerously patient. he likes tension. likes dragging things out until every interaction starts feeling charged.

— small touches become unbearable with him. his hand brushing against your lower back while passing behind you in crowded rooms, his fingers lingering against yours slightly too long when handing you a lighter, his knee pressed against yours in the passenger seat while he drives through empty streets at night.

— none of it should matter that much. except with jungkook, every tiny thing feels intentional.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• soft moments with dealer jk nobody else sees

— nobody expects softness from him, that’s why it feels so intense when it happens. because outside of private moments, jungkook always seems untouchable — detached, hard to read, constantly in control of himself.

— then suddenly it’s three in the morning and you’re sitting beside him on the floor of his apartment kitchen eating takeout while he rests his head against your shoulder silently. completely exhausted. completely real.

— he gets quieter around you during moments like that. less teasing, less attitude.

— sometimes he’ll just watch you talk with this strange softness in his eyes like he can’t believe he lets himself relax around someone this much.

— and when he touches you then? it feels different too. slower, warmer, intentional.

— his hand sliding over your knee beneath the table absentmindedly, fingers tracing lazy circles against your wrist while listening to you speak, forehead resting briefly against yours when the conversation dies down naturally.

— those moments are probably the most dangerous thing about him. not the reputation. not the rumors. the fact that beneath all of it, he lets you see the version of him nobody else gets close enough to touch.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• dealer jk when he gets possessive

— jungkook isn’t loud when he’s jealous, he becomes calmer, which somehow feels much more dangerous.

— you notice it immediately too. the way his expression stills slightly when somebody touches your waist too casually at parties, the way he watches conversations from across rooms while swirling whiskey around expensive glasses slowly, the way his jaw shifts once before he finally walks over.

— then suddenly he’s standing behind you. one hand settling low against your hip, rings cold through thin fabric, his chest brushing lightly against your back while he leans down just enough for his voice to hit your ear quietly.

— “you done talking to him?” simple. controlled. possessive enough to make your stomach tighten instantly.

— afterward? he gets quieter with you, which is always a bad sign. because silent jungkook means he’s thinking too much.

— you’ll end up alone together eventually — maybe in his car, maybe outside some crowded party where music still vibrates faintly through walls — and he’ll just look at you for a second too long before speaking.

— “you like making me jealous?” the scariest thing is that he never sounds angry, just affected, like he hates how easily you get under his skin.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• the version of dealer jk nobody else gets

— despite everything people say about him, jungkook is strangely soft with you when nobody’s around. not openly affectionate, not dramatic, just quieter. more honest.

— sometimes after long nights, he’ll sit beside you on the couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed while your fingers move through his hair slowly. completely exhausted, completely relaxed for once. he trusts you in ways he doesn’t trust anyone else.

— which honestly feels more intimate than anything physical ever could. because this is the version of him nobody sees: the one who lets his guard down around you, the one who reaches for your hand absentmindedly while half asleep, the one who stares at you silently like he’s still confused by how badly he wants someone in his life.

— every now and then, during those quiet moments when the world finally stops demanding things from him, he’ll pull you closer against his chest and murmur softly against your hair: “you’re dangerous for me, you know that?”

— except he never sounds afraid of it. if anything, he sounds addicted.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• dealer jk when he finally loses patience

— the thing about jungkook is that he stays patient for a long time. too patient.

— he lets tension build until it becomes unbearable for both of you. months of lingering stares, close calls, almost touches, conversations that feel way too charged for no reason.

— then one night something shifts. maybe someone else touches you too casually at a party. maybe you tease him once too many times. maybe he’s just finally tired of pretending he’s unaffected.

— whatever it is — suddenly his composure cracks. not loudly or dramatically, just quietly.

— he’d pull you somewhere private with one hand firm against your waist, expression darker than usual while the noise of the party fades behind you both.

— and for the first time, he stops pretending not to want you. his eyes drop to your mouth openly, his fingers tighten slightly against your hips, his breathing slows like he’s actively holding himself back.

— “you really don’t know what you do to me?” low voice. steady eye contact. the kind of tension that makes your stomach flip instantly.

— honestly? moments with jungkook always feel like standing too close to something dangerous on purpose.

──────────────────────

you frowned too, confused and irritated because he was obviously upset, but he wouldn't tell you the reason.

once he reached your apartment, he got off the car without even waiting for you. he stepped into the house and directly went to the room. you followed behind.

"nicho, seriously, what's going on?"

"nothing's going on, y/n."

and there he was again.

for the past weeks, the arguments between him and you had been quite frequent. they were actually stupid fights over who left the lights on or who forgot to buy milk for breakfast, so you didn't pay it much attention, guessing you both were just a bit more irritable than usual.

but it was starting to piss you off, because every time you asked him if something was bothering him, he always brushed it off with a quick shrug or a quiet "i'm fine, just tired." and of course you knew he was tired, but was it so hard to just tell you when he wasn't happy about something?

you watched in disbelief as he changed into some comfy clothes, completely ignoring you and the growing tension in the room.

"you're doing it again." your voice turned out sharper than you meant.

"what am i doing again?"

"shutting me out when there's clearly something bothering you."

"i told you i'm fine."

"you're lying, nicholas."

his jaw tightened at the full name. you could tell things were about to scalate again.

"i'm not lying. god, you're so annoying."

"oh so now i'm annoying? for trying to understand what the hell is going on inside your head?"

"yes you are! you keep nagging me for everything. it's annoying."

"i only asked you one thing, nicho. if there's something wrong, if i did something to upset you. and it seems to bother you so much to just tell me."

your voice was getting louder without noticing, and so did his.

"well, yes! you did upset me, okay? happy now?"

"and what did i even do?"

he chuckled dryly, like he couldn't believe you were asking that.

"you didn't look so clueless when you were sitting next to maki."

"what?"

"you looked really flirty with him tonight. you were laughing at everything he said, leaning on his arm like i wasn't even there!"

your expression went from confusion to anger in less than a second.

"are you serious right now? i can't even be friendly with my friends now?"

he laughed again, the same dark, humourless laugh. even his eyes were darker when he looked up at you.

"don't try to buy me with that bullshit. i saw the way you were looking at him. you were two words away from just jumping all over him."

his words actually made something tear in your chest.

"you really think i would do that?"

he fell silent for a second, almost like he was hesitating.

"maybe." he finally answered in a low, tight voice.

you took a step back, like the words physically hit you. the action didn't go unnoticed by him.

"you see? you keep asking me but then get upset when i tell you what bothers me."

it was your turn to chuckle, because you couldn't believe he was saying all that. it was ridiculous.

"and what do you expect? you're accusing me of flirting with another man!"

"because you clearly were! do you think i enjoy watching you drift away from me!?"

you were screaming at each other at this point.

"drift away? i've been trying to get to you for weeks and you just keep pushing me away!"

"because every time i say something, it turns into this!"

he gestured in between you and him, his hands flying in frustration.

"that's because you wait until it explodes! you keep everything in, mask it behind yours "i'm fine" until you can't take it anymore and then you just snap at me! i'm getting tired of you lying at my face."

"and i'm tired of you pretending to care."

his voice sounded so cold it sent chills down your spine.

"what?" you whispered.

"you don't care. you were just about to make out with maki in front of me. you don't care how i feel."

your throat tightened as your eyes were already watering. but you wouldn't cry in front of him, not after those words left his mouth.

"so you really think like that about me..." your voice wavered. "you really think i don't care, when all these weeks all i've been doing is trying to help you? to help us?"

his expression flattered for a moment, but he quickly hide it.

"maybe you should stop trying so much."

his voice was quieter now, but that didn't stop his words from hurting.

you stared at him for a while, like waiting for him to take his words back. but he didn't. you couldn't find any trace of your sweet, caring boyfriend in the man you had in front of you.

you finally nodded, blinking your tears away. "fine. i'll stop trying then, if that's what you want. i won't ask you anymore." you yanked your pillow from the bed. "i won't bother you anymore."

he looked up, an almost unrecognizable trace of panic in his eyes. but he didn't move, he didn't stop you as you left the room with your pillow in hand.

you reached the living room trying to breathe through the ache in your chest. his words hurt. they hurt too much.

you felt like an idiot, for worrying so much when he just made clear he didn't want any of your care. but you were also angry. flirting with maki? does he really think you would change him for your best friend? does he think you're that easy?

as you sat on the couch, you couldn't help the tears from falling. you threw the pillow on the armrest and buried your head on it, crying silently into the soft cotton.

you hated fighting with him. you hated how he sounded like he really meant everything he said to you. but you hated even more how, deep down, you were still worried about him.

back in the room, nicholas was still standing right where he was before you left. the moment you walked out the room, regret started hitting him so hard it made him feel sick. he hated seeing you cry, even more knowing he was the reason of your tears.

he didn't mean any word he said, but he couldn't help it.

the image of you sitting next to maki, looking so happy and carefree, while the two of you couldn't even hold a normal conversation without turning it into an argument, was eating him alive.

it wasn't jealousy. it was fear.

he knew you would never cheat on him, but there was always a voice in the back of his head, telling him "what if..." what if you get tired of him? what if you realize someone else could make you happier than he could?

but he never admitted those things out loud. it was easier to turn them into anger, to bury his emotions deep down and pretend everything was fine.

what he didn't realize, is that he was actually making it worse. he was pushing you away, without even giving you a proper explanation.

he was a coward.

now you were mad, you had every right to be. and you were hurt, and that killed him inside.

he got on the bed, guessing you probably didn't want him to come after you. god, maybe you would never want to see his face again.

he pulled the blankets up, ignoring the lump threatening to explode in his throat. his eyes landed on the empty spot next to him, where your pillow was supposed to be, where you were supposed to be. he felt a chill running down his spine, so he hugged himself tighter.

he stayed in that position for a while, his eyes closed as he tried to force himself to sleep. but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't relax. he couldn't stop replaying the same scene in his mind; the hurt in your eyes when he told you those awful words. the guilt was eating him alive.

he found himself walking towards the living room.

you were also still in the same position, pretending to be asleep. your eyes opened when you heard soft footsteps approaching and just a second after, nicholas was kneeling in front of you.

"y/n..." he whispered so lowly you almost didn't hear him. you locked eyes with him, and he looked genuinely devastated. even his eyes were slightly red. he might have cried too, you thought.

"come back to bed, it's cold without you." he muttered, reaching to brush your cheeks with his thumb.

his touch felt so comforting it made you angry. you were supposed to stay mad at him. "you don't get to ask me for anything, after what you just said." you tried to sound firm, but he didn't miss the slight shake in your voice.

"i know. i know, and i'm sorry. just... let's go back to bed and talk, um? please, baby..." he didn't give you much time to think about your answer, before he was already pulling you into his arms. he easily lifted you up from the couch, your pillow on his other hand as he walked with you back to the room.

and you couldn't help but give in, rest your head on his shoulder and wrap your arms around him while he carried you to bed. you already knew you wouldn't be able to sleep without him anyway.

"look at me..." he whispered as he carefully put you down on the bed beside him.

you hesitated. part of you still wanted to turn away from him, but the look on his face made it almost impossible. the worry and guilt painted on his expression made the empathetic part of your heart soften up, so you looked up.

"why did you say all that?"

nicholas cringed at the way your voice was shaking. god, he hated this.

"i didn't mean anything i said. i know you would never do something so filthy to me. i just..." his voice wavered slightly. "i'm scared." he whispered the last words, you almost couldn't hear him.

"scared?" you were confused.

"you know, how busy i've been. we barely spend time together anymore. and when we do, i end up ruining it everytime. you just... looked so happy with maki tonight."

"that doesn't mean i'd cheat on you."

"i know." he was fast to answer this time, like he wanted to make sure you believed him. "it's just in my head. there's always this voice telling me i'm gonna lose you, and i can't shut it off."

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. nicholas wasn't the type to talk about his feelings so openly. he always swallowed everything down so no one could notice it. but now that you had him in front of you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his messy hair and clear exhaustion weighting on his shoulders. it made you feel a little guilty, because you didn't notice sooner.

"you're tired, nicho." you softened your voice now.

he nodded, his lower lip trembling just slightly. "i'm so tired. i'm exhausted and my head's a mess. i keep overthinking work, life, us... and i feel like i'm becoming harder to love."

you could hear the self hatred in his words, and it made your heart ache. you had no idea it had gotten this bad.

"nicho. i don't need you to be perfect all the time, i just need you to let me in."

"but i don't want you to see me like this."

you sighed deeply. he was so stubborn.

"i'm an idiot, aren't i?" he asked before you could keep talking.

"a little bit, yeah." you smiled softly, brushing his messy curls away from his forehead. "but i still love you. when you're an idiot, when you're mad, when you're tired... i don't care. but i need you to talk to me, you understand?"

he nodded quickly, and the next second he was practically throwing himself towards you. he couldn't help it anymore, he needed to feel you close. he was hugging you so tightly you almost had trouble breathing. but you didn't care, because he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable.

"are you still mad?" he muttered against your neck, and you were sure he was pouting.

"yes." you let out another tired breath, but hugged him back. "you said some really awful things, baby."

"i'm sorry." he pulled away to cup your face, then his lips were pressing against your cheek. "sorry for making you cry."

you ended up smiling despite the still lingering hurt in your heart. "it's fine. but don't do it again, or i'll leave you for good."

he chuckled. a small, subtle laugh that still warmed your heart. that's the nicholas you loved. the playful, sweet and caring one. "noted." he muttered, his nose brushing against yours.

then without warning, he moved you onto his lap, his arms firm around your waist.

"nicho! i can't breathe, idiot."

"don't care." his voice was muffled in your chest. "i missed you."

"i was gone for like 20 minutes." you rolled your eyes.

"worst 20 minutes of my life." he pouted at you.

"you're a baby." you chuckled, then shivered when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"i'm your baby." he started leaving tiny kisses on your cheek, then down your jaw and your shoulder.

"is this your way of earning my forgiveness?"

and he nodded, a sly grin on his face. "is it working?" he looked up at you with innocent eyes while he left a kiss on your neck.

"you're not fair, nicholas."

"not my full name again." he frowned at you. "call me nicho. or baby, or love, or anything but that."

"okay, okay! dramatic baby... i'll call you love, you like that?"

he nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. you noticed how his head was now hanging off your shoulder, like it was getting harder for him to keep it up. you gently pushed him back against the pillows, and then got off his lap to lay beside him instead. he let out a small whine, reaching for you.

"shh... i'm here, love." you quickly got back into his arms.

"good... i can't sleep without you." he sleepily murmured against your hair. he wasn't able to relax even a bit just some minutes ago and now he was acting like a big baby in your arms. it was funny, and adorable.

"thank you." you heard his raspy voice again after some minutes of silence.

"for what?"

"your patience." he tried to open his eyes to look at you. "and for not giving up on me."

you shook your head, silencing him with a sweet kiss on his lips. "never. you're stuck with me, the same way i'm stuck with you."

he smiled warmly this time, genuinely. "i'm glad."

he tugged you closer if that was possible and put the blanket higher around both of you. "sleep..."

"yeah." you sighed, finally letting sleep take over you now that you could feel his steady heartbeat in your ear and the weight of his arm around your waist. "love you."