#(one of the few good things i say about this man before i go back to dragging him) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delugyu · 2 days ago

Text

by a string

summary: Yeonjun’s got a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to worry about being a star student, but he also has to be the city’s web-slinging hero. And a lab intern. And a semi-decent roommate. And a little bit in love with you.

pairings: yeonjun x fem!reader

word count: 18.9k

tags: fluff, smut (mdni), some angst, spiderman!yeonjun, his webs shoot from his actual wrists like tobey maguire’s spiderman, college au, yeonjun is a cute awkward charming nerd, inaccurate science stuff sorry, blood, physical violence, lots of spidey shenanigans, campy weird action scene teehee, small arguments

smut tags: making out, heavy petting, webs as cuffs LOLLL, thigh riding, edging, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, cum eating, oral (f rec.), yeonjun is so playful and such a tease

notes: omg she’s finally here!!! i am so excited to get this out to u guys hehe<3 tysm for all the love on the teaser, i hope spideyjjun steals ur heart. enjoy the fic !!!

Saving the city can suck sometimes. Homework sucks significantly more. If Yeonjun had the option to zip through the city chasing some bad guys instead of sitting here trying to finish his calculus assignment, he’d be flying out his window in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, responsibility is a virtue, and Yeonjun cannot swing through the city for no good reason.

The one good thing about this tedious, awful calculus homework is that if it’s hard enough, he always gets a text from you. His body springs to life when he hears his phone buzz, rushing to pick it up and check the notification.

[you] have u done the calc homework

[you] how do you solve #4 :(

Do most of your conversations revolve around your shared class? Yes. Does Yeonjun ever get tired of teaching you the concepts? No, never. In fact, he stretches out his explanations as long as possible to keep you talking to him longer. Yeonjun never knew before that math talk could make his heart flutter.

“So, does that make sense?” he asks after a long-winded explanation. He’s almost out of breath after spewing out so much math jargon, but being on a call with you for ten minutes has similarly breathtaking effects.

“Yeah. Thanks, Yeonjun.” He bites back a giggle upon hearing your words. “You should seriously be teaching this class,” you say with a laugh.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t—I mean, I’m—I’m more of a science guy,” he stammers out, lips tightening into a thin line at the embarrassment of stumbling over his own sentence. “Our professor’s pretty cool, too,” he adds as if that saves him at all.

“Is he? Maybe I should start going to his office hours,” you muse.

Oh. Well in that case, your professor sucks. Yeonjun can’t have you stop coming to him for math help; you’d never talk to him at all if it came to that!

“He’s not that cool,” Yeonjun says. You laugh, and he huffs out a short chuckle too.

“Noted. I’m gonna go now, but thanks for helping me. You’re the best.” Your praise goes straight to Yeonjun’s head, making him feel like the greatest man to ever live. He doesn’t even feel this accomplished after going out on his little spidey-missions.

He’s a beat too late to say goodbye or good night to you, the call already hanging up as he opens his mouth to speak. He melts into a puddle over his desk, sighing out as he plays back his conversation with you in his head. He thinks you have the prettiest voice he’s ever heard. You’re so smart, too. He never has to over exert himself to get you to understand, though he would happily do that for you.

He jolts up as his roommate walks into his dorm. Yeonjun glances at him quickly as he straightens out his posture, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework.

“Hey,” his roommate, Soobin, greets quietly. Yeonjun didn’t know Soobin prior to this semester, but he’s been pretty nice. He’s very quiet, but very respectful of Yeonjun’s space. It’s much appreciated, considering Yeonjun’s hiding a few of his red and blue spandex suits in his closet.

“Hey. How was your day?” Yeonjun asks, only half-interested in the conversation.

He watches Soobin shrug from his peripheral as he slides off his shoes. “Normal,” he answers.

Yeonjun nods. “Cool.” The conversation kind of dies after that, which is fine. Soobin isn’t the most extroverted person, and Yeonjun doesn’t push him to talk more than he’s willing to. He sometimes forgets he even has a roommate with how quiet it gets in the room.

Yeonjun regains his focus a minute into the silence. His eyes widen when he realizes that there’s now a doodle of your face on his calculus homework—when did that get there..? His face heats up as he grabs an eraser from his desk’s drawer. Thank god he didn’t do this assignment in pen.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s not really paying attention to the professor, finding more interest in taking quick glances at you. You’re wearing a different bracelet today. It’s really pretty—maybe he should compliment you on it. Is it weird to lean in and tell you that? Are you close enough where he can compliment you without looking weird and creepy?

He rests his head in his hand and starts doodling in his notebook, mindlessly scribbling on the page while he waits for the lecture to end. He thinks of quick conversational things to say, something to discuss in a few minutes when it’s time to pack your bags and leave. Interesting class, right? Who would’ve thought—Yeonjun looks up at the projector to see the professor’s notes—the shell method… would be so cool… Maybe he shouldn’t say that, actually.

He’s honestly better off not trying to strike up a conversation with you at all; the chances of it leading to total and utter embarrassment lean greatly towards one hundred percent. He just wishes he had a little more spine, or that he was naturally a little cooler. The only interesting thing about him is something he can’t even talk to you about, or with anyone at all.

Yeonjun barely registers it when the professor dismisses class. He steals one last glance toward you, lips parting like he finally built up the courage to speak, but the words build up in his throat and die on his tongue. He seals his lips and focuses his gaze back on his own things, closing his notebook and shoving it in his bag. It’s not worth it. He decides he’ll just keep his mouth shut.

“Hey Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun almost jumps out of his seat, and he has to fight away his nerves as he turns to you. You’re packing your things back into your bag, not even looking at him. A part of him thinks he might be hearing things until your eyes meet his, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah?” he responds, voice coming out strained. He clears his throat.

“We’re friends, right?” you ask. He blinks, feeling like this is some kind of trick. He analyzes your face, making sure there’s nothing snide or teasing hidden in your question. You look honest enough, which puts him at ease.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“I hope that’s not sarcasm,” you say, getting up from your seat and adjusting your bag over your shoulders.

“It’s not! Really, we’re friends,” he reassures. You walk past him and he follows, leaving the classroom and entering the busy hallway.

“Well, good. I wanted you to go with me somewhere.” Your statement is wildly cryptic, and it leaves Yeonjun’s mind whirling with the possibilities of what you might offer.

“Right now?” he asks. “I-I have class…” As much as he likes you, he really can’t risk dropping his grade due to missed attendance.

You laugh, “No, tonight. There’s this party, and I”—you keep talking, but Yeonjun barely registers it. He’s never partied in college before. What would he even do at a party? He can’t handle his drinks well, and he’s not sure how well he’d blend into that kind of environment. He’s scared he’d make a fool of himself.

As you leave the academic building, you turn to Yeonjun, raising a brow in question. You must have asked him for his confirmation. Yeonjun forces his brain to rack up a response.

“Could you text me the details..?” Yeonjun asks. You relax a little at his words, nodding happily. You pull out your phone, ready to text him now. Yeonjun feels his heart pounding. He catches sight of the time on your phone, noticing he’s only got five minutes until his next class. The hall he’s supposed to be in is at least a three minute walk from here.

“There,” you say, awarding Yeonjun with a grin so bright that being late to class might just be worth it. “I really hope to see you there.” You tilt your head a little, and Yeonjun feels starstruck.

“You will,” he promises mindlessly.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun feared he might’ve been in trouble when his professor asked him to stay after class. Turns out, it’s something much worse.

“Yeonjun, do you think you could help in the lab later today?”

Yeonjun doesn’t think much before he nods. “Yeah, of course, how much later?”

“Around 6 this evening,” his professor answers. Yeonjun’s heart drops. That would be perfectly fine any other day, but he promised to go out with you today. Of course the party would start at the same time Yeonjun’s professor wants him to stop by the lab.

“I’m not sure I have the time,” Yeonjun says quickly, suddenly fidgety and feeling antsy to leave the room. “I’ve got this… thing to do.” His professor doesn’t look too convinced. Yeonjun wants to facepalm himself. Yeah, great excuse.

The professor sighs, but Yeonjun starts up again before his professor can say anything. “I can come in earlier! I’m free right now, so I could just go over after this.”

“The cells we’re working with need a full 24 hours in culture for the sake of our research. Are you sure you can’t push your plans forward? Or back?” he asks.

Yeonjun’s stomach twists with guilt. He knows he shouldn’t let his professor down. Yeonjun’s kind of counting on him to write his recommendation letter for a graduate program, too.

“I’ll push the plans back,” Yeonjun says, giving in. He hopes the dejection isn’t too evident in his voice. His professor smiles and pats Yeonjun’s shoulder in thanks. He half-listens as his professor gives him the usual rundown of what to do during and after the process, nodding along and holding back the frown that tries to tug at his lips.

When Yeonjun finally leaves the building, he lets out the heaviest sigh of his life. His shoulders sag, and he feels like he might be the unluckiest person in the world. You finally give him attention outside of just asking for homework help, and the universe just had to intervene. This is laughable. It’s also stupid. Annoying. Frustrating.

There’s a pout etched onto Yeonjun’s face as he walks back to his dorm. He’s got a couple hours until he needs to go to the lab, so maybe he can take a nap or tidy up his room a little. His head hangs low, gaze transfixed on the sidewalk, kicking along a small pebble that keeps him company on the way.

He only picks his head back up as he walks past a certain field of grass, one he often finds you sitting in. Sometimes you’re on your laptop, sometimes you’re taking notes in a textbook, but most of the time you’re just lounging and doing nothing. It’s almost inspiring. Yeonjun would probably benefit from relaxing and decompressing more.

You’re there, sitting cross-legged on the grass, peaceful and silent. You look up suddenly, making eye contact with Yeonjun. His face flushes, but before he can turn his head in embarrassment, you raise your hand and wave. Yeonjun almost stops in his tracks. You’re waving at him, acknowledging his existence yet again.

He smiles and waves back, failing to tame his heartbeat as he takes the sight of you in. He’s forced to look away when he nearly stumbles over the pebble he’s been kicking around—“Oh, shit!” he utters, quietly enough to not draw attention to himself.

He glances back at you casually, making sure you didn’t witness him tripping. Fortunately, you’re on your phone, no longer paying him any mind.

Back at his dorm, Yeonjun stands by his closet, contemplating what exactly to wear tonight. He also has to make sure his outfit is lab-friendly, so the loose sweater he’d been eyeing is a no-go. He sighs, looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe the t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing now will suffice.

Time passes slowly, slow enough for Yeonjun to clean his half of the room, make himself a small meal in the communal kitchen, and even read a chapter ahead in his calculus textbook. He almost feels relieved when his alarm sets off to go to the lab, eager to get his work over with.

He’s determined to get this done quickly enough to still see you tonight. The thought of letting you down the one time you ask him to hang out is almost painful. He imagines the frown you’d wear next time he sits next to you in class. He can’t let that happen; he has to make sure he gets to you.

He throws on his lab coat and adjusts the goggles to fit onto his face. He sighs as he grabs containers of various chemical compounds from the cabinet, leaving them on the counter as he fetches the other materials he needs. With everything set out in front of him, he grabs the petri dish of cells and glances at the procedural note his professor left.

Yeonjun’s done this enough times to get into the swing of things, so he’s not too concerned with double checking his every move. His bigger priority is getting this done as fast as possible so that he can get to you. Lab work is never particularly fun or interesting, so he passes the time thinking about you.

The smell of the chemicals burns Yeonjun’s nose a little, and he wonders for a second if he’d been zoning out too much. He picks up the procedural note and glances over the measurements again, making sure he’s been adding the right amounts of everything. If he does something wrong and messes with the cell culture, he risks not being allowed back in the lab. He should probably slow down a bit, even if it means making you wait longer.

He’s more careful throughout the rest of the process, pushing back the worries that he might’ve messed something up. He continues to reassure himself that everything’s okay as he finishes up his work, placing the lid back on the petri dish and storing it away. He writes the date and time on a piece of tape that he sticks onto the lid, then finally lets his body relax as he steps back.

He cracks his knuckles to alleviate the stiffness that had been building there and rolls his shoulders back, groaning at the soreness of his muscles. All the fine motor movements from working in a lab does a number on his arms and fingers.

He hears a rattle, and he turns quickly to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in his haste. His eyes scan the room, but nothing looks amiss. He shakes the feeling and sheds himself of his lab gear, eager to head to you at the party already.

It’s been over an hour, and the thought of you waiting so long for Yeonjun’s arrival strikes guilt inside his chest. He opens his phone to find the path he needs to walk to get to the house the party’s being held in, eyes bugging out when he sees that it’s a twenty minute walk from the lab. Shit, by then you’ll have been waiting an hour and a half for him to show up!

He groans, trying to think if there’s a better way to get to you. The buses around campus don’t stop at the street he needs to get to, and it’s not like he has one of those electric bicycles or scooters that everyone seems to love. He wonders now if it might be a worthy investment. He pouts and throws his head back, totally drained from everything happening today. His eyes land on the tops of the academic buildings and the tall trees overhead. Maybe there is another way to get there after all.

No, he shouldn’t. That would be way too reckless. He’s already gone through the whole power and responsibility spiel, and he’s not in the mood to get himself in trouble for acting rashly. But if no one sees…

He turns his head and scans for people in each direction. No one’s around. No one would know, and he really needs to get to the party before he makes himself look like an asshole. He checks for anyone one last time, then aims his wrist towards the sky.

“Yeonjun! What’s up!”

Yeonjun startles and brings his arm back to his side hastily. He whips around to see who’s talking to him and lets out a breath when he sees his friend who had just exited the lab building. “Taehyun, hey man,” he says, ignoring the anxious pounding of his heart. That was way too close. Lesson learned.

“Didn’t catch you at the physics meet last week. Everything alright?” Taehyun asks. Yeonjun really hopes this conversation doesn’t take too long. The last thing he needs is another ten minutes piled on top of how late he already is.

“I’m good, I was just”—controlling a fire set by some idiot arsonist, then trapping said arsonist with his webs until the cops arrived—“uh, kind of sick.”

Taehyun hums and nods. “Well, we missed you bro, hope you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around!” Yeonjun waves and returns the smile his friend gives him, then walks as fast as he can to the location you sent him. He manages to get there in fifteen minutes instead of twenty, only at the expense of heavy breathing like he just finished a marathon.

When he gets to the entrance, there’s two men Yeonjun has never seen in his life guarding the door. He almost scoffs. What is this, some kind of nightclub?

“You got the money?” one of the guys ask.

“What?” Yeonjun scrunches his brows and leans his head forward a little, thinking he might have misheard him.

“No money, no entrance,” the other man says.

“Dude, come on!” Yeonjun whines.

“House rules. Stop wasting our time and get out of line.”

“No, no, I’ll”—Yeonjun sighs, reaching into the back pocket of his pants to fetch out his wallet. “How much?” he asks. The men tell him, and he bites back the complaints that almost push past his lips. Yeonjun slaps the bills into the guy’s open palm. They finally open the door for him, and Yeonjun steps inside.

He’s taken aback by how many people are cramped into this place. The house is pretty big, but there’s at least a hundred people mingling around, which makes space tight. He squeezes past the crowd with muttered apologies, but no one seems to pay him any mind. He scans every room for you, but it’s a little hard to do it efficiently when there’s so many faces to check. A part of him fears you might’ve left already.

He pulls out his phone, ready to text you and ask, before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns at the action and smiles when he’s met with your pretty face. “Hey, you!” you exclaim. “I thought you bailed on me.” There’s no real bite to your words, but it still makes Yeonjun frown.

“I’m sorry. I had to do this lab thing, and”—

“It’s alright, don’t explain. You’re here now!” you say. “Did you have anything to drink?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “I don’t drink much.”

“Me either,” you say. You look out the window, then grab onto Yeonjun’s hand. His brain short-circuits, and he has to stop his eyes from going all dumb and wide. “It’s kinda stuffy in here. Let’s go outside.”

Yeonjun puts up no fight as you lead him out the back door, walking out into the yard. There’s almost as many people out here as there are inside, but the lack of walls means there’s more space to move. It’s much more breathable.

He takes quick glances at your face, trying to decipher what you’re staring so hard at. Your gaze is fixed on a small group of people just sitting and laughing. All the guys have girls in their laps, and a few girls stand around them, sipping their drinks. They all look happy. And drunk.

“Did you want to join them?” Yeonjun asks. He doesn’t know any of those people, but he’ll go if that’s what you’d like. It’s not like there’s much else to do when you’re not drinking or dancing.

The LED lights that line the house reflect in your eyes, making them dazzle extra bright. Your eyes dart to the group one last time before you shake your head. “Nah. Let’s just sit down and talk.” Yeonjun gladly obliges.

You find an empty spot to sit at, looking up at Yeonjun after you situate yourself. He laughs a little, “You really like sitting on the grass, huh?”

You smile at him and pat the ground next to you. “Don’t act like you’re too good to connect with nature.”

“It’s more about getting grass stains on my pants,” Yeonjun says, but sits beside you anyways.

You turn your head to him, and something about seeing your face this close makes it hard for him to keep eye contact. It’s quiet for a few seconds before you speak up, “So how come you said yes to the party?”

Something about your question strikes fear inside Yeonjun. Did you find him out? Do you know he likes you? Maybe this is some kind of humiliation ritual you’ve set him up for.

“Cause you asked,” he answers, voice a little meek as he fidgets with his hands in his lap.

“And if it was someone else who asked?”

Yeonjun thinks for a second, but he can’t come to an answer. “I don’t know. Like who?”

You hum and look into the crowd of people. Your head turns back to him after a couple seconds. “Like Yerim,” you say.

Yeonjun laughs as if the scenario is ridiculous, mostly because it is. Yerim would never even give him the time of day. She’s notorious for being cold to anyone who she isn’t interested in. Somehow, that seems to attract a bunch of guys to her. Not Yeonjun, though.

“No chance I’d go,” he says.

“So what makes me different?” you ask.

A lot of things. You’re nice, and you’re smart, and you’re down to earth, and you’re a beacon of warmth. Everything makes you different.

“Cause we’re friends,” he says instead. He wants to punch himself after the words leave him. This was his chance to flirt with you, yet he couldn’t even muster up the courage to give you a single compliment.

You nod. “I’m just asking cause… well, I guess I’m just surprised you agreed to come.” Your eyes meet his, warm and kind. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Yeonjun’s stomach does flips when you look at him like that. “You’re welcome.” It goes quiet for a moment, so he continues, “I think this was worth handing over the last of my cash for.”

You burst out laughing. “They made you pay?! Why didn’t you just say you’re here with me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he says. He bites his tongue after the words leave him. Who is he to assume there will be a next time? He hopes you don’t call him out on it.

“We should just go somewhere else next time. There’s a lot of places downtown that I want to visit,” you suggest, bumping his shoulder with yours. Yeonjun almost explodes.

“We should do that then,” he agrees. He’s not sure what suddenly drew you to him as more than some kind of tutor, but he thanks the universe for bestowing him with all this luck.

“There’s that bakery that opened a couple months ago,” you mention.

Yeonjun lights up. “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to go there too!”

You squeal in excitement and clasp your hands together. “Let’s do that next. Tell me you’re free on Sunday,” you say.

“I don’t know, things come up last-minute sometimes. I’ll let you know.” It’s hard to make plans when he’s basically living a double life. Then again, he did agree to going out with you tonight on a whim. He’s not very consistent with his rules. He pushes the thought back.

Your eyes land back on the group of people hanging out and laughing. Yeonjun frowns, and he wonders if he’s not entertaining you enough. He doesn’t want to keep you from having fun.

“Why do you keep looking at them?” he asks, curious and soft. He hopes he’s not prying.

“They’re just some friends,” you answer.

“Oh. Why don’t we go say hi, then?” he offers.

You pull your lips into a tight line. “I’d rather not.”

“That’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You give a small smile in appreciation.

“What about you?” you ask. He tilts his head, not knowing what you mean. You continue, “Who’s in your friend group?”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly and shrugs. “I mostly hang out with the physics honor society,” he admits.

“That’s cool. You must have a good bond.”

“We do,” he says. “How’d you meet your friends?”

You smile at him, and something in your face tells Yeonjun that it’s a complicated story. You sigh dramatically and lean back a little, “I met them at parties. Does that surprise you?”

Yeonjun’s not sure if that’s a rhetorical question. “No. You’re friendly. I can see why people come to you,” he answers.

“Thanks,” you say, voice a little quieter.

“Are you friends with your roommate?” he asks.

“I don’t have one. I live in a single dorm.”

Lucky. If Yeonjun had the extra money to spare, he’d be dorming alone too. It would definitely make heading out as Spider-man easier; he’d just be able to change in his room and jump out his window. Assuming no one is around to see, that is.

“That must be nice,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s alright. What about you? You got a roommate?”

“Yeah. We’re…” Yeonjun struggles to find a word to describe his relationship with Soobin. They’re not exactly friends, but they’re peaceful with each other.

You laugh and finish the sentence for him, “Roommates and nothing more.” There’s a lilt to your voice when you say that, and you wiggle your eyebrows like that’s supposed to suggest something.

“Ignoring your insinuations, yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m just kidding,” you say. He’ll let you make jokes at his expense all you want, it doesn’t bother him. Especially not when it means he gets to see you all giggly and happy. He thinks that you look the prettiest like this. Yeonjun would stare at you smiling up at him forever if he could.

The sound of a guy calling your name pulls Yeonjun from his stupor. He blinks at the man standing before the two of you, then looks at you with scrunched brows as if to ask who is that?

His unspoken question is answered the next second. “Hey, Kai,” you say. When Yeonjun gets a better look, he realizes that this is one of the dudes in the group you kept looking over at.

“Who’s this guy?” Kai asks, jutting his chin toward him.

“I’m Yeonjun.” He goes to hold out his hand for Kai to shake, but quickly puts it back down upon realizing that might be weird.

“Oh, Yeonjun from calculus. I know you,” he says.

“I didn’t know you’re in that class too,” Yeonjun muses.

Kai laughs, “I’m not. Y/n just talks about you.”

Yeonjun nearly melts. You talk about him. This is the best day of his life.

“Anyway,” Kai continues, looking at you again. “I need a couple more people on my beer pong team. You guys down?”

Yeonjun turns to you to gauge your reaction. He can’t really tell what you're feeling, not even when you face him as you contemplate your answer. Yeonjun shrugs, as if to tell you that he’s down for whatever you want to do.

“I think I’m good,” you say.

“Ah, alright, you bummer,” Kai jokes, stepping back and sending you a bright smile. “Continue your convo with the calc lord, I insist.” He’s gone after that, jogging off to the rest of his friends, setting up the game.

“Calc lord?” Yeonjun repeats, amused.

Your laugh is accompanied by a roll of your eyes. “He means it nicely, I swear.”

“Well, depending on how well he does in this game, I might start calling him beer pong lord,” Yeonjun says. You push at his shoulder as your laughter continues.

Yeonjun already knew he likes you a lot, but as the night goes on, he finds out that you’re even better than he thought. Conversation unfolds easily with you, even if Yeonjun’s answers are dorky and awkward at times. He feels exactly how he thinks you look when you sit in the grass alone: content and peaceful.

He’s not sure how many minutes or hours have passed when you ask him to walk you back to your dorm. All he knows is that tonight could have stretched into infinity, and that would’ve been fine. He follows you into the building, then into your room. He’s not sure why. It just feels right.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” you say. Yeonjun smiles and nods. He leans against the wall and stares out the window. You live on the top floor of your building, so the view’s pretty different from Yeonjun’s second story view. This would be a fun room to swing out of.

“Do you need anything else?” Yeonjun asks. A smile slowly takes over your face, and you cross the room to stand in front of him. You blink up at him, and something about it feels flirty. If he wasn’t biting his tongue so hard, his thoughts would have slipped right past his lips: you look cute.

You break the short moment of silence with a giggle. “Just for you to promise me we’ll hang out again,” you say, voice barely over a whisper.

Yeonjun has to remind himself to breathe and be normal. “I promise,” he says. He even holds out his pinky to seal the deal. You curl your pinky around his, accepting the playful gesture.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. You look out the window, then back at him. “I’m okay with sharing my bed.”

That definitely flusters Yeonjun. “Oh, no, I’m—I was gonna just walk back to my dorm or something. Or take a bus. I don’t know. Thank you, though.”

You laugh. Hopefully not at his sputtering and rambling, but Yeonjun has a feeling that might be why. “Alright, then. Good night, Yeonjun.”

Your soft voice has Yeonjun wanting to backpedal and say he’ll stay the night, but he swallows down the words. He smiles at you as he backs away toward your door. “Good night,” he says, standing in your doorway.

“Yeonjun,” you call, stopping him before he could leave. He turns, waiting for your words. He’s surprised to see that you look a little shy. “I’m really happy I asked you to come with me. Tonight was fun.”

Butterflies erupt in Yeonjun’s stomach, and he feels like he could float from how giddy he is. “I’m happy too,” he says.

He steps out into the hall, thoughts lingering on how overwhelmingly good his time with you was. His mind is clouded with rosy memories of his night with you, and he finds himself repressing the urge to twirl around and jump for joy. He’ll probably be skipping all the way home, imagining all the possibilities of what could come next between you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

It’s Sunday, and Yeonjun knows exactly why you’re calling. He stares at his phone, then back at the man in front of him tangled up in webs. Yeonjun shoots another web over the guy’s mouth.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says. “Stay right here.” He slings himself onto a branch of a tall tree nearby, just to make sure no one can listen in as he accepts your call.

“Hey Yeonjun!” Your voice is so cheerful that it makes Yeonjun giggle. He even swings his feet in the air as he sits on the branch.

“Hi Y/n,” he greets, hoping his voice isn’t too muffled through the mask of his suit.

“Did those last-minute plans end up showing, or are you down to try out that bakery?” you ask. Yeonjun frowns, hating to let you down when you sound so happy.

“I’m really busy today, I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging from how awful he feels. He’s got a whole lab procedure to write once he’s done sorting out the crime scenes of today.

“No worries, maybe we can go after class sometime.”

He frowns. “I wish I could, but I got another class right after ours. Let me check my schedule, I might be able to”—

“Are those sirens?” you interrupt, and Yeonjun looks out to the street. He’s grown so accustomed to the sound of those things that it didn’t even register. “Where are you?” you ask.

“I’m… uh,” Yeonjun stammers, focusing on the cops getting out of the car and making their way towards the criminal.

He tunes into the cops’ conversation. “Looks like Spider-shit’s been here already,” one of them comments in a gruff voice.

The other cop huffs out a laugh. “He’s always meddling in with petty crimes. What do you think this guy did?”

“Jaywalking?” The cops chuckle.

“Not like he can explain with that over his mouth.” He points to the web Yeonjun placed on the man a minute ago.

Yeonjun scowls. He’s not sure why the cops hold so much scorn for him, but if they’d like to know, then the petty crime that Spider-shit helped stop was an armed robbery. If these guys were a little better at their jobs, he wouldn’t have to meddle in all the time.

“Hello?” you ask, and Yeonjun reels his attention back to his conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just coming back from the store. Crazy stuff going on today.”

“Oh. Well, stay safe,” you say.

“Thanks, I will.” He sees the cops looking around, probably trying to spot him, so he flattens his back against the tree and tries to talk a little quieter. “I’ll see you in class, I gotta go.”

“See you!”

Yeonjun sighs once the call ends. His suit doesn’t even have pockets, he just carried his phone with him today in case you contacted him. Stupid? Mildly. Inconvenient? Very. He had one less hand to work with when dealing with today’s crime culprits. To hear your voice, though? Worth it. He smiles like an idiot as he swings over to the next nearest building, making his way back to his dorm.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s professor accompanies him to the lab today, overseeing the procedures for the day. The feeling of his professor watching over his shoulder is more nerve-wracking than any day spent fighting crime on the streets. He’s usually careful with his work in the lab, but he’s extra, extra careful on these days.

He pauses when he retrieves the petri dish of cells. He briefly considers the possibility that he’s crazy and just seeing things, but Yeonjun’s pretty sure that the clump of cells just moved. Like, uncanny movement. He holds his breath.

He stares at the clump, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. It doesn’t jerk around anymore, so maybe it was just his imagination. Fear still creeps up his neck at the idea of the research going wrong. He remembers feeling like he messed up at some point last time he was here, and the realization is making his skin grow clammy.

“What is it?” his professor asks, taking a step closer to Yeonjun.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he quickly responds, keeping his voice calm and steady. He brings the petri dish to the table and does his best to forget what he saw earlier. Yeonjun fears how his professor would react if he told him something unprecedented might be occurring. It happened so quickly that he can’t even tell if his mind was just playing tricks on him. Maybe he’s just extra nervous today.

He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his lab coat, bringing the necessary materials to the table to continue the research. His professor reads off the instructions slowly, and Yeonjun pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach twisting as he works with the cells.

He tries to calm down as he walks back to his dorm, but there’s a permanent chill shooting down his spine. There’s no way the clump should have moved like that—it shouldn’t show any observable motion at all, not without some kind of electrical stimulation.

Maybe he just jerked the dish too harshly. He was pretty nervous, so it would make sense. He must have been shaking and just didn’t realize. That would explain it. That would put Yeonjun at ease.

He can try to convince himself that everything’s fine, but he can’t stop the anxious thrum of his heart. Apparently the fear reads on his face, too, because Soobin’s quick to notice it when Yeonjun enters the dorm.

“Are you okay?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun’s not sure what must have given himself away. He pays more attention to breathing slowly and talking casually.

“I’m good,” he answers. He doesn’t expect Soobin to push the subject considering how quiet he always is, but Soobin’s gaze isn’t leaving Yeonjun. He must be really concerned.

“Did something happen?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun sinks into his desk chair, covering his face with his hands as he groans. “Sorry,” his roommate apologizes, turning away from Yeonjun to look at his laptop instead.

“No, you’re good, it’s just…” Yeonjun sighs. He might as well get this off his chest. “Some lab thing.”

Soobin nods, not asking any further. Now that Yeonjun’s started though, he doesn’t feel like stopping.

“I think I might’ve fucked up,” Yeonjun admits.

“How?” Soobin’s playing some video game on his laptop as he talks, which actually puts Yeonjun at ease. It feels less pressing, less like an interrogation or a confession and more like a normal conversation.

“The cells I’m working with are being weird. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I saw it right. I just feel crazy now.” Yeonjun rubs his palms against his eyes in frustration and exhaustion, soothing the headache he’s got building up.

Soobin hums. The little shooting sounds and animated voices coming from Soobin’s game fill the room until Soobin speaks again, “Did anyone else see?”

“No. My professor was there, but he didn’t notice.”

Soobin shrugs. “You’re probably fine then.”

Honestly, Soobin’s nonchalance to the situation eases Yeonjun’s worries a lot. He knows he can get in his head sometimes, especially when it comes to doing everything right, so to hear he’ll be fine lifts a weight from his shoulders.

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees. He basks in comfortable silence for a minute now that his heart isn’t beating so hard.

“By the way, have you bought more laundry detergent yet?” Soobin asks.

Ah, shit. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Being Spider-man is tasking, but it’s usually pretty cool. Not everyone gets to zip around the city and restore peace in people’s neighborhoods. Not everyone, however, has to worry about getting stabbed by a criminal in the middle of the night.

Yeonjun always stays until the cops arrive. It almost feels essential, just to make sure justice gets served. This time, he can’t.

He has to stop himself from groaning too loud when he feels the knife pull out from his side. The man in front of Yeonjun is already stuck to the side of a building, held there with a thick layer of web, so there has to be someone else. He turns around to look at the perpetrator, but the world moves a lot slower than normal.

Yeonjun blinks hard, focusing on breathing and staying conscious. The coward who stabbed him is wearing a ski mask, and he’s running away quickly. Yeonjun can’t let him leave. He moves forward and ignores the searing pain that sets his body alight. He straightens out his shaky arm and aims his wrist at the man, but the web that shoots out is just as weak as Yeonjun is.

Frustrated, Yeonjun growls and forces himself to move faster. It burns, he’s never felt any kind of pain like this, but he can’t let this man walk free. He can’t let this man stab another innocent person. Even with his staggered pace, limping as he tries his best to catch up to the man, he advances quickly.

He breathes hard and holds the air in his lungs as he aims again at the man, brows furrowed with angry determination beneath his mask. He lets out a loud grunt as he shoots his web out, and finally, it lands. The criminal falls as the web captures his ankle, keeping his leg stuck to the ground.

Yeonjun huffs as he traverses the rest of the way toward the man, nothing but fury in his veins as he shoots another web out. This one’s bigger, covering the man’s back and securing him to the pavement. He picks up his head and looks at Yeonjun with fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He can’t. All he feels is pain and anger and pain and pain and so much fucking pain.

Yeonjun’s not the vengeful type, but getting stabbed really tests a person’s limits. He shoots more webs over the guy, making sure he won’t be able to move a muscle until the cops arrive.

Yeonjun doesn’t waste his breath making snide comments, though he does have a few choice words for him. He takes off the man’s ski mask and resists the urge to deck his face. He’s got fear etched into his expression, but Yeonjun finds it hard to feel sorry for him. The man starts begging for his life, and Yeonjun scoffs. Of course he’s not going to kill this man—no matter what, he doesn’t end people’s lives. A city’s hero shouldn’t get to decide who lives and dies.

Yeonjun stumbles away after finding a passerby to call the police. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, Yeonjun feels less mad and more scared. He’s really bleeding now; his hand comes up soaked when it presses against the wound. What the hell does he do? He can’t die like this.

He can’t go to the hospital with a stab wound. There’s no way for him to make up some alibi that wouldn’t just trace Spider-man’s identity back to him. He hisses through gritted teeth as he frantically scans his surroundings, looking for somewhere to go. The only thing that’s coming to mind is you, and it’s aggravating. He could be dying right now, and all his useless mind can do is think of you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, and he’s just getting delirious, or maybe it’s a sign. It’s not like he has many good options right now.

There’s not enough time to think about it. He zips through the city and back onto campus as fast as he can, ignoring the splitting pain in his side that shoots up his body every time he moves. It’s getting harder to breathe, suddenly feeling suffocated by his mask, but he has to hold on. He’s not far away now.

He remembers the view from your window. He remembers exactly which room to shoot himself up to. He adheres himself to the wall outside your room and pulls his mask off, leaning his forehead onto the cold glass of your window with a sigh of relief. He catches his breath and knocks with a shaky fist. He’s really sorry for having to wake you up at this hour, but he has a feeling you’ll understand.

He doesn’t wait long. You're trudging out of bed and making your way toward the window, tired eyes blinking slowly. You look really cute. Everything is spinning around him, but he focuses on you. You’re still groggy and out of it until you meet Yeonjun’s eyes through the glass. As soon as you see him, it’s like you wake up immediately.

He watches your jaw drop, your frantic hands racing to open your window. His vision is nearly blacking out, and he tries to blink away the dizzy feeling in his head the best he can.

“Yeonjun?!” you squeak as he drags himself through your window and into your room. He can’t even hold himself up anymore, weak body collapsing to the floor. He groans and leans against the wall, clutching his side. He ignores the sickening feeling of blood dampening his hand, sticky and warm against his palm and between his digits.

You pick him up by the underarms, grunting as you heave him toward your bed. He notices how shaky your arms are, and he tries his best to pick up his own weight, even if it hurts like hell. He’s burdening you enough as is coming here so late.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to go to,” he says, catching his breath as you guide him to lay on your bed. He’s half-aware of how bloody and dirty he is, but you seem fully ready to let him stain your sheets. Concern and confusion fill your wide eyes, and Yeonjun can hear every word that you don’t say.

Luckily, you save the unnecessary questions for later. “What do I do?” you ask. Your hands tremble as they peel the shirt of his suit up, just enough to expose his midriff and the nasty damage to his side. You gasp upon seeing how bad it is, hardly able to stomach it, opting to look into his eyes instead.

He wants to respond to you, if not to answer your question then just to comfort you, but breathing is enough of a chore on its own right now; talking seems almost impossible. Watching you panic about this is shattering him. He makes an effort to move his arm out toward you, just to hold your hand and reassure you, but he doesn’t have enough strength.

You lift from the bed and open up a bottle of water, pouring some of the cool liquid over his head. It’s relieving against his burning skin and keeps him from losing consciousness. It also makes him realize how dehydrated he is.

“Please sit up,” you beg, placing a hand underneath his head to lift it a bit. He comes up just enough to drink some of the water you feed to him, swallowing down the rest of the bottle. He collapses back against your pillow once he’s finished, feeling much better just from that.

You come back with another bottle of water and pour small bits at a time over the gash in his side. He hisses and tenses up each time it hits his skin, but he knows you have to do this. He doesn’t want to make it harder by thrashing around and complaining, so he bites his tongue and keeps his body stiff.

The sheets soak beneath him as you continue emptying the water bottle over the wound. He should help you clean up after this; he doesn’t want you dealing with his mess all alone. A few minutes pass before you discard the plastic bottle and grab a t-shirt from your dresser.

You press the bunched up cloth against his injured skin gently, and he holds back any grunts that threaten to slip out. It’s like you can sense his pain despite his efforts to hide it, because you keep murmuring apologies to him.

“I’m okay, don’t be sorry,” he reassures. He doesn’t think you believe him, judging by the way lips stay tugged into a frown.

A quietness falls over the room. You pull your t-shirt away from his body and observe the wound, and your fingertips on his torso send electricity throughout his body. It doesn’t hurt so much now.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you point out.

He hums. “That’s good.” Your hand grazes the skin just outside the gash. There’s a soothing effect in the way your fingers glide against him, pressure so light that it’s barely there.

“You need stitches,” you say quietly, like you hate to break the news to him.

Yeonjun doesn’t mind. “You got a needle?” he asks. You fidget with the fabric of Yeonjun’s suit as you sigh and look away.

“I do,” you say. You don’t sound too confident, though. He doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better.

You grab his hand like it’s second nature to do so, and the action would be romantic if only you didn’t have that nervous look on your face. He can practically feel your heart pounding, and he’s dying to let you know that everything’s okay.

“I trust you,” he breathes out. He makes sure he’s looking you in the eye so you can see how much he means it. He’s risking everything by trusting you, but he’s not scared. He feels safe even with his life in your hands, his secret identity in your knowledge. If there was something more sacred and dangerous to give up than that, he’s sure he’d be okay lending that to you too.

It feels much more real when you have your needle and thread in hand. Yeonjun can’t contain his noises anymore, whimpering in pain when he feels the sharp tip pierce his skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say quickly and desperately. “I’ll do it fast.”

He hisses as he feels the thread start to tug his wound shut. He throws an arm over his eyes, as if not watching you treat him will stop the piercing feeling. All his muscles are tensed up no matter how much he tries to relax, but he keeps his breathing steady and lets you do your work.

It’s not too long before you’re tying off the final knot and discarding your needle onto your nightstand. You run your thumb over the stitch, gentle and slow. Yeonjun takes his arm off his face and fixes his gaze on you, watching you scrutinize your work with scrunched brows.

“It feels fine. You did perfect,” he says, wanting to keep you from judging yourself too harshly. He wants to thank you, but the words feel so awkward building up in his throat.

“I don’t have a big enough bandage to put over this,” you say, still fixated on his injury. Yeonjun tries to sit up, but your hand on his shoulder eases him back down. “Don’t move too much.”

“Y/n…” he starts, but you give him a pointed look, and he decides to shut up and listen. He relaxes against your mattress.

“I wish I had some clothes to change you into,” you mutter after he pulls the shirt of his suit back down. The spandex isn’t super comfortable against his fresh stitches, but it’s easy to ignore in comparison to the searing pain of the open wound. He’ll have to throw out this suit; it’s bloodied beyond repair, and he has plenty of back-ups anyway.

“It’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You shuffle on the mattress until you’re laying down beside him. “Aren’t the sheets wet?” he asks, surprised at how unfazed you seem.

You let out a small laugh, and that frown finally leaves your face. “I don’t mind. I wanted to lay down.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” Yeonjun promises. “And a new needle. And I’ll explain everything to you, I swear. Please don’t”—

“Yeonjun,” you cut off. He shuts his mouth. “That stuff doesn’t matter. Are you okay now?”

He nods. “I’m okay.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence. Yeonjun stares at the ceiling and wonders how much this is going to change things between you. He has some hope that this will make you two even closer, but a small part of him fears that you won’t want to associate with him anymore. He wouldn’t blame you; it’s not like being close to Spider-man isn’t a riskless situation. He doesn’t regret coming to you tonight, though.

He feels your eyes on him a moment later, and he can only bring himself to look at you for a second before returning his gaze to your ceiling. You must find that funny, because he hears you chuckling beside him.

“You know, I wasn’t expecting this when you said you’d hang out with me again.” There’s a softness in your voice that makes Yeonjun feel lightheaded. Not the losing-too-much-blood kind of lightheaded, but the oh-god-I-really-like-her kind—this one’s much more preferable and much more welcome than the former.

“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he says.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He turns his head to face you, and something feels awfully domestic about getting to lay this close to you in your bed. It’s hard to breathe when you’re smiling at him so eagerly, when there’s a glint in your eyes that tells Yeonjun you’re having fun. There’s an itch all the way down to his bones that begs him to push forward and kiss you already, but he resists.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispers.

The room gets quiet again, and Yeonjun supposes he should leave. It’s not like he can wait for the sun to rise and walk out of your room in his bloodied Spidey-suit glory. He’s not sure what time it is right now, but he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon and get some sleep, he’ll be passing out in his classes.

“Thanks for fixing me up,” he says, pushing himself off your bed and stretching his limbs. He feels beyond sore, wincing at the pain that shoots through his body. You sit up immediately, scrambling to stop him.

“You’re leaving? Are you crazy? Stay here!” you insist, trying to drag him back to the bed. He turns his head to you and smiles, and something about the silent plea in your eyes lights up his heart. He keeps his feet on the ground and resists your efforts, even though he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. It’s just not smart and not worth the risk.

“I can’t,” he says. You pout and stand before him, blinking up at him so prettily that he almost changes his mind. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know. I just wanted to keep you.” That makes Yeonjun giggle.

“Sorry. Maybe next time.”

You swat his chest. “Don’t let there be a next time. You almost scared me to death.”

“I’ll make sure to tell the next knife-bearer you said that,” Yeonjun jokes. It gets the laugh that he was hoping for out of you.

“Well…” you start, eyes darting between his own. He barely has time to register it when you press a kiss against his lips, your movement so hesitant and shy. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s over before he knows it. He blinks at you dumbly—it’s all he can do to not pass out like a dork in front of you. Your smile is just as soft and sweet as your kiss was. “Just stay out of trouble,” you finish, patting his chest gently.

“I’ll try.”

“I guess I’ll see you in class, then,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He should go now. He should make use of his feet and back away, but he stays planted in his spot. You sway girlishly in front of him, hands clasped behind your back.

“Good night,” you whisper. Yeonjun can’t help it—he pulls your face in so he can feel your lips on his again, more properly this time. They’re pillowy and dreamy, and Yeonjun could just melt into you. He doesn’t linger longer than he has to, backing up just enough to see your face. You mirror the glee that he feels in his own expression.

“Good night,” he echoes. He backs away and grabs his mask, slipping it back on. He opens your window back up and slings himself to the nearest tree. Each time Yeonjun looks over his shoulder, he sees you leaning at your window smiling right back at him. His heart does a little flip. On second thought, maybe getting stabbed is kind of cool.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Despite how well last night went, Yeonjun wakes up with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Every ounce of confidence that his interaction with you last night might have given him is completely gone the moment he remembers it, and sheds away at itself further when he notices you skipped class. A dreadful thought creeps up his spine: are you avoiding him?

Maybe you woke up regretting it all. Maybe you realized how ridiculous and stupid getting involved with Spider-man is, and you’re just protecting yourself before you can be burdened further. The classroom feels hot and suffocating, and fresh air sounds really nice right now, but Yeonjun stays put in his seat. He doesn’t want to make a scene and start freaking everyone out. To the best of his ability, he pushes his fears down and saves his panic for later—preferably for after he talks to you and gets some answers.

He doesn’t even open his notebook in his last class of the day. He shows up just for attendance purposes, then zones out staring at his desk for the rest of the hour. Time passes far too slowly; Yeonjun’s itching for the lecture to end so he can talk to you already. He’s practically running out of class as soon as it’s dismissed, but finds himself slowing down the moment he’s outside the building.

He’s pretty sure he knows where to find you. The bigger issue is figuring out what the hell he’s going to say. Is there any way to start this conversation without being awkward? Hey, thanks for saving my life last night. Also I am indeed that hero or whatever taking care of criminals in the city, hope you don’t mind! He feels so lame.

It’s wishful thinking to hope that you won’t care about what happened last night—well, except for the kissing part, but that’s probably not as important right now. He’ll push aside that conversation until the more important one happens.

He wants to run away the moment he sees your figure in the distance, sitting exactly where he thought you’d be. His tongue suddenly feels like lead, too heavy and useless to try talking to you. He gathers his breath and walks across the field, not letting himself back out now. You deserve to be given a little peace of mind. He’s sure today must have been confusing for you, that clarity hit you like a train this morning the same way it did to him.

You look over your shoulder when he reaches you, staring up at him and squinting your eyes from the sun. “How’d I know you’d come find me?” you ask, half-amused.

Yeonjun gives you a short laugh, unsure of himself as he sits on the grass beside you. It feels a little like he’s invading your space. He’s seen you sitting alone on this field as if it was all yours so many times.

“I thought I should thank you again,” he says, a little shy. He feels like he owes you a lot for last night. The whole city probably owes you a lot for saving him, honestly.

You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head on your bent knees. “Mhm. Shouldn’t I be thanking you, Spider-man?” There’s a teasing quality to your voice, and it makes Yeonjun laugh nervously. He should probably address that.

“I really hope you won’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe anyway,” you say. Your sentences are all laced with a tiredness and exhaustion that Yeonjun can’t help but to feel at fault for. “It’s just weird to know it now.”

Yeonjun hums. He can sympathize with you on that—it must be really bewildering to know your classmate is the one swinging around town shooting webs at criminals. He just hopes you can forgive him for dragging you into this.

“Spider-man’s a little less cool now, huh?” he jokes, keeping his voice quiet even though no one’s around.

Your smile is full and genuine, and Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “I always thought he was a little lame,” you answer. Yeonjun’s ego bruises at that. You continue, “But I think he’s kind of interesting now.”

He can only hope that you don’t see the blush that takes over his face. He looks away to hide it, but he feels your gaze on him. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting,” he says, acting all humble. It’s clearly bait, and he hopes you’ll catch it.

“I can be the judge of that. Let me get to know you more,” you offer. Yeonjun bites his cheek to stop himself from grinning at this massive win.

“Well, we still have that bakery to go to,” Yeonjun mentions, and judging by the way your eyes gain a new sparkle, you seem to like the idea.

“You don’t have any more classes today, do you?” You already look ready to go.

Yeonjun doesn’t bother hiding his excitement anymore, letting his smile take over his face. “I don’t.” You’re standing up the next second, and Yeonjun’s quick to follow.

The bakery is a cute, cozy little place near some other restaurants downtown. There’s no seating inside due to the lack of space, but that’s made up for by the giant row of sweet selections to choose from. Yeonjun’s stomach rumbles in anticipation as his eyes jump around to look at each confection.

After buying your treats, you lead Yeonjun to a nearby bench. You both open your pastry boxes and bite down on the baked goods eagerly. You hum in satisfaction, nodding at the taste. “Wow, we should go here again,” you say, going in for another bite.

Yeonjun chose a sweet cheese bread, which he completely devours within a couple minutes. You don’t eat as fast as him, but he doesn’t mind waiting for you. He makes conversation in the meantime: “How come you skipped class today?”

You laugh a little around your mouthful of food, swallowing before you answer, “I barely slept. There was no way I could’ve focused if I went.”

Yeonjun hums in understanding. “I barely slept too,” he says.

“But you still went,” you add. “I guess you’re better than me.”

Oh god, he hopes you didn’t take it that way. “Not at all!” he rushes to say.

You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know. You’re just a star student, that’s all.”

Is that a compliment? Yeonjun blushes anyway. “I like to do well,” he says.

“I mean, considering everything you’re balancing, yeah, you are doing pretty well.”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly in response, barely able to take your praise. He’s pretty sure you’re alluding to what you found out about him yesterday. “Thanks,” he mutters, all humble.

“Do you wanna talk about last night?” you ask, finishing your last bite.

“Sure,” Yeonjun answers, feeling a smidge of nervousness returning to him. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Did you have any questions?” he asks. He feels more bashful than anything else, but it’s better than coming off as braggadocious.

You hum in thought, pouting your lips while you conjure up some ideas. “Was that your first kiss?”

He’s completely taken aback by your question—and a little embarrassed, quite frankly—and he scrambles to spit out a response. You’re stifling your laughter before he can even get his defense out. “No! I had my first kiss in, like, high school!”

“I’m just teasing,” you admit. “You’re a good kisser.” The compliment goes to Yeonjun’s head, playing in a loop while he floats on cloud nine. You liked kissing him. He should do it again and again, just to keep you happy. And for more selfish reasons, too.

Your voice breaks through his thoughts when you speak again, “Do you feel better today? Are you healing alright?” The joking tone leaves your voice, replaced with genuinity and care.

“I feel fine,” he answers. He pulls up his shirt to show you the wound, all stitched up and starting to heal over.

You wince. “Good thing I finished my food already. That killed my appetite.” Yeonjun laughs at your grimace and releases his shirt, falling back into place. “You should really put a bandage over that,” you suggest.

“I don’t have any.”

You shake your head in disbelief, though your amusement reads on your face. “You should be more prepared.”

Your concern is cute to Yeonjun. “I know,” he says.

“So who stabbed you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “No clue. He’s probably in a cell now.”

“Did it hurt?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Like hell,” he says.

“How’d it even happen?” Honestly, Yeonjun’s not too sure about that either. He can usually sense imminent danger before it comes, but maybe he was too focused on the crimes he’d already been dealing with.

“He came up behind me while I was handling another criminal,” he answers.

You hum, getting off the bench and tossing your trash in a bin nearby. You start walking off then, and Yeonjun follows mindlessly. “Must be tough being Spider-man,” you say.

“Careful how loud you say that.” Yeonjun tenses as someone walks past the two of you, praying they were out of earshot when you said that. He sighs in relief when he sees the person had headphones in.

“Right, sorry. There’s just so much I wanna know now.” You turn a corner, taking a path leading back to campus.

Your curiosity excites Yeonjun, and he’s ready to answer whatever question you come up with. Some of his stories have serious entertainment value to them.

“Ask me, then,” he invites. You twist your head to smile up at him for a second.

“How’d you get like this? Were you just born this way?”

Yeonjun laughs at the idea. He swings his head around to make sure no one’s around when he answers, “No, a radioactive spider bit me.”

“When did that happen?” you ask. Yeonjun reminisces the first few weeks after the bite, thinking back to those initial feelings of fear and dread when he realized something had happened to him.

“In high school,” he says. It was super bewildering back then to change so drastically, yet be forced to act so normal. It’s much easier now—he’s had years to adjust—but he was a teenager when it first happened. That’s a lot for a kid to take on. He had to act like he was the same Choi Yeonjun his classmates had grown up with, and not some mutated superhuman dealing with the stresses of his new identity. Of course, he did that whole Spider-man thing to himself, but it was the right thing to do. He doesn’t regret it.

“Does anyone else know?”

“My uncle did, but he’s gone, so now it’s just you.” He looks at you, lips twitching upward.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you apologize, voice growing soft. He realizes that you’re in front of your dorm building now, and he supposes this is where he should leave. His eyes dart between yours, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. To ask him to stay.

“Are you doing anything today?” he asks. Maybe he sounds desperate. He doesn’t really care.

“Catching up on some work,” you say.

“I’ll give you my calculus notes.”

You smile. “That would be nice.”

Yeonjun didn’t even take notes in calculus today. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Can I stay?” He’s teeming with hope and bravery today. You open the door to your building and signal him inside, and he has to hold back the victorious giggle that almost escapes him as he trails behind you.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of questions and answers. Yeonjun’s never talked so openly about being Spider-man before, and a part of it feels healing. You study hard while he rambles about stories of the little things he’s done throughout the years. Some are funny and make you cackle, and some draw your attention away from your textbook so you can look at him in shock. It’s impossible for Yeonjun to wipe the grin off his face—not when he bids you good night, not when he walks back to his dorm, not even when lays in bed to sleep. His heart never lets up on that jittery rush it has for you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

A quintessential part of the college experience, Yeonjun’s come to find out, is trying out all the different ramen brands to see which one is the best. He’s a fan of whichever one he’s chowing down on right now, and a 5-pack of this barely puts a dent in his bank account. Seems like a winner.

He glances over at his dorm’s door when it opens, curious to see that Soobin brought someone over. Yeonjun isn’t bothered by that, though; if this guy is anything like Soobin, he’s not worried about getting annoyed.

“You can remember to buy ramen but not detergent?” Soobin asks, chuckling. Yeonjun chooses to read that as a joke instead of a passive aggressive comment.

“Ugh, dude, I keep forgetting, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Yeonjun points at Soobin’s friend and continues, “This your friend?”

“Yeah, I’m Beomgyu,” the friend introduces. Something about him looks a little familiar.

“Nice to meet you,” Yeonjun greets with a nod.

Soobin grabs some clothes from his closet then turns to the door. “I’m gonna go change and then we can head out,” he says to Beomgyu, then heads off to the bathroom.

When the door shuts, Yeonjun returns his attention to his ramen and ignores Beomgyu’s presence as best as he can. That doesn’t last too long, though, cause soon enough, Beomgyu’s breaking the silence: “Are you still hanging out with Y/n?”

Yeonjun turns in his seat to face Beomgyu. He’s not sure how Beomgyu would know that, but Yeonjun entertains the question nevertheless. “Yeah. You know her?” he asks.

“She’s my friend,” he says. “Kind of.”

Yeonjun already feels something weird in the air. He’s waiting for the turn that this conversation is bound to take. He finally pieces together why this guy looks so familiar; he’s one of the boys at the party in the group that you kept looking over at. Now Yeonjun’s really curious.

“Why do you ask?” The question comes out a little hesitantly.

“I’m telling you this man-to-man, I think you might be getting played,” Beomgyu says.

Yeonjun’s immediate reaction is only confusion. How would you be playing him? You’ve been nothing but sincere with your feelings—or, that’s what it seemed like, at least. Now Yeonjun’s doubting himself. A part of him doesn’t believe it and doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation any further, but he’d start spiraling whether or not Beomgyu explains himself now. Worry swirls in Yeonjun’s stomach.

“Why?” he asks despite himself.

“This is just what I’ve heard, but apparently she had a thing with Kai, and he started talking to another girl, so she wanted to get back at him. I don’t know, though.”

Kai. That boy who came up to you at the party. Yeonjun remembers him.

He doesn’t want to show how much those words affect him, but shit. Hearing that hurts. His body feels weightless, like he’d be falling over if he wasn’t sitting at his desk. He nods as he exhales slowly, keeping his heart from going haywire.

“Huh,” is all he says. Soobin comes back the next second, and Beomgyu heads out with him after that, and the world keeps spinning on, but Yeonjun feels trapped in that moment. He waits to wake up in a sweat, hoping this is all some nightmare that’s going to end, but the wake never comes. He’s forced to deal with his whirling thoughts instead.

None of this can be true. It wouldn’t make sense. You kissed Yeonjun. You said you were interested in him. If this was all a lie, how will Yeonjun ever trust anyone again? When he came to you bleeding out, you saved his life. When you found out his secret identity, you kept it safe. Yeonjun miscalculated something that night—there is something more sacred and dangerous to trust you with than those things: his heart.

He doesn’t even want to finish his ramen anymore. His fingers brush against the wound that’s healing pretty well thanks to you, and a thought crosses his mind. The night that you kissed him was the night you found out he was Spider-man. An especially sickening question starts to haunt him. Did you only start liking him because of that?

Yeonjun feels played. He’s always known that he was a fool, so he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, but really? Beer pong lord?

Five minutes is hardly enough to process the information Beomgyu dumped onto Yeonjun, but that’s all he gets, because now his alarm is going off and telling him to go over to the lab. He drops his head to his desk with a groan. It’s like an anchor’s been tied to his heart, sinking further and further until it makes him his stomach churn.

The fresh air feels good in Yeonjun’s lungs as he walks over to the lab. A permanent pout is etched onto his lips, unable to stop thinking about you. Good things. Bad things. Everything. Each memory hurts now.

He probably looks like some depressed college kid, walking around with his hood up and head down. He should be less pathetic, pick himself up and get himself together. It’s not like you two were really anything anyway. A kiss doesn't always mean something to everyone. Maybe it’s his fault for assuming that for you, it did.

It’s not just that, though. Yeah, kissing you made Yeonjun feel alive in a way that only swinging through the city could compare to, but there’s so much more to you than that. It’s the way you talked to him, the way you cared for him, the way you looked at him. How the hell do you fake that kind of connection? Hurt splits him at the seams like he’s being torn in two, but he keeps walking like nothing’s wrong.

“Yeonjun!” He recognizes that voice immediately. He pulls his eyes off the sidewalk and catches sight of you walking up to him. He almost forgot that he walks past your little field on the way to his lab.

It feels like he’s the one keeping a secret, palms clamming up as you stand in front of him. He stops in his tracks to allow you the conversation. “Hey,” he says.

“What are you up to?” you ask. He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Should he just act normal? Should he let you get away with using him? When he thinks about it like that, it puts a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m headed to the lab. Got some stuff to do, and it’s time sensitive, so…” he trails off awkwardly, looking off into the distance instead of at you.

“Oh, okay,” you say, sounding a little dejected. Yeonjun shouldn’t be feeling bad for you right now, but he can’t help it. It makes his chest clench to hear the joy leave your voice. “Maybe we can hang out after? Just to study or something,” you offer.

Yeonjun sighs, “Maybe.”

You’re quiet for a second as you assess him. “Are you okay?” Concern fills your voice, and when he brings his vision back to you, he can see it in your eyes too.

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” he says.

You frown, taking in his flat expression. You must gain some insight from that, because then you’re asking, “Did I do something?”

He wants to hold his head, feeling defeated and frustrated and sad and a million other different things. He’s not sure how to label it. He’s never felt emotions this complex before, probably because he’s never liked anyone this much before.

“Oh god, did I?” you repeat, more fear in your voice at Yeonjun’s lack of a response. It strikes him and deflates his will to be dismissive about it, not wanting you to sit here worrying for the rest of the day. Curse his soft heart.

“Just come with me,” Yeonjun says, continuing on the path to his lab building. You follow beside him, taking long strides to match his quick pace. He notices you struggling to keep up, so he slows down, even though it might make him a few minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. He can feel you looking at him, but he keeps his eyes ahead.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he mumbles.

“Tell me then,” you plead. The thought of having to talk about this with you makes him feel sick. He doesn’t know if he can even choke up the words without getting nauseous.

“Let me clock into my lab first.” The rest of the walk is silent; you keep quiet even as you enter the room with him, watching him take off his sweatshirt and put on his lab coat. You’re quiet even as he goes through the study procedure, not even lingering near him to see what he’s doing. He feels a little cruel for it, wondering if he’s just torturing you by forcing you to stand silently and worry about what he must be upset at you for.

He steals a glance at you. You’re leaning against the wall by the door, so many steps away, keeping so much distance. He bites his lip and looks away, figuring it’s time to start the conversation.

“I want to talk to you, but I don’t want you to lie to me,” Yeonjun says, breaking the long stretch of silence. He walks toward you, stopping before he gets too close.

“I won’t. I’m not gonna hide anything from you.” It’s funny you say that.

“Do you like Kai?” His question catches you off guard, your frown leaving your face.

“No,” you answer.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay. So why did Beomgyu tell me you used me to get back at him?”

He watches you stiffen at the question. “How do you know Beomgyu?” you ask.

“Please just answer me,” Yeonjun says. He doesn’t want to run around in circles, he just wants to hear the truth from you.

“I don’t like Kai anymore.” Something about that sentence hits like a stab to the gut. Yeonjun would know the feeling.

He tsks and shakes his head, ready to walk away and end the conversation, but you continue, “Please let me say the whole story.” Yeonjun sighs and meets your eyes. He decides to hear you out, only because a part of him is dying for you to make this right.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“I invited you to the party because you’re my friend, and I think you’re cute, but also for really petty, stupid revenge. It was so dumb and I’m so sorry, I feel so fucking bad for that now,” you explain. Yeonjun thinks back to how excited he was when you asked him. He remembers the rush of butterflies, the nervousness that pooled in his stomach, the adrenaline through his veins when he realized he finally had your attention.

You continue, “But I swear on my life, Yeonjun, the second we went outside at that party, I realized how unfair it was. I wanted to make Kai jealous, but when we were standing out there, I couldn’t do it. You’re a good person, and I felt fucking awful, and I didn’t go through with anything, and I’m glad I didn’t. You gave me one of the best nights of my life that day. I mean that. Seriously.”

There’s sincerity in your eyes, so Yeonjun knows you’re not lying. The ache in his chest is dull now, but still there. He can’t believe you planned to use him as some pawn to get back at Kai.

“Why’d I have to hear it from someone else? Why couldn’t you tell me yourself?” he asks. It’s pathetic how his voice carries more heartbreak than anger.

“Cause I didn’t want you to misunderstand and leave!” you explain, desperate. “Yeonjun, please. I don’t care about Kai anymore. I haven’t even talked to him since the party.”

Yeonjun wishes he could feel comforted by your words, but all he feels is hurt. He has this terrible thing where he can’t stop asking questions that will only batter him worse. “So you didn’t really like me?”

You take a step closer to him, placing both hands over your heart. Yeonjun’s not blind; he can see the fear in your eyes, the worry that he might walk away. He doesn’t have it in him to relieve your stress right now.

“I always liked you. I like you more every day,” you answer. There’s honesty in your words, which Yeonjun appreciates. It doesn’t quite melt away his insecurities, though.

Yeonjun can’t bear looking at you any longer, dropping his gaze to the floor and stepping back. He’s ready to leave, thinking he needs the night to himself to stare at the ceiling and contemplate this whole situation.

You stop him before he can get too far. Your hand hooks onto the sleeve of his lab coat, shaking as you cling to him. It’s so pitiful that it ruins the monstrous image Yeonjun’s trying to fit you into in his mind. Against his better judgment, his eyes meet yours again.

He’s about to speak—maybe to console you, to get some of that sadness out of your eyes—but the sound of glass breaking behind him makes him turn with wide eyes, searching for the damage. He’ll be the one stuck replacing any broken equipment; he can only pray that it wasn’t a more expensive piece.

His eyes flit across the room, but he finds nothing. Is he seriously losing his mind? Every time he’s in this lab, there’s something new giving him a mini heart attack. He brushes this off as some kind of paranoia. He considers talking to his professor about taking a break from the lab, just until he can restore his sanity.

“Let’s just head out of here,” Yeonjun says, unable to rid himself of the chill down his spine.

“Do you still like me?” you ask, unable to move on from the conversation. You stay planted in your spot as Yeonjun takes off his lab gear. He groans internally at your question—of course he still likes you. Do you think his feelings are so malleable? His adoration for you feels like an immovable boulder. He can’t even stay mad at you for as long as he wanted to, though he tries not to let you win too easily.

He sighs out your name instead of answering. He waits for you at the door as he throws his sweatshirt back on, and you trudge forward with a pout. Once his sweatshirt is slipped over his head, he catches sight of something behind you, heart stopping entirely.

“What the hell—?!” he emits, eyes growing wide as the cell clump he’d been working with expands out past its storage spot, spilling out onto the floor. The broken glass earlier must’ve been from the petri dish—shit, he should’ve checked. It’s discolored now, so dark it’s nearly black, and growing more rapidly than it should be able to.

You spin on your feet to see what Yeonjun’s looking at, yelping when you see the growth. You back up quickly and bump into Yeonjun’s chest. “What’s happening?” you ask, turning your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He has to think fast, because it doesn’t look like the cell replication is stopping any time soon—if anything, it looks like it’s growing exponentially. The clump is a goo-like substance, slowly spilling out further and further onto the floor, looking something like tar as it expands out. “We’ll have to trigger rapid apoptosis,” he says.

“How do we do that?” you ask. Yeonjun’s not sure either, so he doesn’t bother to answer. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out all the different liquid chemicals he can find. One of these is bound to do something.

You hold yourself and watch him carefully, still looking shy and desperate and nervous from your argument. Yeonjun’s not sure why you seem to be more bothered by him not reassuring you that he likes you than by the clump that grows behind you. Your attention remains on him the whole time.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“No,” he answers sharply and quickly. He has bigger issues to be worried about than staying mad at you.

“I promise I wasn’t lying. I won’t talk to Kai ever again.”

“Why are we having this conversation right now?!” Yeonjun asks, frustrated.

“Because it’s important to me that you know!”

He ignores you in favor of unscrewing the lid to one of the acids, hoping it could digest the cells. When he pours it onto the clump, a loud hiss rings through the room and smoke comes up from the mass. It doesn’t seem to dissolve the cells, though.

He emits an exasperated groan, opening the lid to another chemical substance, and you rush to do the same. He can’t stop to think about how dangerous this is, too focused on controlling the problem before it gets irreparable. You and Yeonjun pour chemicals onto it at the same time, and it seems to react. The tar-like blob thickens now, erecting itself up from the floor languidly.

You and Yeonjun back up, watching with fearful eyes as it stands. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s a living organism. It’s eerily silent for a room as you two stare at the mass in shock. Then, rapidly, it comes charging at you, attaching itself to your cardigan as you shriek. Yeonjun acts fast, running to you and grabbing your waist, adhering his feet to the floor to keep you from getting dragged any more. You shed your cardigan quickly before tugging it back from the blob. It tears from how harsh you pull it, but you don’t seem to care, chucking it to the opposite side of the room.

This is an unfortunate time to see you in a tight-fitting tank top. Your chest heaves from the panic of being grabbed by the organism, rising and falling as you start to steady your breath. You look over at him, and he finds himself blushing and removing his gaze from you in embarrassment. God, now he’s the one struggling to focus on the bigger problem.

Yeonjun directs his wrist at the blob, shooting a web at it to keep it from charging at you again. The web sends the mass flying back until it collides with the wall. Though it can’t remove itself from the confines of the web, it still slowly grows, and it will be able to expand enough to attack again soon. Still, this should buy you two some more time.

“You should leave,” Yeonjun says, coming to you and cupping your face. His eyes beg you to go, strung up on the possibility of you getting hurt.

“I won’t,” you say, grabbing onto his wrists.

“Please. You’re too important.” His hand strokes through your hair like you’re something precious.

You take his hand and kiss it. “You are too. I won’t leave.”

He sighs. He knows he’s not winning this, there’s too much determination in your words. Before he removes his focus from you, he thinks he should tell you one last thing. “Just so you know, I like you too.”

You’re barely able to hold back your smile, but Yeonjun can’t stay and watch your reaction. The mass continues to grow over the confines of the web, and he has to find a way to control it before it overcomes the binds. He opens the binder that holds the descriptions of all the lab materials, hoping he can find something useful in there. His eyes flit across the words, scanning for the chemicals that will be his saving grace.

He stops when he reads the description for nitric acid. The words digest and dissolve kick his body to life, hope stirring inside of him. “Come here with the nitric acid!” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Which one is that?” you ask hurriedly, scanning through the different bottles of chemicals.

“It’s in a brown translucent bottle. Quick!” Before he can panic further, you’re racing to his side with a bottle of the acid. Yeonjun quickly pours it over the mass, watching it shrivel when the liquid hits its surface. A weight lifts off Yeonjun’s shoulders when he realizes he finally found something that works. The bottle doesn’t hold nearly enough, though, because Yeonjun empties it out before he can melt the organism completely.

He turns to you expectantly, and you’re rushing back to the counter where all the chemical substances are held. You’re turning each to read the labels, growing more aggravated as you fail to find another container of nitric acid. You curse as you swing the cabinet doors open, checking if there’s any stored away in there.

You pull out a bottle from the cabinet, reading it quickly. “Would sulfuric acid work?” you ask, looking at Yeonjun like you need him to say yes.

“It would react with the nitric acid,” he answers. You groan.

“You think I know any of this stuff?!” You go back to searching through the cabinet.

“Yes! You’re, like, the smartest girl I know!” Yeonjun exclaims, equally as frustrated.

“You must not know a lot of girls then,” you huff. You finally pull out a bottle that seems to match, running over to Yeonjun. He takes it from your hands and pours the liquid over what remains of the clump, watching it dissolve until all that’s left is a murky puddle on the floor. He plops the nitric acid onto a table, finally letting himself take a full breath. He tastes the chemicals swirling in the air, but he can’t bring himself to care about any toxins filling his lungs. He’s worn out, crouching down in exhaustion with a groan.

When he picks his head up from between his arms, he searches for you. You’re bent over one of the tables, head tucked between your arms as half your body rests over the surface. You must be just as drained as him. He stretches his body out as he stands back up, then approaches you at the opposite side of the table. He rests his elbows onto the tabletop, leaning forward to be closer to you.

“You get feisty when you’re working under pressure,” Yeonjun teases, breathless laugh escaping him. You lift your head to look at him, and he can see how you hold back your amusement.

“I could say the same about you,” you respond. You seem winded, still breathing hard as you push yourself off the table and pick up your cardigan from the floor. You hold up your cardigan and examine the damage. It’s stained and ripped and looks disgusting. You pout. “This was my favorite one…”

“Don’t worry, you’re pretty good at stitching things back up,” Yeonjun says, coming up to you and taking the cardigan from your hands to tie it around your waist. You look up at him, something fond shining in your eyes.

“I guess I am,” you say, tugging on Yeonjun’s sweatshirt to pull him closer to you. You wear a dopey smile as you stare at him, hands resting on his shoulders, and Yeonjun really hopes that you do what he knows you’re both thinking about right now.

You don’t leave him waiting long; your hand comes to his jaw to bring his face to yours, and the next second, Yeonjun’s having the best kiss of his life. It feels like a reward after the shitshow that today’s been. For it to come to this, he’d relive it a dozen more times.

“Wait,” Yeonjun says, pulling back. “Are we dating now?”

“Haven’t we been dating?” You look at him like he’s a fool, and it endears Yeonjun endlessly.

“I mean, boyfriend-girlfriend dating,” Yeonjun explains.

“Oh, I’ve already told, like, three people that you’re my boyfriend.” There might be real hearts in Yeonjun’s eyes right now.

“Good,” he says, coming in for another quick kiss. “I’m all yours.” His words are uttered against your lips, since he can’t seem to pull himself away from you.

You gladly accept his kisses, and he has to keep himself from getting too drunk off your taste. He has to remember he’s still in a lab with a bunch of chemicals filling the air—it’s probably a good idea to get out. Even though he doesn’t want to, Yeonjun steps back and looks around at the mess throughout the room. Given everything that happened, it’s not awful. A mop would take care of ninety percent of the problem.

“We should clean this up,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” you agree. Neither of you make a move. You start laughing after a few seconds, and Yeonjun returns his attention to you with a cheeky grin.

“No, let’s just leave,” he suggests. He’s exhausted. He’ll explain everything to his professor tomorrow, he can’t take any more of this today.

“Should we go back to my place then?” you ask. Yeonjun does a very poor job of hiding his excitement. He wants more than anything to hold you to his chest and zip across campus to get to your dorm, but alas, he does the smart thing instead. A ten minute walk has never felt more like ten hours in his life, and seeing your dorm building finally come into view has his heart racing in anticipation.

Yeonjun’s all over you the minute your door closes behind him. He doesn’t let your lips disconnect for a second—not to talk, not to breathe, because nothing’s more important than tasting your lips on his.

Your back falls to your mattress, and Yeonjun’s mind briefly wanders to the last time you two were here. Having you sprawled out beneath him is quite different than you patching him up above him. In a way, that moment felt like the start of something bigger between you. The initial spark came long before it, but that night is what caused fire to catch. He feeds the flame now, fingers untying the cardigan at your waist and throwing it to the floor. Your shirt’s the next thing to go, and he only pulls away long enough to shed the cloth off of you.

His mouth on yours is ravenous and unwilling to waste any more time. He feels up your stomach, cherishing the warm flesh with eager fingers. He trails his hands up to your chest, feeling your breasts over your bra. You gasp when he squeezes experimentally, and it encourages him to continue, movements growing hungry.

You break away from the kiss, panting for air while Yeonjun latches onto your jaw. He’s insatiable, sucking your skin and placing kitten licks over the mark after. He hovers his face over yours, biting back his grin when he sees how hazy your eyes have become.

You catch his face in your hand, cupping his jaw and thumbing his cheek. The action makes his heart soar, and he leans into your warm touch. Your smile turns from soft to wicked when you push your thumb between his lips, and he engulfs the digit without a fight.

“I like you,” you say as he sucks your thumb, blinking up at him adoringly like he’s not doing some lewd act right now. He swirls his tongue around you before popping it out of his mouth, kissing your fingertip then taking your hand in his own.

“I like you too.” His free hand goes behind your back to search for your bra clasp, fumbling with it clumsily until he gets it to disconnect. You pull the material off, and Yeonjun’s cock twitches in his pants when he takes in the sight of you. A part of him feels wrong for doing this, like this is too dirty, but a larger part of him can’t wait to indulge in you. He’ll just make sure to take you out for dinner after.

Yeonjun throws his sweatshirt and shirt to the floor, pride swirling inside him when he sees the way you ogle at his skin. You lay your hand over his chest, trailing your fingers over the expanse teasingly. He takes your wrist and drags your hand away.

“You don’t deserve to touch me. I’m still upset about Kai,” he says. It’s a lie, but he’s in a playful mood. Your hand makes its way back to his chest despite that, so he grabs it and brings it to the bed, shooting a web over your wrist so you can’t move it. He giggles. The whole web-slinging thing comes with some perks.

“Oh, come on,” you sulk as he does the same to your other wrist. He leans back for a moment, looking down at you all proud. A few different sights flash through his mind, endless possibilities of how he could make the most of your hands being restrained. Maybe he should punish you for ever liking Kai in the first place, keep you on the edge until you’re chanting apologies into the air. He could also just indulge in your body greedily, taste every inch of you without your hands pulling him away. The ache in his pants grows at the thought.

You sigh in satisfaction when his hand meets your clothed core. Your hips grind against his hand, and he allows you to use him to find your pleasure. Your hands close into fists as Yeonjun lets you ride his open palm, still fighting against your restraints.

“How much do you like me?” Yeonjun asks. His free hand holds your waist, fingers brushing against your skin gently.

“So much,” you answer, never abandoning your rhythm. “You’re so smart, and handsome, and funny, and—nngh—and good to me…” Yeonjun’s hand travels from your waist to your chest in reward, thumb rolling over one of your nipples.

“Yeah, I am good to you. I stay with you even though you’re mean to me.”

You shake your head at his statement. “I’m not mean to you,” you say.

He laughs at how you try to control yourself, how serious your tone gets. Your hips slow, so he takes measures into his own hands and moves his palm against your cunt instead. If he presses down hard enough, he can feel how wet you are even through your pants.

“You are,” he says. “You use me to get other men.” He knows that’s not true now, but a part of him is still a little bruised by the idea. He figures that airing out his insecurities like this might help him, and it makes him feel less vulnerable.

“No! That’s not true!” Yeonjun ignores you and takes off your pants, letting them join the other articles of clothing on your floor. He short circuits when he sees the wet patch on your panties. A sense of shame must fill you then, because your legs clamp shut to block his view.

“Hey, be nice,” he says, opening your legs back up. He holds you open as he presses his knee to your folds, and he can feel your arousal even through the fabric of his sweatpants. He’s squealing internally, overjoyed to have you soaking for him, but he keeps his calm on the outside.

Your hands push against the webs again, shaking the mattress a little. You pout at him. “I want to touch you,” you whine.

“Sorry about that,” he says. He matches your pout as his hands smooth down your legs, lazily exploring your flesh. He grabs your hips and positions them up a little so that you’re pressing into his thigh. He hears the moan that gets caught in your throat as he drags your cunt against him, holding back a satisfied smirk.

“Should I tell you what I like about you?” Yeonjun asks, something silky and smooth in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips over his thigh. “Say pleaseeeee,” he prompts.

“Please,” you echo. He giggles.

“Again.” He’s having fun.

“Please, Yeonjun,” you beg, sweet voice dripping with need.

He releases your hips so he can pull off your panties, tugging you back onto him once you kick the cloth off your ankles. He can really feel how wet you are now, and it makes a knot form in his stomach. He wants you more than anything.

“I like how pretty you are,” he starts, leaning over you to press kisses against your neck. “And I like how cool you are.” His mouth travels a little lower, sucking at your collarbone. “And I like how I can talk to you for hours and never get bored.” His lips smother your chest, just above your tits, familiarizing himself with every inch of your skin. Your hips buck against him when he presses his thigh more firmly between your legs. “And I like how wet you get,” he laughs.

His mouth finds your breasts then, tongue swirling teasingly around one of your buds. Your nipples perk up, begging for his attention. He drags his tongue over to your other mound, sucking at the swell of flesh, moaning against you. The taste of your skin in his mouth makes him feel high.

You whine, hips rolling more fervently against him, chasing your approaching high. Yeonjun busies himself with delivering kitten licks to your nipples, watching the way they glisten with his saliva after he runs his tongue across them a few times. He peels himself off of you when your rhythm gets unsteady, not wanting you to cum yet. There’s a look of betrayal on your face as he disconnects from you, not touching you at all anymore.

“Yeonjun,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in. “I need to cum.” Your needy cunt grinds against the tent in his boxers, hungrily trying to get yourself off. He lets you have your fun for a minute, enjoying the feel of your warm, wet slit coating his clothed cock, before holding your hips still and keeping you from moving. That doesn’t stop you from digging your heels into his back, pushing him harder against you.

He removes your legs from him, holding you open as he plunges two fingers into your cunt. Your heat takes him in so nicely, the slide of his digits inside you made so easy from how slick your cunt is. You arch your back, moaning out as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Tight girl, gotta stretch you out,” he says, scissoring his digits to prepare you. Your arousal pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress as Yeonjun fucks you on his fingers. “Need to get you ready for me.”

“Mhm, need your dick,” you say. You look so helpless like this, laying back and letting Yeonjun fuck his fingers into you however he wants. He increases his speed just because he can, knowing you can’t pry his hand away, grinning when you emit a surprised gasp. Your walls start tightening around his fingers, a warning of your orgasm, and Yeonjun pulls his hand away before you can get there.

You’re whining his name again, thighs clamping shut to relieve the pressure. He shushes you as he tugs his boxers out of the way, stroking his cock as he watches the way you tremble. Poor thing.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. Your legs spread open immediately in invitation. He watches as a glob of arousal drips out from your core.

“Yes,” you breathe out. He pumps his shaft a few more times before bringing it to your folds, letting your wetness coat his tip. “Put it in,” you beg, jerking your hips up. He ignores your plea, bringing the head of his cock to your clit to tap on it a few times. The stimulation sends a buzz through you, and Yeonjun coos at you sweetly.

“Want you to feel so good,” he says, aligning his tip to your hole and starts pushing in. You throw your head back and groan, and he gives your neck a wet kiss. “Wanna be the best you’ve had.” He sinks in slowly, letting your walls adjust to him inch by inch. You feel like heaven around him, and his fingers dig into your hips to keep himself from losing his mind. He wants to meld himself into you.

He grinds his pelvis against you when he bottoms out, steadying his breaths so he doesn’t lose himself too quickly. His moans are deep and airy, while yours are whiny and pathetic. He trails a hand up your body until he’s cupping your face, bringing your attention to him. You look dazed, and he wants to watch you fall apart. He needs to see your perfect face scrunched up with pleasure, eyes glassy and mouth open, going stupid from how fucked out you are.

He presses a light kiss against your lips, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. He finally starts pulling back, slamming back into you with a whimper. Your cunt takes him so readily despite how tight you are, your arousal making him glide in and out of you so easily.

“Gonna be perfect for you,” Yeonjun promises. “Be a good boyfriend. Fuck you every day. Keep you happy.” He lifts himself up to watch your mouth fall open as he thrusts into you. He presses against your stomach to feel himself inside you, moaning whorishly when he does. It makes him fuck you harder, desperation coursing through his system.

You can barely speak from how far gone you are, stuttering out curses and whimpers of his name. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing at the swollen bud to get you clenching around him. He groans at how tight you get, sucking him in like your body was meant to take him.

“Need you to cum now,” Yeonjun says, feeling his high looming over. “Gotta feel you milking my cock, let me see it.”

“Kiss me,” you say breathlessly, mouth hanging open as you wait for him to take it. He obliges eagerly, shoving his tongue into your mouth with a needy whine. He licks into you as if this will coax your orgasm out, and it does. Your walls clamp around him, and he’s barely able to move from how tight you get. He circles your clit diligently, only letting up when your body jolts in overstimulation.

He pulls out soon after, only having to stroke himself a few times before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. He groans as he milks himself for every last drop, hand shaking as he releases the last of it. You look hot painted with his cum; he bites his lip and squeezes your thighs, needing more and more of you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, making you turn your head away shyly.

“Thanks. You are too.” His stomach flips, feeling proud that he earned your praise. He lowers himself to your torso, lapping at the milky strands of his cum. He cleans you nicely, swallowing down his own release until your stomach’s coated in only his saliva. He brings himself to your slit to lap at it languidly, loving the little whines you emit at the sensation.

“Did so good for me, thank you,” he murmurs into your cunt. He pushes his tongue into your entrance, slowly fucking the muscle inside you. You sigh and roll your hips against his face, relaxed and melting into the feeling.

“Y-you’re good too,” you praise. He licks his way up to your clit, taking it into his mouth and letting his tongue roll over the bud. He likes to hear that he’s being good for you, it makes him feel like he’s worthy of you. He thrives off your happiness, so he feels content as he pleases you with his mouth.

He never wants to let you go. He wants you in his arms forever, he wants to stay in this room and live the rest of his life with just you by his side. This much is enough for him. He glides his hands down your thighs, letting his fingers lightly drag along your skin. He opens his mouth a little more to taste more of you, to kiss your folds more hungrily. He presses the tip of his tongue to your bud, focusing the pressure right against it until he hears you mewl.

“Right there!” you gasp out, pressing yourself further into Yeonjun’s face. He hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, making sure you don’t jolt away when your orgasm creeps up on you. He flicks his tongue over your clit repeatedly, feeling your thighs shake in his grasp. He doesn’t stop until you’re releasing on his face, coating his mouth and chin with your essence.

He detaches himself after a minute, licking his lips and letting go of your legs. He sits up and smiles at you, taking in how pretty you look. He holds your jaw so he can kiss you, and he can’t help but to giggle into the kiss. This is so surreal. He would have fainted if he knew one month ago that this would be happening to him.

“Hi,” you say when he finally pulls his face from yours. This feels like a dream.

“Hi,” he echoes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He cherishes the smile you give him.

“So when does this dissolve?” you ask, tugging at the webs holding your arms in place. Yeonjun scratches his neck bashfully. That's enough of an answer for you. “Yeonjun…” you sigh, body deflating.

“Less than two hours!” he rushes to say.

“Two hours?!”

“It’s not that bad. I think we can pass the time,” he says, failing to hold back his smile.

Your eyes flit down to his stirring cock. “I guess I have nothing better to do,” you give in. Yeonjun sees right through your nonchalant act, but he lets you get away with it. He has better things to busy himself with than arguing about that.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You bring Yeonjun to the market after learning about the laundry detergent debacle. You place the item in your basket, shaking your head at him as you do. “I can’t believe your roommate had to tell me to get you to buy this.”

Yeonjun raises his hands in defense. “I get busy sometimes,” he says.

“With coming to my dorm every other night?” you ask with a raised brow, walking into the next aisle.

Yeonjun drops a candy bar into the basket alongside the detergent. “No, with lab stuff, and class stuff, and Spidey stuff,” he corrects. He picks up a bottle of your favorite drink as he passes by it on the shelf. “And with girlfriend stuff,” he adds sweetly.

“Right,” you say unconvincingly, smiling as you nod your head.

Yeonjun grabs a pair of sunglasses off a rack, placing them on his face and turning to you with a grin. “How cool are these?” he asks, pointing at himself.

You laugh and lift the sunglasses up so they rest on his head. “So cool,” you answer. You tilt your head to check the price on them. “You should totally spend the last of your money on them.”

He pulls the glasses off his face to check the price tag, eyebrows raising in reaction. He puts them back on the rack. He can’t get rid of the smile on his face as he watches you shop, endeared and swooned by every little thing you do. It’s small moments like these that make him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

“We should get bandages. I can’t believe you don’t have any,” you say, looking for where the item would be in the store.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t have. I’m operating on a limited budget,” he explains. It’s not like he can tackle a job on top of everything else he does. He’s grown accustomed to his ways of living, accepting that he’s become the male college student stereotype.

“I’m glad I stepped into your life then,” you say, throwing a box of bandages into your basket. “I’m actually scared you’d die without me.”

Yeonjun can’t help but to laugh at that. “I would die without you,” he agrees. He follows you as you continue walking around the store, aimlessly searching for anything you might need. You stop when you feel your phone buzz, pulling out your phone upon receiving a notification, checking it curiously. He reads the message over your shoulder; it’s an alert from your local news station about some rescue mission for a bunch of dogs that ran loose from their shelter just now. You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“That’s your cue, Spider-man.”

notes: god i loved writing this so much…. i hope u like spideyjjun just as much as i do<3 i would love to hear ur thoughts if u have anyyy!!! tysm for reading hehe

taglist: @ambsphoria @bananasdiary @beaabz @beomgyusluver @beomsdoll @brrytears @bumgyuz @dawngyu @enhastolemyheart @estrnrea @fancypeacepersona @fatbixchwithanopinion @heejamas @heesmiles @insanityz @i4tzy @jellyyjn @kejingken @lilbrorufr @lovesickchoi @mrsjohnnysuh @raspberrii @sanscupid @saraalovestxt @soobinieswife @starrynightgyu @starstrucktae @taebatu @taysfairies @tubatukimoa @tyongyuta @usuallyunlikelyfox @verco @vvjolyneee @xylatox @younbeanz @yourenzoo @yunverie 🤍

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt fic #yeonjun fic #txt smut #yeonjun smut

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fromdove · 11 hours ago

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MY JASON TODD PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEADCANONS !

welcome to my ted talk. go ahead and sit your semi-literate goblin ass down and take notes, because i am about to paint you a portrait of this man so vivid you’ll think i dipped my brush in the lazarus pit itself.

HETEROCHROMIA. one blue eye & one green eye. im a very big and firm believer on this. this is my religion. this is my prayer. jason todd's eyes are my gospel, and I am the devoted disciple on my knees at the altar. he's always had them, before the lazarus pit & AFTER the lazarus pit. (although after the lazarus pit id like to point out that his eyes got a bit brighter especially the green!). i saw fanart once of this—just one image—and it was enough to send me into a trance. my jaw unhinged like a snake

LARGE SHARP ALMOND EYES. eyes sharp enough to cut!! real real real. sharp enough to gut someone in an alley. you get looked at by him and feel like you need to apologize for crimes you haven’t committed yet. yup that. they soften when he looks at you tho bc ur his amazing angel faced baby.

HIS GODDAMN JAWLINE. the kind you see on statues. could cut diamonds. so perfect. brutal. Pythagoras would rise from the grave with a boner, calculator in hand, shaking and crying overwhelmed by the sheer geometry of him. drooling. weeping & erect.

6'4!!!!!!!!!! MY MAN IS TALL. A GIANT. GARGANTUAN. and that’s the final word. idgaf. don’t come in here with that “canon says he’s 6’0” nonsense. fuck canon. canon is a lie built by cowards. they've screwed up my babies too many times to count. my Jason ducks under door frames and casts shadows over people trying to insult him. he intimidates every man in a ten-mile radius just by standing up.

BULKY. (not crazy bulky like those steroid obsessed body builder protein-powder-in-the-veins monstrous freaks but still jacked af. (like in this picture: click here and here) . he’s jacked like a Greek statue, like a renaissance painting of a war god.

white streak. white streak 24/7 for the rest of infinity. all night. every universe. every reboot. i don’t care. Non-negotiable. he got it from the one and only pit. he tried to cut it, dye it, tried everything to get rid of it at first but it just kept growing back and the dye would never work on it somehow ??/ so he just gave up lmao

OKOK his nose. my fave nose to picture jason with is an sightly upturned nose with a bump in the middle. do you guys know what kind of nose im yappin about? here is a visual: click here

ive seen fanart with jason with the j scar and i just think it fits his character and backstory. yes it was from that makeup-smeared tragedy of a circus reject. but fuck him!! this is about jason peter todd. my baby is still hot af anyways so.

SHARP CANINES. BITE ME WITH THEM. LORDDD MOTHERR GODDD. Carnivore-coded. was he born with them? is it a lazarus thing? either way theyre sharp little bastards. He tries to be careful, he reallyyy does but sometimes, mid-kiss, they slip. he nips you. he pulls back, eyes wide, guilt-ridden. you’re breathless. he spews like a million apologizes coz the last thing he wants to do it hurt u. but u dont care bc it feels so goddamn good... STOP ME)

Full lips that look like they’re always swollen from a brawl or a kiss.. with a slight cupids bow. god. yes. the corners/edges of his mouth are sharp (does that make sense?? help). he also has scars extending from the corners that look like smiles, they only stretch a few centimeters out. not that long at all. joker’s parting gift, poetic as it is cruel. OH AND he has the Toji scar !!! this one right here: click here

dark brown hair thats wavy & fluffy heeheheh (2c textured.) not straight, not curly, that luscious in-between mess that stays tousled and tragic and stupidly sexy no matter what. fluffy. thick. ruffles in the wind like he's some sad, angry prince. you run your hands through it and he pretends he doesn’t melt. he is NAWT a victim of the male pattern baldness epidemic. bye no no no no he doesnt bald thanks to the lazarus pit.

THICK DARK & FULL STRAIGHT BROWSSS. IDCCC THIS MAN HAS THICK BROWS. These brows have seen things. They furrow when he’s pissed (which is like always lmao), They’re intimidating, god-tier brows kinda brows. oh oh and theyre also kind of upturned !

his fingers. jesusususususus. Veiny. Long-fingered. Calloused. Worn. His knuckles are always scabbed (from fights). His nails are short, His fingers could snap a neck, but you just want them on your throat for different reasons. And the rings? Thick, heavy, sharp. Some brass. Some iron. they double as weapons. like i just know if someone pisses him off the rings are going to hurt like straight up fucking hell.

this man has long lashes. like long enough to collect dew. Thick enough to cast shadows. curled at the tips. his lashes are criminal. like wtf. theyre the kind that make mascara cry. they frame his eyes and face perfectly

scars all over. he has the autopsy scar on his chest, he has scars on his back too. his face, arms, legs, everywhere. bullet grazes, knife cuts etc..his entire body is a war journal basically

he has eye bags and dark circles which is a given considering what he does and his lack of sleep. They're not “oh, I pulled an all-nighter” eye bags, theyre bruised purpulish blue with a bit of red. u can seen some veins. his eye bags r a little puffy. this paired with his sharp eyes make him look very very intimidating to others but not to u, bc wdym intimidating? he's my angel?? he would never hurt a fly?? tf?

a few extra's!!:

A slight scar on his eyebrow from a fall off a fire escape in crime alley when he was 12. Never stitched it (despite the constant nagging from bruce & alfred). he said the blood made him look cool. (my angel baby i love him)

a voice that’s deeper than you expect. gravelly. like he chewed cigarettes for breakfast and chased them with glass. but it dips soft when he says your name. unbearably soft. traitorously tender.

faint cigarette burn on the inside of his left forearm. from back when he thought pain might be the only thing that made him real. said it was an accident. it wasn’t.

A barely-there tremor in his right hand. Old injury. Nerve damage.

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karmavongrim · 1 day ago

Text

How to tame your Billionaire fanfic idea

AU where Danny “eldritch-god” Fenton ends up in DC universe and becoming Lex’s assistant and dragging him kicking and cursing to path of being chaotic neutral at the very least.

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

“This is so embarrassing,” Lex mutters under his breath. Well, there is one silver lining that came with this situation he thinks and looks at Superman some distance away from him.

The boy scout is still struggling in utter futility against an icy prison similar to his. Lex barely holds back a snort, at least he himself takes his loss with dignity (as much as one can have in such situation). He knows it’s impossible to breakout from the ice encasing them neck to toe so he’s already resigned to his fate and hopes that their jailer chooses to show some mercy for them sooner rather than later.

And speaking of their jailer, he move his gaze from the pitiful man in front of him to a much more appealing sight and what a sight it was.

On a makeshift throne of ice sits his personal assistant Danny Fenton, dressed in pristine dark blue dress shirt and black pencil skirt, his lean legs crossed languidly as he regards them both with a look of a disappointed mother. He manages to catch the attention of those beautiful glacier blue eyes and gifts his lovely assistant his best award winning smile.

“Danny-”

“Don’t even start with me Lex. You are as much responsible for this mess as he is. And no talking while in the chill out corner”, Danny scolds sternly whilst pointing at him and Superman.

No, Lex Luthor doesn’t pout. He doesn’t.

And of course this is the moment Superman decides to open his big mouth.

“Mr Fenton, release me! You have no-”

Danny cuts him off with a literal stop sign he takes from behind his throne.

“And I’m stopping you right there Supes. Both of you are staying right where you are till you can settle you disagreements like proper adults instead of taking it out on the entire city!”

As he shouts he motions at their surroundings. The spot they currently occupy is a park with a fountain monument… or it used to be before Lex and Superman totalled it alongside with many buildings and structures.

One can hear sirens going off all around as well as shouts from both responders and civilians. Lex can see from his position some folk who have been brave enough to come for a closer look after their brawl had come to an abrupt end thanks to the infamous office siren Danny. He can see few of them recording their rather humiliating state. Oh, this is going to be such a PR nightmare.

“How many times do I need to say this: If you want to fight take it outside the city limits! There’s a perfectly good field not too far you guys could use but no, we need to duke it out like couple of teenagers behind a Denny’s! Almost took out my apartment too! Again!!”

Lex can’t help but wince at the reminder, he knows Danny can hold a grudge longer than even Ra’s and has many times before threatened to move in with his sister Lena and taking their son with him if he didn’t “cut that shit out”. As much as it pains him to admit but most of the time he deserved each tongue lashing he gets whenever he acts to closely like Danny’s “fruitloop” of a godfather.

Of course the Big Blue decides to dig himself even deeper with their already ticked off keeper.

“Now listen here-” He doesn’t get to say much when the ice travel from his neck to cover lover face, effectively cutting him off as Danny levels him truly icy glare.

“I won’t repeat myself. You’re supposed to be a hero yet it seems that you cause as much destruction as the rest of them. You think yourself so high and mighty on your ‘moral high horse’ but here’s a news flash for you smallville, life isn’t black and white; evil isn’t evil just for the sake of it, it very rarely is and people don’t always do good things because it’s the right thing to do. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about your little dick measuring competition as long as you keep the rest of us who just want to live a peaceful safe life out of it. Capisce?”

With each word his eyes glow brighter and more frigged as he dares Superman to try anything, His hand tightening around the stop sign he still brandishes like a kings scepter. For once the superhero lowers his eyes in defeat after he seems to realize that he isn’t going to win this one much to Lex’s disappointment (it would’ve been entertaining to see where this could’ve gone) and that cold gaze is now pinned on the businessman. Lex doesn’t falter but nods his head in submission feeling rather chastised himself from the tirade. Though it left him feeling something *ehem* else too which the tightly packed ice on his body conceals rather well. The way he’s able to talk down Big Blue himself… Damn, Lena was right: he does have a competence kink.

As he tries and fails to think anything else to lessen his ever hardening problem their tentative silence of self-reflection is shattered by a youthful laugh, “Hahah this is hilarious! Guys takes pictures quick.”

Lex wishes he could bang his head against something when a familiar group of teen heroes waltz in and take in their unfortunate state. Kid Flash openly laughs as he takes as many pictures as possible and highly amused Artemis looks on, Robin is tapping away on his wrist device with a smirk while Aqualad seems more perplexed than anything with the whole ordeal. Miss Martian giggles as she follows another teen called Supernova- also known as Conner Fenton up to the throne and its occupant. Dressed in a distinct black and white suit with blue accents that seems to pay homage to another hero there even if they haven’t worn theirs in years. Danny visibly softens at the sight of them and gives his greeting.

“Hey little star, been busy?”

The teen, a male with same hair and eyes as Danny shrugs, “Not really. Nice weapon,” he says and points at the stop sign. Danny shrugs and tosses it to the side.

“You can’t beat the classics, besides the thermos of course. So what are you kids doing here?”

Supernova rolls his eyes, “Big wigs up in the atmosphere want to know whats up. They fighting again?”

Danny nods and mutters, “Yep. Seriously, it feels like instead of being a high payed assistant I’m a glorified babysitter to adult sized children. And just you know that out of all of these children you two are my favorites.”

Supernova snorts, “Sure hope so, considering I’m your only biological one. Anyway I’m going to go and make fun of dad and not-dad, see ya mom.”

Lex can only sigh in resignation as Supernova walks up to him, leaving Danny to chat with Miss Martian about new muffin recipes.

“Hi dad”, he says with a shit-eating grin.

“Son”, Lex huffs. The little shit puts his arm over his frozen shoulder and leans casually over.

“Sooo, how’s it going? Other than pissing off mom for the fifth time this month.”

Before Lex can defend himself another more gruffer voice carries over.

“I would like to know as well.”

Oh look it’s Batman, what a joy. He’s standing by Danny’s throne and examining them, then he turns to the still sitting male. “Danny”, he greets.

“Batman”, Danny gives a two-finger salute in turn.

“Hmm”, comes ever so eloquent response, which Danny counters.

“You can’t tell me they don’t deserve this. I’m going easy on them in my opinion.”

“I know. Saw the footage”, Batman states. Danny raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

A second, then two…

“Carry on.”

He then turns to the two men still stuck in place, “Superman we will discuss about your shameful conduct and disregard toward civilian lives and property.”

He turns to leave since the other is still silenced by ice but not before saying to the assistant, “and Mr Fenton will have no problem in educating Mr Luthor in same manner.”

Danny gives a sharp smile.

“Oh I will don’t you worry.”

And just like that the Dark Knight is gone like a shadow in a broad daylight. Danny claps his hands to gain everyones attention, “Now then, since were going to be here for a while would you kids like to have some triple-chocolate muffins I managed to make before those two interrupted my stress baking session.”

Predictably all of them are on board.

“Ooh me me me!”

“Yes please!”

“Sure why not.”

“I would be delighted.”

“Hm.”

“You didn’t mix sugar with salt this time did you?”

And Lex can only hope that Danny would give him one out of sheer pity.

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rafeovermorals · 1 day ago

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joel carves his initials into your thigh.

content/warnings: joel makes sure everyone knows who you belong to, blood kink (like.. if this is not your thing please scroll), dark!joel, unspecified age gap, use of daddy, joel is possessive and controlling

it was girls night. well, it was supposed to be.

you were getting ready to go out with your friends— with plans to see a movie and get some ice cream. you had ditched them the last few weekends, joel always coming up with an excuse as to why you couldn't leave.

"nuh uh, you didn't finish your chores. next time, baby." or "you know that's past curfew, can't have you out after dark."

your friends didn't like him all that much. they believed he was too controlling, too mean, too scary. but they didn't know the joel that you knew— the one that protected you, nurtured you, saved you. the man who worked all day, every day just so that you didn't have to. you owed it to him to listen whenever he told you no, considering all that he does.

but joel was working late. he called you during his lunch break to let you know that it was taking him longer than expected, which meant he wouldn't be back in time to say no.

still, he knew something was up. you were too quiet when he talked to you that afternoon- not doing your usual whining whenever he had to break the news that he wouldn't be home for dinner, again.

you didn't fuss or even try to beg him to come home early like he expected you to. it made him feel good when you did that, being a reminder of how important he was. you depended and relied on him because he molded you to be that way, but to hear how much you wanted and needed him made everything worth it.

now joel was concerned. he sat back in his chair thinking about the last couple of days and your behavior. he hadn't checked your phone recently, could you have met someone new, maybe younger? were you losing interest in him, moving on? the thought alone had him seeing red.

so he ditched the rest of his work, and headed home.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you didn't hear him come in, too busy applying another coat of lipgloss and checking yourself out in the bathroom mirror as he stood leaning against the doorframe.

"where do you think you're goin'?"

his voice startled you, dripping in a tone that you almost didn't recognize as joel's. it was low and unsettling, nothing like how it normally sounded when he greeted you.

you turned to meet his expression to see his face firm and unamused, not a twitch of a smile. you swallowed, eyes wide in shock.

"wh- what are you doing home so soon?"

"who are you to question me? i asked you somethin' first, so answer it." he gritted through his teeth, finger pointed at you.

"my friends wanted to see me, since you were still working i told them i could." you replied hesitantly, stepping back as he walked closer.

"so you were trying to sneak out? while daddy's busting his ass so that you have warm meals and a roof over your head, you were planning to go behind my back?"

you shook your head, frowning at his words. you hated to upset him and that wasn't your intention. he was right, he always was.

"it's not like that, i promise! we wouldn't be gone long, i swear."

joel didn't respond right away, silence lingering heavy in the air. your heart was thumping in your chest as he stared at you, finally getting a moment to scan over your figure to notice what you were wearing.

an outfit you had no business in is what it was. one he told you that you were only allowed to wear around him. it fit you perfectly— meaning it was too short, too pretty, too innocent.

joel was getting angrier the longer he looked at you. he realized you also did your makeup, the apples of your cheeks pink from blush and your lashes dark with mascara.

"think m'gonna let you leave the house lookin' like this? stupid girl."

before you could speak he cornered you against the sink, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto the counter as if you weighed nothing to him.

"dressed like you're seekin' another man's attention, damn shame. after everything i do for you." he muttered to himself, his fingers digging into the flesh of your stomach. you could tell by the pressure that he would leave bruises there tomorrow— and the more you whined, the harder he pressed.

he was too far gone to calm down at this point. you could tell by coldness in his demeanor and how he eventually stopped responding all together. his pupils were dilated, the rich shade of brown now blown to be pitch black.

"i don't have to go anymore, im sorry! we can stay here, together, please."

"too late for that, sweet baby." he parted your legs, nudging himself between the gap and impatiently shoving up the fabric of your skirt.

that's when you felt it. a cold, flat object dragging along the warm skin of your inner thigh. the cool sensation sent a chill up your spine, making you look down to spot the source.

he had a pocket knife in his right hand, the tip of the blade so close that it was ghosting just over your cunt.

it was the same one he always used. he kept it with him at all times, whether it was to crack open beers or to whittle his wood carvings. now he had the idea to use it on you.

your breath hitched, your body tensing as you watched him slowly brush it past your clothed clit. "joel, what are you-"

you were interrupted by the sound of cotton ripping, the blade slicing through the thin material of your underwear. you choked on a gasp, your eyes meeting his face to find a smirk. joel was skilled with a knife. he had years of experience longer than you were alive for, so he was more than careful and capable enough to assure he didn't hurt you. not there, at least.

"how can i leave y'alone when i can't even trust ya to stay put, huh? keepin' secrets, not being honest with me. maybe i ain't made myself clear yet."

he cut into your skin. a quick, thin line on the top of your thigh just under where your dresses normally stop at. you whimpered with a wince, beads of red prickling out from the area.

"shhh, it's okay. daddy's gotta do this though, so you'll learn." he pulled what used to be panties from underneath you, balling it together and holding the piece to your mouth. "here baby, bite down. it'll help."

you reluctantly accepted it, teeth clenching down and bracing from what was to come.

he used his other hand to hold down your leg. "try and stay still, so it comes out straight. want it to look nice." you felt the next cut, this time it hooking with a jagged curve at the end.

you sniffled through the pain, squeezing your eyes closed while he did the rest, tears falling from them with each incision-like gash. as much as it hurt, joel was gentle— mumbling praises "doing so well, sweetie." and "being such a good girl f'me."

his words went to your core, heating in sensitivity from the tingling burn that was left after each run of the blade which soon turned into pleasure. "you're enjoying this, aren't you? it's okay if you do."

you nodded desperately, a muffled mewl spilling from your lips while you bucked your hips for more.

the knife was soon replaced with something wet, providing relief to the wound. your vision, still blurry from the strain of crying, adjusted into focus see joel's head of curls crouched in front of you— face down and tonguing at the tender area.

he was licking your thigh, cleaning up the blood that had risen to the surface of your skin. he moaned into it, sucking with greed as if he craved the taste, placing kisses after each spot that he finished. it was a filthy imagine, downright horrific. "i could eat you all fucking day, baby, i swear. drain you dry."

the feeling was visceral, unlike any orgasm you ever had before. your legs were shaking as he did so, soaking the marble beneath you in your slick. he brought his mouth to your pussy and repeated the same actions there until you came, the sweet of your arousal mixing with the metallic of your blood that lingered on his tongue. his pulled back, his beard stained maroon— a color that could pass as being from a glass of wine.

what joel had done was sacred, intimate, metaphoric. a carnal desire, more true than any other act of love.

he made sure that he didn't go deep enough for stitches, but enough to leave a scar. one that would be a permanent reminder embedded and branded on you, forever.

you looked to see the initials engraved: J M

#dark!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

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lostinlovingrevery · 3 days ago

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HEYY VANNN 💗

I heard you wanted to talk about Logan and I gotchu 👀😉

So I was thinking about Logan and what his reaction would be to seeing you in something of his. And I know I’d steal all those mans shirts but what about something else to get a rise out of Logan?? Like going to bed in his boxers OR meeting up for a date night and you show up with wearing his favorite belt buckle he swore he lost with the tightest jeans you have on that you know will make him go feral. I feel each Logan variant has a different vibe so you can take item(s) of his and he sees you wearing that and it’s OVER 😏 I have thoughts for a few but would love to hear what you think!💞

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! DAMI THIS IS BRILLIANT!!!

I absolutely LOVE this idea. the belt buckle is so cute!!! I feel like he would tug you forward with them- looping his finger around your belt, staring down at it before looking at you, and calling you a little thief <3

Thank you for sending this in!!! <3 <3, I hope you enjoy!!

Logan Variants Reacting to You Taking His Stuff!

(slightly smutty, fluffy, and slightly angsty stuff below!)

Trilogy Logan: He crossed his arms, taking in the sight before him.

His dogtags, sitting pretty right in the valley of your breasts.

He was showering, heard you come in for a second- didn't pay too much attention to that. Was half tempted to tell you to join him- but considering he was almost finished washing up, and the water was getting cold, hell just join you in bed instead.

When he climbed out- his dogtags that just happened to be taken off with his clothes for once when he showered was missing. He checked all over the bathroom- even stared in the mirror to make sure he didn't go insane and it was still around his neck, but found that it was not the case.

He swears he didn't take it off in the bedroom- but as he opened the door to step into yours and his shared room, the mystery was quickly solved.

You were leaning against the headboard, posed in a sensual position, a big smile stretched across your face as his eyes trailed over your nude figure. Finally landing on the dogtags. He could make out his name on them.

He dropped the towel, letting you see what he thought of your little trick- and your new sense of fashion as he walked towards the bed, kneeling onto the end of it- his member at full attention for you.

"Now, that's a good look for you sweetheart." He mumbles low as he leans over you, fingers coming up to trace over the tags.

"sure you don't want them back?" You teased.

"Nah, keep em. Let everyone know who you belong to."

Origins Logan: You stole, yet another one of his flannels.

He'd be irritated, if he could. Yet, they look better on you anyway.

Especially when you're walking around in nothing, but his flannels.

It happens at the most random of moments too. Usually he's home after a long day at work. He sheds his clothes off, changes into sweats and a clean t-shirt before settling down somewhere to read, relax, watch tv. You'll be off doing your own thing, he'll distinctly remember you wearing a pair of boot-cut jeans and a tank top.

Then suddenly you're walking past him, an hour later- not even socks or panties on you as his flannel practically swallows you. He used to say something about it, tease you, make a joke- but now he smirks, catches a glance of your ass, barely hidden by the hem, before returning to his newspaper.

Eventually you'll end up in his lap. He's frumping over the stolen cloth, and you'll make a sweet pout and tell him that it smells soooo good that you couldn't help it. Smells just like him.

"Yeah princess? That's why you like it so much?" He'll smile, his hands tucking underneath the flannel, brushing over your bare skin as his eyes wander down- admiring the way your chest is barely concealed from him. You bit your lip, and nodded. "Hm." He tipped his chin up to look at you. "Alright. Keep it on, but you'll have to do something for me."

Old Man Logan: "Darling? You seen my glasses-?"

He stopped when he finally spotted you in the kitchen- trying on the glasses that he'd been looking for, for the last 20 minutes. He hated the damn things, hated how old they made him feel. Perfect vision for nearly 200 years and now he needs them. Really?

The only thing that keeps him from smashing the damn things is you cooing in his ear about how cute he looks.

A small guilty look on your face as he crossed his arms, raising a brow at you, and you smiled. Your hands dropped to your side, leaving the glasses sitting on your face.

"Got a reason to be stealing my glasses, doll?" He asks, feigning annoyance- but he could never really be angry with you.

"I just wanted to see what it looked like with your glasses" You answer innocently.

"And?"

"You look fuzzy."

He smiles, looking down at the floor, before moving forward into the kitchen towards you. "Real cute sweetheart." He coos. Reaching up, he pulled the glasses off you. "There. Better?"

"Kinda."

You reached for his glasses, taking them from his hands, flipping them over and putting them on. It slips a bit on the bridge of his nose, and he tipped his chin down to look at you past them. You smiled.

"Now, it's better." You wrapped your arms around his waist. "So handsome."

"Mm." He tipped his chin up again. "I don't know doll, they did look nice on you."

Worst Wolverine: He was half asleep and barely noticed you had them on.

You went to shower, while he watched some old black and white movie on the tv in your shared bedroom. It was boring- and he had seen it before. Granted it was over 100 years ago- but he did see it, and he remembered not liking it then either.

So he started to fall asleep, eyes closed, arm stretched out across your side of the bed. He picked up the sound of the shower shutting off- always alert at what you're doing.

He began to fall deeper into slumber, knowing that you'll be by his side soon. He heard you come in, silence at first- before your quiet shuffling around the room continued. Drawers opening and shutting, and finally you're climbing in bed by his side.

He turned to spoon you, arms wrapping around you protectively. His hands, as usual began wandering over your form. Tracing along your figure- it was a comfort thing for him. A habit he's built over time with you, reassurance that you're still there- that you're okay.

His hands, as usual, moved downwards- where instead of your panties that he has become so familiar with- it was a different fabric.

"Babe." His brows creased together, eyes still shut as his hand continued to investigate what was on your bottom half. "Are these mine?" He finally asks, pinching the fabric between his fingers.

Quiet mirth escaped you. "I thought they looked comfy." You responded. He opened his eyes, pushing himself up onto his elbow to glance at his boxers that were adorning your lower half. You turned your head to look at him.

"Hm." He continued to feel the fabric. "i wanna get a better look at this."

He moved onto his back, urging you to straddle him which you happily did so. He examined you, intensely- like someone examining a piece of art- making sure it was real. You couldn't help but laugh.

"why so intense about it Lo?" You hummed. He chuckled.

"Looks good on you." He says, taking the waistband and snapping it against your hip. "Little big."

"Well, have you see you?"

He smirked. His hands coming down to rub your thighs. The look of his boxers on you- they peaked his interest, they looked good. Really good. It made his mind wander- wonder things like how they may feel after you wear them. Maybe, just maybe if makes you real happy while wearing them- some of you essence will get left behind, staining the cloth.

"Say baby, not too tired are you?"

2013 Wolverine: His old jacket.

The leather jacket he used to wear all the time, back before everything happened. Left it behind when he left the mansion- when he left you.

Not that he wanted to leave you- but he thought it best. He failed you, he failed everyone.

Yet here you were, staring back at him, wrapped in the leather that was a bit too big for you. Looks like it was keeping you warm though. Good, considering the mountains are freezing. He certainly knew that.

"Logan."

Your voice sounded sweet- just as he remembered it.

He wasn't sure how'd he react when he'd see you again, wasn't sure how it'd go. However all he could think was how nice you looked in his jacket.

You pulled it closer around yourself. Seemed like a habit, the way your hands held onto it. He could almost see, by the look in your eyes and the way your fingers held the fabric. Like you were imagining it was him.

"It's time to come home Lo." You say. "I miss you."

He didn't say anything. Just stood there, staring back at you- not quite sure if you were real. Had plenty of strange dreams, saw strange things while living out in the Canadian Rockies. Most of them involved you.

Only one way to be sure.

He walked forward towards you. The snow crunching under his boots. You didn't move, looking at him pleadingly- waiting for his next move.

His arms came around, and pulled you into an embrace. He buried his face into your hair- then down to your neck as he took a deep breath. His jacket- the one he wore religiously for years, now smelled like you.

He wondered if you'd be willing to give it back to him, once you're both back home.

Patch! Logan: "Where is the damn thing...." He mutters quietly under his breath. He was all ready- his sparkling white suit, cleaned and pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. Cuff links, in a shape of a X, pinned to the cuffs of his jacket. His eye patch- set perfectly, as usually. All that was missing was his bowtie.

The damn thing was a bright red. How could he not find it?

He remember taking it off last night- or rather, you took it off. Nearly ripped the damn thing off. Threw it...By the window.

He pushed the furniture around- still unable to find it.

He checked his watch. Couldn't look any longer. He'll have to settle for a regular black bow tie. It's classy sure. His red tie however- he considered it lucky. He needed all the luck he could get tonight.

So there he was, his usual thing, gambling, drinking, spying- eavesdropping.

That's when he spotted you. Pretty thing- as always. Only something.... different.

You were next to the head honcho of the casino- usually are. He likes to parade you around and show you off however you have no interest in the likes of him.

You had that pretty red dress that drives him wild on. The one that hugs your curves, leaves little to the imagination with the slit in the thigh and off the shoulder sleeves and a neckline that reached very low. At the center of neckline, was his bow tie

You must have pinned it there, you little vixen.

You looked bored, until you spotted him in the crowd. The way your face lit up sent butterflies through him- only they melted into something more, as he felt his trousers grow tighter when you brought your hand to the bow tie that sat pretty.

Your boss put his arm around you, unnoticing that your attention was on Logan from across the room.

This guy may act like you belong to him to the public, but you were quietly yet openly wearing the very thing that told Logan,

You belonged to Patch.

Cowboy! Logan: He'd been looking for it all day. Unsure of how he could have lost the damn thing! Took it off during a catnap against a tree, woke up with it gone.

All he knew, is he was going to shoot whoever the hell took it.

Eyed the farm boys who act scared as hell of him- he doubts they would have done it. Hell they pretty much piss themselves if he so much glanced at em.

the lil kids that like to climb all over him- as if he wasn't the most dangerous outlaw in the West- no - The States. They've tried to take his hat more than once after all- but a quick glance into the school building and they definitely weren't the culprits. Neither was the teacher who shooed him out.

Checked the bar- making sure those damn assholes that sit and drink their health away didn't pull some bullshit. He wouldn't be surprised, since he beats them at every card game they've challenged him to since he's shown up. It wasn't them though- on account that they were all passed out on the floor with a disgruntled barkeep.

He was at a lost, about to surrender that he'll have to go buy a new one. To bad, he really liked that hat.

Until it occurred to him that he hadn't seen you in awhile.

In fact- he was so disgruntled by losing his hat, he completely forgotten that the catnap he took- was right by your side. You were leaning on his shoulder, falling asleep just like him. Now you and the hat were missing.

Didn't take long for him to find you- nearby your family home, by that pond you like to read by. You held a cheeky smile as he approached you.

"There you are, you little thief." He accused- eyes taking in the stetson upon your pretty little head. "I was bout to shoot someone over that thing, you know that right? Anyone teach you not to take stuff?"

"What?" You acted innocent. "You put it in my lap. Naturally I thought you were giving it to me."

He pressed a hand and leaned against a tree, looking down at you. "Now sweetheart, you do know what it means when you wear a cowboys hat, right?"

You blinked innocently up at him. A devilish grin spread across his face. "No? What does it mean?"

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #vans daydreams #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #old man logan #worst wolverine #trilogy logan #patch! logan #cowboy logan #2013 Wolverine #origins logan

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waynes-multiverse · 1 day ago

Text

Eeeek, I've been waiting the whole week to jumo into this. You had my angsty heart hooked at Colter going missing 😆🫶

“He gets arrested and Reenie bails him out all the time,” he said. “I just texted her. I bet he’s sitting in the station right now because he pissed off some local power hungry…shit.”

Fair assumption. It does happen all the time 😂

And of course Colter would have a security camera in his tiny ass trailer. He even tracks himself lol

You smiled when he got up around six, an unusually cuddly version of Colter appearing on screen. He had a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders as he shuffled over to his coffee machine, getting a cup brewing. It reminded you of Russell in the morning. He too had a habit of walking around with a blanket first thing. You wondered if that was a Shaw thing or a habit Colter picked up from his big brother when they were kids.

Okay, this is fuckin' adorable 😆💕 (And now I'm thinking about threesomes, so thank you *snorts*)

“I know because this place is isolated, it’s been under construction for years with no progress but the tire tracks we saw were fresh. It’s Duvel’s dumping ground.” He straightened up, hands on his hips. “Qark.” He didn’t have to say it. He wanted you to stay here, out of danger. He’d wanted you away from this kind of life and said it more than once.

Aka Russell is okay with her tracking things not people lol. But they make such a good team! I loved how they played off of one another. If they did this all the time, they'd run Colter out of business 😂

And I legit forgot to quote and comment till now because I'm so hooked on the case! 👀 Of course it's a douchey, rich industry titan with the fucking cops in his pocket. Capitalism and corruption, yay!

He shrugged, green eyes nervous but gentle. “You have let me teach you self-defense, how to reload and shoot, tactics and stealth so you’d be safe doing reward work. You’ve done it all without complaint. I want you to stay at the car but I know my queen of darkness. You can do this. You told me once before you wanted me to show you how to do things, not do them for you. So let’s go do this together.”

Not me crying 😭😭 This is so sweet of him and genuinely a love letter to her in the most Russell way 🥹

And since I know you listened to TTPD while writing the series, I think "So High School" fits them so well – especially the "Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? [...] I'm bettin' on all three for us two" lines lol 😍🤍🖤

“Yeah, keep it up youngin’ and next time you’re in that outfit I’ll teach you a lesson.” You glanced down to his groin, Russell growling. “Y/N.”

That girl is me 🤣

You checked Colter over after cutting him free, a few bruises on the face, bruised ribs from his labored breathing and you winced when you patted his shin and felt how swollen it was. You cut up his pants leg and saw the deep bruising, very highly a broken bone in there.

Right!! I completely forgot she's a doctor for a minute because of all her badass tracker skills at this point, but that's so neat! Colter should take her fucking everywhere. I'm still not over when he got shot with an arrow lmao

You walked backwards out of the room, Colter whining the whole time which frankly scared the fuck out of you.

My poor baby 🥲 Man, Michelle, you roughed that boy up good. Now I'm even more curious what you'll do to him in that serial killer series you've got planned 😆

“I know you know you’re in shock. Everything is fine. All I want you to think about right now is a story I’m going to tell you. Okay? Just lay back and listen.”

My heart 😭😭 And she's so sweet and caring. That little forehead kiss right about killed me!! “I’m sorry, are you a doctor? Do you know what to do if Colter has a heart attack? A seizure? Those are very real possibilities right now, Russell. I need to warm him up and calm him down the right way and I can’t worry about her right now. I need you to take care of her. Please.”

Yes, our girl taking fucking charge!! I loved her during this whole scene with Colter and how she handled Russell, too. You could tell he was worried about his lil bro too and was trying to overshadow it with his usual lighthearted defense mechanism ❤️‍🩹

“My little brother died of hypothermia.” Russell went rigid behind you, turning you in his lap so you’d face him. Your bottom lip wobbled as he pulled you in close, his hands on your back. “The car accident…it was winter. My mom died on impact but we went down a ravine. My dad went to get help for me and my brother but it was so cold and we had no heat and Charlie was so hurt…the last thing he ever said was how cold he was.”

Okay, you're just throwing knives at my heart at this point for target practice 😭😭😭

But at least she got to save Colter now, so maybe it'll heal the wound a little, especially after realizing the truth now. I feel so bad for her. She's truly been through so much in her life 💔 But I love the gentle way Russell always uses with her in these situations. She's been basically been brainwashed her entire life, and Russell is slowly peeling those layers back and clearing her vision. It's so beautiful and sweet and patient and kind of him 🥺

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Russell got engaged?” You glanced down at your hand and the shiny silver band on your finger.

AND THAT'S THE CLOSEST I'VE COME TO MY HEART EXPLODING 😭🥹

“Did you ask him about being in the wedding yet?”

Aww, is Colter gonna be her maid of honor? I could honestly see that with these two besties lol 💕

I can't believe it's almost over! I'll miss these two (three) already 🥹💚💚💚

M.I.A.

Summary: When Colter Shaw calls the reader for help on a job, she thinks nothing of helping out. Only he never shows up and Colter may have just become the latest disappearance in this small town. It’s up to her and Russell to work together to find him before his case goes cold like all the others before…

He's My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,500ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping, violence, torture, mentions of death

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He's My Man and it's highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. With Tracker coming up again soon I wanted to dive back into this world with these characters and thought this would be a fun way to check in with the gang. Please enjoy!...

________

“Thanks,” you said to the waitress who refilled your coffee. The diner was quiet, the mid-afternoon lull between the lunch and dinner crowd. You poked at the slice of chocolate pie in front of you and scrolled through your phone, an anxious feeling growing in your gut.

Colter had called last night, asking if you’d be willing to come out and act as his date at a gala event where he was investigating a young woman’s disappearance. Admittedly, you were a bit nervous to accept. You’d only been doing reward work for six months and you’d had success so far with tracking down a few show dogs, a horse, a signed Mickey Mantle baseball card and a stolen car. But you hadn’t dipped your toe into the truly hard stuff yet. People.

After Colter got you to put the phone on speaker, he and Russell had wore you down and convinced you this would be a good first run. It was Colter’s case, you were simply there to help and offer input.

Flirting with a rich playboy Colter suspected of kidnapping the missing woman while he searched the house was also up there on his request list.

It was only a three hour drive to the small town from home and Russell had an important meeting with a brewery investor at lunch so you decided to help him do some last minute prep in the morning before agreeing to catch up with Colter for lunch at a diner. Yet, it was a few minutes past three and you’d heard nothing from him since around midnight the night before.

“Fuck it,” you said, slapping down a ten dollar bill and dialing.

“Hello, hello, qark,” answered Russell, his voice cheery and bright.

“Your lunch went well I’m assuming?” He hummed. “Don’t leave me hanging. What’d you settle on?”

“He gets 5% profit sharing after the first year for five years. By then he said we’d be well established and probably wouldn’t need him anymore. He was a good guy, invited us to get dinner with him and his wife sometime.”

“That’s great, honey,” you said, turning when the bell over the door rang, pouting to find it was a pair of older men that took a seat at a booth. “You haven’t heard from Colter at all, have you?”

“No…he never showed for lunch?” You sighed. “He could have been arrested.”

“Russell,” you chided.

“He gets arrested and Reenie bails him out all the time,” he said. “I just texted her. I bet he’s sitting in the station right now because he pissed off some local power hungry…shit.”

“Shit what?” you asked, taking a big, stress induced bite of pie.

“Reenie said she hasn’t heard from him.” Russell groaned in the background. You closed your eyes. Today was supposed to be a good day for him. The last thing you wanted was him worrying about his little brother.

“I bet he ate some bad food, puked his guts up in the airstreamer and is sleeping it off. He said he was staying at the Sunny Days Park. I’ll go meet up with him there-”

“I’m coming out there,” said Russell. You rolled your eyes. “If he’s so sick he can’t pick up a phone then he needs help and that girl he’s looking for needs help too.”

“Fine,” you said, your heart rate spiking when you stood. “He’s probably just being his usual anti-social self, right?”

“Yeah. He’s totally known for being flaky on jobs,” deadpanned Russell. “Just…I’m not going to ask you to wait at the diner for me but be careful. Keep your gun on you and you call me when you get to his trailer. I have a bad feeling.”

“Me too,” you whispered. “I’ll call you in ten, Russ.”

You’d frowned when you found Colter’s truck parked in front of the airstream fifteen minutes later. Your pout remained when you cleared the the area and the inside of the trailer, carefully tucking your gun away into the holster on the back of your jeans. “He’s not here, Russell.”

“Anything look off?” he asked through the headphones in your ears. The space at first glance didn’t look out of the ordinary. Computer and maps on the kitchenette table. Coffee mug upside down on the drying rack next to the sink. You stopped short and squatted down, cocking your head.

“There are two pairs of shoes tucked under the table. Boots and trail running shoes.”

“Okay…” You stood up and sighed.

“Russell, I lived in this trailer for a few days and Colter is a minimalist. There are two pairs of shoes here and he only owns two pairs of shoes. So he’s walking around barefoot? That’s-”

“Not good,” sighed Russell. “Do you see any sign of struggle? Blood? Anything weird? Or missing?”

“Not that I can tell. I didn’t exactly do an inventory of his closet when…” Your eyes zeroed in on a tiny black speck in the corner. “He has a security camera.”

“Call Bobby, see if he can get the footage from a cloud server or something. I’ll call back in a few once I’m on the road.”

“Drive safe, hun.”

“You be safe. Anything feels fishy, get to a public place and stay there until I get in.”

“I know. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Two minutes later you were on Colter’s computer, Bobby sending you a link to the 24 hour cloud account where Colter’s subscription was saved to once a day.

There were two feeds, one right over the door to the air streamer and the other a wide angled shot staring down the entire length of the trailer. You backed it up to midnight, watching Colter sitting right where you currently were, texting and finishing off his beer. He stretched and stood, putting the empty under the sink.

He hit off a light and you sped it up, Colter padding out once to get a glass of water during the night. You smiled when he got up around six, an unusually cuddly version of Colter appearing on screen. He had a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders as he shuffled over to his coffee machine, getting a cup brewing.

It reminded you of Russell in the morning. He too had a habit of walking around with a blanket first thing. You wondered if that was a Shaw thing or a habit Colter picked up from his big brother when they were kids.

You watched Colter disappear into the bedroom, exiting in a black tight pullover along with fitted pants for running. He sat at the booth and tugged on his sneakers before knocking back his coffee. He glanced at his phone quickly and tucked it into his pocket before he was gone, the interior still. The video was motionless for another hour when Colter came back inside, a thin layer of sweat on his face. Sneakers were removed and socks tossed into the bedroom, Colter taking deep gulps from a bottle of water. He tucked it back in the fridge and headed for the bedroom when suddenly the airstream door opened.

Three men in black masks bounded inside, one holding a bulky looking gun. Colter didn’t get more than a step in before cords shot out and you realized he’d been tased. Your heart caught in your throat as he fell to the floor hard, body rigid. His face was etched in pain as he slowly moved his arm but the men were on him fast. Punch to the face, hands zip tied behind his back, tape over his mouth. Colter was out cold when they threw a hood over his head and he was lifted off the ground by a man on either side of him. They quickly left, no one appearing until you found yourself on tape hours later.

“Colter,” you breathed out, looking out the windows, as if he’d suddenly appear safe and sound there. Shakily you dialed Russell, your head in your hands.

“Hey. You hear from Bobby at all?” You tried to keep your breathing calm, remember the stress management techniques you’d learned in med school.

You winced, Russell’s voice loud on the other end. “Y/N, answer me.”

“I watched the tape. Russ, s-someone took him. They took Colter right out of the airstream this morning and-”

“Where are you?” You lifted your head, Russell growling. “Where?”

“In the air-”

“Leave right now, right fucking now,” he said. You grabbed the phone, Colter’s computer and a stack of papers nearby before rushing out of there. “Are you out?”

“Yes, I’m in my car,” you said with a pant, tossing everything in your passenger seat and taking off out of the campground.

“Go back to that diner and I’ll meet you there in two hours. If anyone tries anything-”

“I know,” you sighed. “Don’t speed to get here. The last thing we need is you in an accident.”

“Diner. Two hours. Be there.”

Two Hours Later

You munched on a basket of once warm fries as you heard the bell over the door jingle. You eased slightly when Russell headed your direction, wrapping you up in a big hug. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Russ, I swear.” You sat back in your corner booth, Russell sliding in the opposite side, getting a cup of coffee and burger for himself before you ordered dinner. “How are you holding up?”

Russell didn’t say anything, just had that look on his face he did right before he killed Owen. Honestly, you shared that sentiment. Colter had your back when you were strangers and now when you were family? Yeah, someone was going to pay and dearly.

“Bobby’s been running the video through his programs but couldn’t ID any of the guys. They ditched Colter’s phone outside the airstreamer so no leads there,” you said, passing the computer over to Russell. He watched the video, his eyes twitching momentarily before he took a long, deep breath.

“Can we trace these guys phones?” You shook your head.

“Bobby tried. No cell activity in the nearby area before or after they…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, Russell reaching across the table and taking your hand in his. “The team’s been trying to find who took Colter while I’ve been looking into his research on the case. I figure he found out who took the woman or got real close without realizing it and that person took him.”

“Smart girl.” Russell cracked a smile, a heavy weight quickly settling back over the table. “But I have a problem with it.”

You nodded, keeping your lips sealed as his food was delivered and you got a plate of eggs and hashbrowns set down before you. “Me too. It doesn’t make sense to take him unless they wanted to know something he knows and they figured he wouldn’t crack immediately.”

“Yup. Aren’t you supposed to go to a party with him tonight?” You stopped with a forkful halfway to your mouth. Russell cocked his head. “He got an invite to that party. For two people. They must think he has a partner and that the partner knows everything Colter does.”

You set your fork down, Russell forcing a smile. “They’re looking for me. Those people are probably hurting him-”

“Hey,” said Russell, voice quiet. Gentle. “They took him because he found out something these people don’t want him to know and he didn’t realize it, not because of you. Let’s figure out what that is and then we’ll come up with a game plan.”

“Okay. Let’s figure this out.”

Forty minutes later, two clean plates and Russell making more than one odd face at the computer screen did it hit you. You slid Colter’s notebook with the name of the party over, Russell’s eyebrow quirking. “What?”

“These people don’t know who I am, otherwise I’d be gone. Colter wanted me to go to this party with him, right? Well, let’s go to the party.” Russell leaned back, closing his eyes. “Isn’t the most likely scenario that the person that took this girl also took Colter? And they clearly are powerful enough to have a few guys working for them. Let��s go to the party full of rich people and see what we can sus out.”

“Y/N.” Russell sighed, rubbing his temple with his palm. “It’s way too dangerous. Just because someone hasn’t come after you doesn’t mean they won’t. We need to figure out what Colter stumbled on-”

“This party,” you said, holding up the notebook, slapping it down. Russell clenched his jaw, relaxing after a beat. “The only research Colter did was on this girl and then there’s the party invite. He wanted to go there for a reason.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, picking it up, flipping through the pages. “How’d he get the invitation in the first place?”

“It’s a charity fundraiser. Anyone in town can go as far as I can tell,” you said. “All I know is he wanted me to be a distraction.”

“Distraction…” Russell typed on Colter’s computer, biting his bottom lip. “Party’s at some older rich dude’s house. Francis Duvel. Sounds like a real upstanding community member.”

“That’s not surprising the wealthy guy is hosting a charity event.” Russell’s eye twitched before he spun around the screen. Your eyes flickered down, reading a headline.

Duvel Industries Once Again Cleared of Safety Allegations; Whistleblower Drops Suit as CEO Vows Quality & Integrity Valued Over Profits

“I couldn’t figure it out earlier but there’s been a pattern of people going missing every so often in this town. Men. Women. Old. Young. Never kids or teens. Always adults. Your missing girl, Alexis Pearson works at-”

“Duvel Industries,” you said, flipping through a paper. “Executive assistant. You think-”

“Poor girl probably found out they were cutting corners somewhere and she said something to the wrong person.” He handed you back the computer and sure enough, all of the people that had “left” town or simply gone missing had at one point or another worked for Duvel Industries.

“How did no one figure this out before? It’s obvious what’s going on,” you said, Russell looking around. “Wait. You think…”

“Article said the local cops found no issues and never have. This charity auction is for the community including-”

“Fuck,” you muttered. “He’s got the sheriff in his pocket, likely a few more cops. No wonder Colter couldn’t just turn over what he found. He couldn’t trust them.”

“He should have called me,” said Russell, closing the computer. He shook his head, staring out at the cloudy evening sky. “I have a friend in the bureau. I could have…”

“So let’s call your friend, get the FBI up here to take a look at Duvel and in the meantime, try to find Colter and Alexis.” For the first time he looked worried and it made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“Alexis is probably already dead and when FBI agents show up at Duvel’s front door, he’s going to kill Colt and the girl if they aren’t already. Y/N, we have to find him tonight.”

“Okay,” you said, getting up and pulling him into your side of the booth, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Screw the party. That was Colter’s plan. Ours needs to be more direct.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Duvel isn’t stupid enough to keep him or Alexis at a place where he’s having the whole town come to, right? So where would you hide them as a CEO?” He smiled, kissing your cheek before pulling out his phone.

“Bobby, it’s Russell. I need the address of every property owned by Duvel Industries asap.”

One Hour Later

“How do you know it’s this one?” you asked Russell as you got out of his car. He went to the trunk, resting his head against the open thing. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t have to say it. He wanted you to stay here, out of danger. He’d wanted you away from this kind of life and said it more than once.

Russell reached inside the trunk and opened a black duffel, holding out a black vest to you. It was much smaller than the one he and Colter fit in though. You took the vest, followed by Russell handing you a thigh holster. “I thought you were going to tell me to stay in the car.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you to stay here,” he said, bending down to buckle the straps against your thigh, pulling it taut. He looked up with a half-smile before taking your gun from the back holster and putting it inside, tossing the other one in the trunk.

“What are…” He zipped up your jacket all the way and pulled the vest on over your shoulders, fixing your hood before tightening the sides so the vest hung tight to your body. “Russell.”

You smiled, running your hand over the vest. “How long have you had this?”

“I bought it the first reward job you took. I figured someday you’d need it.” He put on his own gear and locked the car, inhaling deeply. “If you want to change your mind-”

“That building is massive. You can’t go in alone.” He nodded, closing his eyes. “Am I liability to you? Serious question. If I go in there with you, does it make things harder if Colter is in there?”

Russell peeled open his eyes, smirking as he planted both hands on your face and kissed you hard.

“I always worry, qark. Whether you’re in there or out there.” He touched his forehead to yours, hot breath fanning over you. “You do not have to go in. Absolutely you do not have to. But if my girl wants to do this with me, then I’m glad I’ve got her for a partner.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, Russell lifting you up into a hug.

“But if shit goes down, you run.” You shrugged, Russell groaning. “Alright, alright, Rambo. Follow my lead and stick close. Bobby’s going to contact my friend in two hours if he doesn't hear from us so let’s get a move on.”

“Age before beauty,” you said. He narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, keep it up youngin’ and next time you’re in that outfit I’ll teach you a lesson.” You glanced down to his groin, Russell growling. “Y/N.”

“Sorry.” He nodded, checking his gun before letting in hang by his side.

“Stay low and quiet. Clear your corners and don’t hesitate to use your weapon. You sure you want to go in?”

“Let’s do this.” Russell checked your gear one more time before you headed into the forest, jogging through it for a moment. You stopped at the edge when Russell held up a hand. He reached into his back pocket, revealing a small scope. You knelt by his side, looking around as he mumbled to himself.

“Good news and bad news. Good news is there’s only one vehicle and it’s a car which means most likely there’s four guys or less. Could be more but odds aren’t in favor. No cameras from what I can tell. Bad news is two outside guards. It’s going to be hard to get in.” You pursed your lips. “What are you thinking?”

“If we each get one-”

“Y/N,” Russell scolded. You frowned, his face softening. “Those guys are huge. Odds are they grab you before you get the guy out cold.”

“Russell. I fought off Owen when I was roofied when I was younger. You have taught me so many moves. I wouldn’t risk Colter if I didn’t know that I can take out a guy that size. Trust me. Please.” He lowered his head, shoulders sagging.

“If he’s not going down, shoot him.” You agreed and then the two of you were jogging across the dark grass, coming to a stop against the concrete wall of the building. Russell pointed you forward and you went ahead of him, gun in front of you, squeezing the cold metal tight.

The guard rounded the corner quickly though, startled by the sight of you. You ducked fast, Russell’s fist flying out where your head had been. It connected hard with the guard’s jaw and he slumped against the wall, crumpling down in a heap. You stood up, Russell tapping your shoulder before stepping in front of you. After a moment the guard was restrained, tape over his mouth. Russell peaked around the corner before holding up a hand for you to stay back before he disappeared.

Ten seconds later he returned, body slightly less tense. He nodded and you jogged over to him, keeping behind him as you went through the door and past the other out cold guard with hands and feet secured.

The building was large, some warehouse space, offices on either side. Russell sighed silently before going left. You walked backwards behind him for a few minutes as he cleared room after room after room with nothing to show.

“It’s taking too long,” he whispered. “I can’t check every room fast enough if the guards check in on a schedule.”

“I can finish the hall. Do the other side. You’re faster without me,” you murmured. Russell stared at you for five seconds then planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Be safe. I’ll be right back.” Silently, he went the way you’d came from and disappeared around the corner. You turned your attention back on the six or so offices to go with a thick swallow. Without Russell by your side, your nerves came front and center. But you couldn’t stand there forever. There was probably someone else inside and Colter wouldn’t hesitate if you were in his shoes.

You steadied yourself and cleared a dark, empty office, then another. The second to last door pushed open easily, bright light hitting you in the face.

There was barely enough time to register Colter in a chair, someone behind him with a knife and then the man’s hand was moving fast towards his throat.

The trigger pulled hard as you squeezed it once, twice, three times. You couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears as you did wide sweeps of the room. No one else was in there and after finding the man slumped on the ground was dead, you rushed to Colter who’s head hung low.

“Colter. Colter,” you urged. He was shaking as you tilted his chin up, a thin line of red on his throat but not deep. You closed your eyes. Fuck, a second later and Colter would have already bled out by now.

But something wasn’t right. His clothes were wet, skin ice cold. Your eyes darted upwards when you felt cold air conditioning kick on overhead. It was only then that you noticed the dead man was wearing a winter jacket for some reason.

Another gun shot rang out nearby and you spun around with your gun, aiming at the door. Russell appeared a few moments later, sighing in relief. But his face fell when he saw Colter violently shaking in the chair, arms wrapped tight around himself.

“What’s-”

“He’s hypothermic,” you said, cutting up his pants, Colter shaking his head. “We need to get him out of these wet clothes and warmed up now.”

“Y/N-”

“Russell, he’s not stable.” You finished cutting off his pants and had his pullover halfway off. “Call your FBI friend and tell him we need a med evac to a level 1 trauma center. In the meantime, go kill the A/C and get my med kit from the car.”

“Got it,” he said, turning to leave. “I found Alexis.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, Russell smiling. “She’s roughed up but she convinced these guys-”

“I’m sorry but does she need medical attention, yes or no?” He shook his head. “Then go do as I ask.”

Russell took off down the hall, Colter’s wet clothes dropping to the ground. You got behind him and put your arms under him and around his chest, hoisting him up.

He screamed at the sudden pain in his side and leg but you could deal with that later. Right now, he was too fucking cold. You walked backwards out of the room, Colter whining the whole time which frankly scared the fuck out of you.

Colter was stoic. Tough as nails like Russell. Calm in moments of terror.

Scared, hurt, out of control Colter made you heart feel like it was being stabbed.

“S’okay, Colt. I got you. You’ll feel better real soon,” you said, dragged him down the hall and into an office you’d found a couch in earlier. You jerked when you noticed a shadow at the doorway.

Alexis was hiding halfway behind the doorframe, wide eyed at you. “I-I can help.”

“You know what a space heater is?” She nodded quickly. “Find them and bring them back here. Quickly. I saw a few in this hallway.”

She ducked away as you lowered Colter to the ground and plugged in the space heater you’d saw in there, turning it to the max.

You found a wooden chair and kicked at it with your boot until it broke apart. Taking two long pieces, you placed them on either side of Colter’s leg and removed your vest, jacket and shirt.

“And you said my red jacket was ugly,” you teased, laying it over his shivering form. “Too visible if I recall.”

His fingers squeezed the material so tight it started to tear, your heart breaking for him. You leaned down close, wiping the wetness out of his hair with your shirt. With a sigh you kissed his forehead, Colter mumbling something you couldn’t make out.

“I know you know you’re in shock. Everything is fine. All I want you to think about right now is a story I’m going to tell you. Okay? Just lay back and listen.” You soaked up more water with your shirt and leaned back, removing your tank top, leaving you in just a black bra. “You know Russell bought me this bra back when we went on that trip to Paris last month. I know we told you about it and you did a lot of humming like you couldn’t care less, remember?”

You shredded the tank top with your hands into strips, laying them over and under his broken leg. “I’m going to splint your leg now.”

“So there was I,” you said, pulling tight, Colter nearly doubling over as you did the few other spots quickly. “In Paris with your brother of all people and he’s bought me all these nice pajamas and lounge sets and other things you don’t need to know about when he says, let’s take a few days trip to Africa. Let’s go to the desert. Now, I don’t know about you but if you’ve never been to the desert, it’s hot as fuck.”

You made sure his leg was straight before fixing your coat on him, Colter shivering into your hand. Alexis returned with three space heaters and you quickly go them on and around him.

“When you’re in the desert, you can feel the sun prickle your skin. You know that feeling? The heat from the rays literally warming you, getting inside. It makes you so hot. It reflects off the sand, like hot sand at a beach, right back at you. It’s like you’re on a baking sheet, hot out of the oven, baked on all sides.”

Colter was still shivering but he was starting to relax, less violent shakes coming out now.

“You ever have a sunburn like that? I bet you did. Your nose and cheeks got all red, your skin so hot. I know you Shaw boys were always outside. Russell gets these freckles when he’s out in the sun. Do you get them too? A nice hot summer day, out on the water with a warm breeze.”

Russell entered the room, kneeling beside you. “Chopper will be here in thirty.”

“Okay,” you said, Colter’s head turning to the side. “Rest up for me big guy.”

You got up and pulled Russell to the back corner, nodding at Alexis sitting on the couch. “What?”

“Russell, you should take her to the nearest hospital.” He frowned, biting his tongue though as you held up your hands. “She’s not as bad as your brother but she’s dehydrated and cold.”

“No, I need to stay here in case Duvel’s guys show up. You take her-”

“I’m sorry, are you a doctor? Do you know what to do if Colter has a heart attack? A seizure? Those are very real possibilities right now, Russell. I need to warm him up and calm him down the right way and I can’t worry about her right now. I need you to take care of her. Please.”

He closed his eyes. “Fine but I’m tossing those two guys in the trunk of their car. And put your vest back on. And keep an eye on the door-“

“Shaw.” He opened his eyes, finding you glaring at him.

“Please help him the best you can,” he whispered. You hugged him, Russell squeezing you tight before he was moving and out the door with Alexis under his arm. Only the hum of the space heaters and Colter’s incoherent mumblings could be heard as you sat down beside him.

“Here you go,” you said, resting the vest over his injured leg to try and give him some warmth. You held your gun in your hand as the other rested on his forehead. Fuck, he was still too cold. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes, looking so young for the briefest of moments. “I have one last idea. But it’ll hurt.”

He nodded very slowly before closing his eyes tight. “I’ll be right back.”

You jogged out to the warehouse and hit the switch to open the bay door, quickly breaking into the luxury car out front and pulling it in. You left it on and hit the heated seats to low, rushing back to Colter where he was breathing shallowly. “Come on, bud. This should help.”

He groaned when you pulled him through the halls and out to the warehouse, cursing a long string of profanities at you that felt like the closest Colter Shaw had ever gotten to going absolute ape shit.

The ache in your chest eased when he hissed at the contact with the seats and then, you swore on your life, he cooed like a newborn baby. With the heat blasting in the car and thanks to the seats warming his bare skin, he finally passed out with a smidge more color to his skin.

“Okay,” you sighed, resting your head against the wheel. “You’re going to be okay.”

The Next Evening

“Hey,” said Russell. You didn’t acknowledge him as you watched flames flicker in the outdoor fireplace back at home. He sat down on the couch behind you, pulling you back into his lap. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you said, leaning your head back against his shoulder. You tucked yourself into him, Russell wrapping his arms around your body. “How’s Colter? He sleeping yet?”

“Oh, he’s annoying as hell. Little shit thinks he’ll be driving out of here tomorrow morning.”

You groaned, Russell humming. “He broke his damn leg. He isn’t driving for at least a month. He is staying with us at a minimum until that cast is off.”

“I’m not the one you have to argue with.” You sighed, Russell’s long legs shifting around to lay over top of yours. “You want to talk about it?”

Your eyes welled up, Russell sensing your tension. Your eyelids squeezed tight, something heavy boiling up under your skin.

“What’s the hardest thing? Killing someone? Or almost losing Colter?” he asked quietly. You shrugged, turning your head down to your lap. “He hurt-”

You looked over Russell’s shoulder at the dark lake, save for a few homes with lights on across the water.

“I don’t care that I killed that son of a bitch after what he did to Colt. But I just…” You inhaled shakily, gripping Russell’s hoodie tighter. He shushed you, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

“He’s home with us. He’s safe,” said Russell softly. Long fingers stroked through your hair, tucking you into his neck. “I think Charlie would be really proud of you for protecting Colter like you did.”

“I should have protected him too,” you mumbled. Russell sighed, quietly embracing you. “You’re an older sibling. You understand.”

“Bullshit.” You leaned back fast, glaring at his stern green eyes. “Your dad was an amazing doctor and he left two injured kids. He was either a moron which I doubt or your brother had internal bleeding which made him say he was cold. If it was hypothermia you would have died too.”

“No, my dad said-”

“Was this before or after Owen’s fucked up mob family started drugging your dad so he had psychosis?” Your voice caught in your throat. Russell raised his eyebrows. “Sweetie, do you even know why Charlie died?”

“It was hypo…” You unraveled yourself from him, planting your bare feet on the warm deck. You gripped the couch cushions, closing your eyes, medical facts bouncing around your head. “Jesus, Russ. Why did I think…”

“Because your dad said it. He probably never even remembered he did. Deep down, he didn’t blame you so you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

You stood up, stepping in front of the fire with your arms crossed. You titled your head back, inhaling deeply. “He said a lot of mean things when I was a teenager, as I got older. But at the funeral…he was still himself. He didn’t…”

“No, he didn’t.” Russell stood behind you, curling his arms around your chest, trapping you against his strong warm frame. “So back to my original statement. Charlie, hell your parents too, I know they’re proud of you.”

“I killed a guy,” you scoffed.

“You saved a woman, helped catch a murderer, expose corruption throughout a small town, bring closure to a dozen families with missing loved ones-”

“Russell,” you groaned.

“And you saved my little brother’s life all while risking your own. We are damn proud of you, my queen of darkness.” Your head tilted backwards to look at him, Russell grinning back. “No objection?”

“Fine. You wore me down. I did good,” you grumbled. He chuckled against your ear, giving you a tight hug.

“The words every man loves to hear from his girl,” he laughed, giving you space to turn and hug him back. “You want to try sleeping?”

“In a minute. I want to check on him quick.”

“Don’t be long,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger. You gave him a hum and slipped inside, walking down the hall to the guest room. You cracked open the door slowly, Colter laying in bed with a frown.

“Need some pain killers?” you whispered as you entered, shutting the door behind you.

“No,” he grumbled, glancing up at you when you took two pills out of the bottle on the nightstand. “I overheard you and Russell.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, Colter grabbing your arm. He tried to sit up, relenting when you pushed on his shoulder. “Rest. I know that’s a foreign word to you but you have to take things slow if you want to recover correctly.”

“And you need to realize this job is dangerous and I am not your responsibility.”

“No, you’re not.” You ruffled his messy hair gently, Colter pouting. “But that’s what family does for each other.”

He wanted to retort but bit his tongue, grumbling as you fixed his blankets and made him take a painkiller.

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Russell got engaged?” You glanced down at your hand and the shiny silver band on your finger.

“When did you notice?”

“When you shot that guy. It helped to think of something else for a bit.” You nodded, playing with the ring. “When’d he ask?”

“About a week ago. We wanted to surprise you and Dory.” His hand fell down to yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Colter, I know you have your issues with your brother but we love you. I know you’re going to hate it but you need to stay here for awhile. At the very least you need to stay with Dory if not us. You can’t be alone right now.”

“I will try to not complain too much,” he said. You smiled, leaning down to hug him. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it is all,” you said, getting up and pushing his glass of water closer. “Need anything else?”

“I’m good.” You went to the door, Colter clearing his throat. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“That red jacket is still fucking obnoxious.” You flipped him off, Colter cracking a smile.

“Goodnight, asshole.” You turned off his light for him and found Russell curled up in the blankets in bed.

“How’s the patient?” he mumbled, big spooning you as soon as you were tucked under the covers.

“He’s going to be alright.”

“Did you ask him about being in the wedding yet?”

“One step at a time, hun.” He chuckled, burying his face against the back of your neck.

“Try to get some rest too, qark.” You closed your eyes, nodding once. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Russ.”

___________

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#russell shaw #russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x you #colter shaw #tracker

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mostly-marvel-musings · 2 days ago

Note

Young!Tony getting home all happy to see his mom and his girl, then Jarvis is like "uhhhh maybe not? why don't we go outside, Master Stark, have a drink, play some cards, C'MON! 😁" and Tony's like VERY SUSPICIOUS. But then, when Jarvis goes inside to grab them some snacks, Tony SNEAKS INSIDE THE HOUSE! And there are his mom and his girl discussing their love and sex lives over drinks, both very tipsy and oversharing. And now Tony's MORTIFIED, he runs outside screaming, poor boi is TRAUMATIZED. And poor old Jarvis is just like "well, I did tell to stay outside. You brought that upon yourself"

“You Weren’t Supposed to Hear That, Tony”

A/N: This was sitting in my inbox for far too long!!

Pairing: young! Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ fluff.

Tony Stark Masterlist

It was the kind of day that felt like the whole world conspired to be perfect just for him. Young Tony Stark—bright-eyed, sharp-smiled, fresh off presenting his first solo prototype at a symposium in Geneva—was glowing. The applause was still echoing in his ears, the champagne buzz hadn’t worn off, and he only wanted one thing now:

Home.

More specifically, home where his two favorite women were: his mother, Maria Stark, and you—the brilliant, witty, way-too-good-for-him girl he’d been dating for a few very fast, very intense months. Maria was, alarmingly, already in love with you. It was a little terrifying.

He pulled into the long driveway of the Stark estate, sunglasses pushed up into his tousled hair, energy bouncing off him like static. The house was unusually quiet as he entered through the side door, humming a Bowie song under his breath.

That was when he saw Jarvis—the original, human one, looking slightly nervous and oddly… obstructive.

“Master Tony,” Jarvis greeted, far too formally. “How was Geneva? You must be exhausted.”

“I am exhausted. And starving. And extremely ready for praise and affection from two of the greatest women to ever walk the earth. Where are they?”

Jarvis cleared his throat. “Ah! Yes. About that. I was thinking we might enjoy the last of the sunshine on the patio? I could deal you in for a quick hand of cards, perhaps a drink—”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “…You’re deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” Jarvis let out a high-pitched chuckle. “Certainly not.”

“You only offer me cards when something’s on fire or someone’s having a breakdown.”

“Well, technically—”

Tony didn’t wait. Suspicion lit his face and before Jarvis could stop him, he darted for the living room entrance like a bloodhound on a mission. Jarvis sighed and muttered a low, “Oh dear,” before shuffling off to retrieve snacks he had no intention of serving anymore.

Meanwhile…

Tony crept up the hallway. Voices. Laughter. Clinking glasses.

He peeked around the doorframe.

There you were. Sitting on the couch, wine glass in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and affection, next to Maria Stark who was exactly one and a half drinks past graceful sophistication. Your legs were tucked up, hers stretched out, both of you looking far too relaxed for the earth-shattering words spilling from your mouths.

“He glows after, Maria,” you were saying with a dreamy sigh. “Like. Genuinely radiant. I’m like—is that genius or just post-orgasm science juice?”

Maria cackled. “Oh sweetheart, if he gets that from his father, then good luck. I had to buy blackout curtains. Man was a menace.”

Tony’s soul near about left his body.

“I can’t believe I ever thought Howard was boring,” Maria went on, sipping deeply. “He was—well. Let’s just say, we once broke the kitchen table.”

Tony let out a sound like a strangled banshee.

You gasped. “Tony eats breakfast there!!”

“Not for a week after that, he didn’t.”

Tony STUMBLED BACKWARDS, bumped into the wall, hit a decorative vase (which he somehow caught mid-fall because Stark reflexes), and fled the scene like it was on fire.

He burst back out onto the patio, looking like he’d seen Satan flossing in a tutu.

Jarvis, standing there with a bowl of olives and crackers, glanced up mildly. “Oh. I see you went inside.”

Tony collapsed into the nearest lounge chair. “They were talking about sex, JARVIS. Mine. Theirs. THE KITCHEN TABLE.”

“Well, I did suggest we remain outdoors.”

“I’M NEVER EATING ANYTHING OFF A FLAT SURFACE AGAIN.”

Jarvis calmly placed a drink in his hand.

“It’s gin. Neat. I anticipated a stronger trauma.”

Tony downed it in one go, shuddered, and pointed a trembling finger. “You—you knew. You knew and you let me walk into that Buzzfeed Top 10 list of my personal hells.”

Jarvis merely smiled. “Welcome home, Master Stark.”

Inside, after Tony’s not-so-stealthy retreat, you and Maria exchanged looks.

You squinted toward the hallway. “Did you… hear something?”

Maria grinned into her glass. “Sounded like a strangled dolphin. That would be my son.”

Your eyes widened. “No.”

“Oh yes.” She sipped again, wicked glint in her eyes. “Think he caught the bit about the table.”

You groaned, hiding your face in a cushion. “He’s never going to look me in the eye again.”

Maria patted your shoulder sweetly. “Better get used to it, sweetheart. You’re one of us now.”

Meanwhile, outside, Tony sat slack-jawed and muttering to himself.

“Blackout curtains… the kitchen table… I need therapy. I need bleach. I need to move.”

Jarvis slid another drink toward him with a knowing sigh.

“You need to learn to listen when someone says don’t go in there.”

Tony sat between you and Maria, fork poised like a weapon, suspicion already simmering.

“So…” Maria began, slicing into her roast with too much glee. “Remember that trip we were planning, sweetheart? I was thinking Tuscany.”

You sipped your wine innocently. “Mmm, yes. Good food. Great views. Tables strong enough to hold—”

Clink. Tony dropped his fork. “Okay. Okay.” He pointed between the two of you. “This is a trap. This entire dinner is a psychological warfare operation.”

Maria turned to you, all sweetness. “Should we tell him about the vintage wine?”

You nodded sagely. “Ah yes. The one that unlocked so many secrets.”

Tony stood up with a chair-scraping screech. “I’m done. I’m moving to the guesthouse. JARVIS, initiate witness protection protocol.”

“Right away, sir,” Jarvis replied smoothly, barely concealing his amusement.

As Tony stormed off muttering about therapy, trauma, and the betrayal of all maternal figures, you and Maria toasted your wine glasses with a synchronized clink.

“Cheers to poor decisions and even worse timing.”

“Cheers to never letting him live it down.”

#tony stark x reader #young!tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #the stark squad #tony stark #maria stark #anon asks #mostly marvel musings #marvel fanfiction

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livvymd · 1 day ago

Text

After Hours Service. MDNI

this one low key isnt eating sorry anon

The second the restaurant doors opened, you knew this day was going to be chaos.

You'd worked a few pop-ups before, but nothing quite like this — a full-on Sidemen event, half content shoot and half real service. It was all a bit mad: cameras everywhere, orders flying in, the back kitchen sounding like a school canteen on fire, and somehow you were meant to keep a smile on your face and carry three plates at once.

You were good at your job. Calm. Composed. Focused.

Or at least, you were — until ChrisMD entered the building in a too-clean apron and made eye contact with you for a full second before looking away like you’d physically blinded him.

And that became the theme of the day.

Chris was also “working” the event, roped into the front-of-house rotation with various YouTubers, and he was doing an okay job when he wasn’t short-circuiting every time you got close.

You didn’t even have to flirt. You just existed — and he apparently couldn’t handle it.

It started small.

You passed him a plate of sliders. “Table three, yeah? You good with that?”

He nodded a little too fast, eyes flicking from your hands to your face. “Yep — uh — totally. I’m good. I can do plates. Yep. That’s what I do.”

You raised a brow. “Right… Well, try not to drop them.”

Spoiler: he nearly did.

And that was before he walked into a folding signboard that hadn't been there two minutes earlier.

It escalated.

Every time your paths crossed, it was a fresh scene from a romcom:

You asked him to carry drinks. He spilled a third of a Coke on himself.

You brushed shoulders near the pass window. He nearly dropped a tray of garlic bread.

You asked him how the tables were going. He blanked completely, said “table 9 is a man,” and walked away.

You couldn’t not smile around him.

And apparently, neither could the others.

By the third hour, Harry had started narrating his movements. “And here comes Chris, attempting human interaction. Will he survive? Odds are low.”

Ethan chimed in, “Bro turns into a loading screen whenever she walks by. Buffering for his life.”

You caught Chris ducking his head behind the drinks fridge, pretending to look for cans. Probably hiding from you.

Cute.

You decided to push your luck.

Near the end of the lunch rush, you cornered him — lightly, playfully — by the cutlery stand.

“Chris,” you said, and the way his name sounded in your voice made him glance up, heart already racing.

You held out your hand. “Need help with section five? Looks like they’re about to riot.”

He blinked at you. “Help? From…you? Yeah. Totally. I mean, if you’re not too busy — ”

You just smiled and walked past him, bumping his shoulder gently. “Come on, then.”

He followed.

He always followed.

By dinner service, things had settled into something almost normal. Tables were clearing out, the last guests were halfway through desserts, and the YouTubers had mostly stopped pretending to be competent.

You were behind the bar restacking glasses when Harry strolled past you.

“Y’know he’s completely lost for you, right?” he said casually.

You raised an eyebrow, playing dumb. “Who?”

Harry snorted. “Chris. You’re like his Roman Empire. He can’t think straight.”

You smirked but didn’t answer. The warmth in your chest betrayed you. You liked knowing that. Liked that Chris wasn’t like the others — he wasn’t pushy, or flirty just for content. He was genuinely trying, and failing spectacularly, and that was half the charm.

The restaurant emptied out slowly.

Most of the crew started packing up, clearing the last of the plates, throwing out props. Cameras were off. The lights were dimmed. You stayed behind to tidy up your section, focused on the last table when someone stepped up beside you.

Chris.

Hair slightly messy. Apron wrinkled. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. He looked boyish, nervous, and — despite the long day — still painfully fit.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, eyes on the table you were wiping. “I wanted to — uh — say thanks.”

You glanced at him, pausing your work. “For what?”

“For… not laughing at me. Much. Or for not reporting me to management for being the worst pretend-waiter of all time.”

You leaned back against the table, crossing your arms. “You weren’t that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, you were terrible. But you were sweet.”

He shifted closer. “Sweet like… pity sweet? Or sweet like maybe-you’d-consider-hanging-out-after-this sweet?”

Your mouth quirked up. “Depends how brave you’re feeling right now.”

He looked at you for a long moment — longer than any glance he'd managed all day. His confidence wasn’t fake, but it was shy. Tentative. Like he’d finally decided to risk it.

“I’m feeling brave enough,” he said.

You reached out, your fingers curling lightly around the edge of his apron, tugging him closer.

“Then show me.”

The kiss started soft.

He leaned in slowly, carefully — like if he moved too fast you’d vanish. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, testing, then again with a little more pressure.

You sighed into it, your hand moving to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

That was the switch.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Not rushed — just sure. His hands slid to your waist, gripping gently like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You pulled him closer, mouths moving in sync, the kiss growing more heated. His tongue brushed yours and your knees went a bit weak — not from the kiss itself, but from how into it he was.

Like he’d been holding back all day and couldn’t anymore.

The door clicked behind you as Chris locked it.

You were both still breathless — bodies too close, pupils blown, hands already wandering.

The restaurant was closed. The others were gone.

You were alone.

Your back hit the prep counter as Chris’s mouth found yours again — this time deeper, desperate, no hint of nerves left. His hands roamed with less hesitation now, gripping your waist, skimming over your hips, tugging you closer until you felt every hard inch of him pressed to your body.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he breathed against your lips, voice low and wrecked.

You smiled, your hand sliding under the hem of his hoodie. “I think I do.”

You pushed it up and over his head, and Chris dropped it to the floor without a care. His chest was warm and lean, skin smooth beneath your palms as you traced down the slope of his abdomen, dragging your nails lightly just to watch his abs twitch.

“Fuck,” he whispered, shivering at your touch.

He bent, lips ghosting down your neck, then across your collarbone. His teeth grazed gently as he nipped, sucking marks into your skin you’d probably have to hide tomorrow. One hand slid under your shirt, warm and rough against your waist, until his thumb brushed just under your bra.

You arched into his hand.

“Off,” you said, tugging at your own shirt. Chris helped you peel it off in seconds, followed by your bra.

His breath hitched when he saw you — his gaze devouring, lips parted, frozen for a moment like he was trying to burn the image into memory.

“God, you’re — ” He stopped, swallowing thickly. “You’re unreal.”

His mouth latched onto your chest — tongue and lips moving slowly, wetly, kissing over sensitive skin while his hands gripped your thighs. You reached between your bodies, unfastening his belt and jeans, pushing them down just enough for his boxers to tent obscenely in front of you.

Chris groaned when you brushed your fingers over him through the fabric.

“Y/N…” he rasped, forehead against your shoulder, hips jerking.

You kissed his jaw, then his throat, licking a slow stripe across the hollow of it before whispering, “Want you.”

He stepped back long enough to drag your trousers and underwear down your legs, his hands firm but reverent. You helped him out of his jeans and boxers, both of you standing fully bare in the middle of the dark, empty kitchen — fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead.

Then he was between your legs again, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing.

Chris kissed you slow this time — less urgent, more worship. His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs tracing the inside gently, so close to your centre but not touching yet.

“I’ve thought about this too many times than I'd like to admit,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours.

“Then show me,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He reached down between your bodies and lined himself up, the head of his length brushing against you — hot, hard, ready.

And when he pushed in?

You gasped — head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you in one long, perfect thrust.

“Shit — ” Chris choked. “You feel — fuck, you feel amazing.”

He paused once he was fully inside, letting you both adjust, just staring at you with wide eyes and parted lips. You were flushed and panting, legs tight around his waist, hands gripping the back of his neck like you needed him to anchor you.

Then he moved.

Slow at first — deep, dragging thrusts that had your whole body rocking with each one. The wet, filthy sounds of skin against skin filled the kitchen, along with your moans, his groans, his whispered curses in your ear.

Your hips met every movement, your thighs tightening with each delicious grind of his pelvis against yours. He hit that perfect spot again and again, making your breath hitch, making your body clench around him until his rhythm stuttered.

“God, Y/N — you’re so tight — I’m not gonna last — ”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered, eyes rolling back. “I’m close, Chris, please — ”

He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle — his thumb pressing to your clit just right.

Your whole body tensed.

And then you broke.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, waves crashing through your body as you cried out his name, shaking, clenching around him. Your walls pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper.

Chris groaned — deep, raw, helpless — and followed you over the edge with one last thrust, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, head falling to your shoulder as he trembled in your arms.

The air between you was hot and thick with breath, skin sticky and flushed.

You stayed like that — entwined, panting, bodies still joined — for long minutes.

Finally, Chris lifted his head, lips brushing your forehead.

“I’m never gonna look at the prep counter the same way again,” he muttered.

You snorted, too blissed out to care. “Guess I’ll never eat another chicken tender again without getting flashbacks.”

He chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your mouth. “Reckon we’re due a round two in the freezer.”

You grinned. “And then maybe… dessert?”

Chris smirked, lips against your neck. “Sweetheart, you are the dessert.”

#chrismd #chrismd x reader smut #chrismd x reader #chrismd imagine #chrismd x you #chrismd smut #chrismd fluff #arthurtv #arthur frederick #arthur hill #george clarke #italianbach #uk youtubers #smut #fanfic

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missust3l3vision · 3 days ago

Note

Idea for a story: Arthur is doing a vid with the guys that involves getting drunk, he gets so drunk that he confesses his feelings for Y/N but Y/N thinks it’s a forfeit the boys have made him do?

Guys you are all so much more creative than me.

Down the Barrel

Description: After a day of drinking Arthur let's slip a little too much. Luckily it was all caught on camera.

"I get lonely at night" Chris whispers in Arthur's ear, this had been the same thing he had done to him when drunk

Rather than laughing, the man looked to you.

Y/n was a camera woman that undoubtedly was under appreciated by the crew. Often made to sit off to the side despite her great work.

Today however she was shoot the video. That's what made him looking at her all the better.

"Mate just looked down the fucking barrel of the camera" George reached across the table to push Arthur's shoulder.

A few of the guys had known of his crush, but none of the crew had. Especially not Y/n. She was oblivious to it all. The small glances and stuttering when he tried to talk to her, all of it.

"I'm going to- I'm going to have something" Arthur mutters, looking away. The group giggling at him "How about you finally have your turn?"

Chris puts his hands up in defence

"Okay then! Truth or dare Arthur" the man hummed

"Dare! I'm not a pussy" Arthur exclaims, the camera crew all exchanging looks before gearing up to film closer to the table.

"I dare you to tell us about the girl you fancy" Chris says loudly with a finger raised.

"Oh it's Y/n" he says nonchalantly. Nobody moves, despite the large group of people you could hear a pin drop.

The crew all turn to you while the group on camera are stunned. George finally says something

"Like Y/n from-" Arthur cuts him off, with a finger pointing directly at you

"No, that one" he says before reaching for another drink, Arthur Hill moving the drinks from out of reach

"Can we get some water for him? I think he's a little too drunk" Hill explained. Harry walked over to a cooler and grabbed him a bottle.

"Y/n i think youre good to leave?" The other camera man suggested, her nodding before handing over the camera. As she began walking away she could hear someone rushing after her

"Don't go!" It was of course Arthur "I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable and I do really like you and can I take you out to dinner sometime and if not that's cool too"

He rambled on as they walked to her car, the whole time she watched him with an amused expression.

"I'd love to get dinner, maybe when you're sober?" She suggests to a nodding Arthur.

Once she drove away Arthur returned to the group, them all patting his shoulders and teasing him.

"You are all laughing, but I got a hot date next week!" He declared with a few of them cheering. Once everything was wrapped up a few days later, one of the crew approached him online.

"Are you okay with the scene being included?" Arthur rose an eyebrow before texting

"What scene?" He received a text with the clip included. Arthur's face went pale. Rather than texting back, he called. His voice high pitched as he frantically asked what happened.

After hearing the explanation Arthur stood with his jaw dropped. He begged for it not to be included.

After sitting on his couch he stared at the wall. In a Dazed like state when his phone binged. Feeling exhaustion wash over him he looked over and saw it was from you.

💬 So when are we going out?

Arthur stared at the text when another popped up

💬 Unless you're a pussy

💬 ...please tell me you remember saying that. Otherwise I look really mean.

He had not. He was still surprised that she even wanted to go out, but he was sure he would take her.

💬 Yes! I will see you as soon as you are available!!

And so, you two were set to grab dinner. Was he embarrassed of how he was while drunk? Yes. Would he do it again? Yes, because now he gets to take out an angel.

#arthur fredrick #arthur tv #arthur frederick #ukyt #husband ☆#original ☆#uk youtubers #x yn #husband #arthur fic #responding to asks #arthurtv x reader #arthurtv

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agoodroughandtumble · 3 days ago

Text

Looks Good on You Anyway - Zoro x Reader Part 2

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is running out of clothes - has to borrow Zoro’s Warning: Language (18+).

Whilst this wasn’t the first time you had been alone with Zoro, it was the first time you had been alone with him in the boys’ quarters. Only a few minutes ago you had been sneaking around in there, hoping not to get caught and now, despite being invited, you were still hoping not to get caught.

Nami would no doubt have plenty to say about the two of you alone, next to his bed, wearing his clothes. Normally when you had played out a similar scenario in your head (only on the odd occasion, nothing weird…) it wasn’t usually this awkward. As usual, the swordsman was completely, and annoyingly, unaware of the tension radiating from you as you watched curiously. He was crouched on the floor, back to you and rifling through a pile of clothes on the floor. You couldn’t help but wonder if his own shirt would be riding up slightly if it wasn’t for the haramaki. Usually, you didn’t really think about it – far too busy concerning yourself with the sight of his arm muscles flexing during his workouts. Now, however, it was the most irritating thing in the world. Your head tilted slightly, as if a shift of position might result in a peak of skin.

Something soft hit your face, snapping you out of your thoughts before falling at your feet. Followed by another, this time grazing past your shoulder.

“Remind me to get you training sometime – didn’t realise your reflexes were that bad.”

“Shut up.” You snapped – an excellent comeback – before picking up the offending items he had thrown at you – two of his shirts. Unwashed, you noted, each inhale of breath filling your nostrils with the scent of him. This man was going to be the death of you. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad... You glanced at him – now stood in front of you, arms folded across his chest and looking at you expectantly. Again, annoyingly unaware of any tension. Because of course he was. Because all of this was just letting your imagination run away with you. So. Anyway. Enough of that. You cleared your throat. “Why throw these at me anyway?”

He shrugged, “Figured you’re going to be stealing them anyway, this way I get to keep my favourites.”

The corners of your mouth tugged slightly, a half smile forming. “You have favourite shirts?”

“And? You clearly have your favourites, or is it a coincidence that what you’re wearing was at the bottom of the pile?”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “What? No. I- I just picked up whate-”

He laughed, shaking his head slightly, “If you say so.”

Even his laugh was making your stomach do flips. You pressed your lips together, trying to regain some composure. The only thing worse than your obvious crush on the man in front of you was him finding out about it. Unfortunately, subtlety was not your forte. Better to just run away before you said something even more embarrassing. “Well, erm,” you held the clothes up a little, “thanks for these. I should probably get going.” You turned to leave but his hand on your arm stopped you dead in your tracks.

“You should try them on.”

You gulped.

“See if they fit.”

Heat rose in your cheeks. This was supposed to be your quick getaway. Damn your feet for not moving. Damn every stupid cell in your body for becoming completely useless at the very second you just wanted to run away. And damn this stupid fucking man. All you had wanted was one single shirt that wasn’t ripped or bloodstained until you reached the next island. You should have borrowed one of Sanji’s – dealing with a nosebleed and a little bit more fawning than usual would been a hell of a lot more preferable to this.

You took a steadying breath, determined not to give yourself away. Anything more away. Logically, he did have a point. And whilst he was taller and more muscular than you (a mere observation. It wasn’t your fault that his thighs were bigger than your head), and so obviously nothing was going to be too small or too revealing making sure it wasn’t going to swamp you did make sense. Besides, it wasn’t Zoro that was reading too much into this.

“Right, yeah,” you nodded and let the shirts drop onto his bed. His hand was still on your upper arm. You waited. He stared. “Turn around then.”

Zoro’s hand had made contact with your arm before his brain had caught up. “You should try them on.” It wasn’t his finest line but given the circumstances that could be forgiven. He had managed to keep his cool so far, and thankfully you hadn’t noticed just how meticulous he had been in searching for a shirt he wanted to see you in. And yes, obviously he had favourites – the ones he had thrown “nonchalantly” at you. Everything had been going “nonchalantly” until you wanted to go and all he could think about was getting you to stay. Otherwise he wouldn’t have blurted out some half-cocked excuse.

“Turn around then.”

His hand dropped to his side. Yes. Obviously. “Sorry – forget you’re … y’know. A girl.” Fuck. He faced away as instructed. Great. Fucking great. It was one thing being casual, quite another implying he thought of you as one of the guys. He closed his eyes and tried to think about anything other than how monumentally he had cocked up – only now the only thought in his head was that you were taking your clothes off. Right now. Taking his clothes off to put on more of his clothes. Clothes that hadn’t seen a wash since his last training session. That would be embarrassing if the thought of you covered in his scent wasn’t giving him such an obvious hard on. It was definitely a good thing he’d turned around. He cleared his throat. “You ready?”

“Just a second.”

His neck turned slightly, almost involuntarily before snapping back. “How long does it take to change a shirt?”

“I’m trying both.”

It was, frustratingly, entirely his own fault that you were half dressed and less than a foot away from him. His fists clenched and unclenched, trying to find anything, anything, to focus on something other than just turning around – trying to ignore the itch in his feet. He was just going to have to bullshit his way through it. Seemed like that was usually his stance around you. “You need some help or something? What’s taking so long?”

“Okay.”

#opla #one piece #one piece x reader #opla x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x readr #roronoa zoro

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cinnxmxngxrl · 22 hours ago

Text

“Jealousy”

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

part four of Camden’s sin but can be read as a stand alone

Check Alfie’s Masterlist here to see the previous parts.

Summary: Alfie’s blinded by jealousy after he finds out some man flirted with you. He’s dead set on reminding you exactly who you belong to.

WC: 3,9k

Warnings: intense smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, creampie, dom!alfie, oral (m!receiving), breeding kink, Alfie is sweet in his own way, reader is Tommy Shelby’s sister.

A/N: you don’t really need to read previous part if you only here for the smut.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

It was another week in Camden—another day pretending you were there for business. But the truth lived inside the four walls of Alfie’s office.

You barely made it three steps into the room before the air changed—thicker, tenser. Something was off. Alfie was behind his desk, slouched like usual, but the energy radiating from him was different. He wasn’t smirking. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t move. Just watched you, heavy and still, eyes like flint. That stare—the one that meant danger—made your spine prickle. It was the look he gave before things went sideways, before someone got a bullet in the skull or had their teeth shattered on the floor. It was nearly impossible with him to know what was going through his mind.

Your arms crossed instinctively, a shield against the weight of his silence. “Alright,” you exhaled. “What now?”

He tilted his head, slow and deliberate. His voice, when it came, was quiet, too quiet. The kind of calm that always came before the explosion.

“Tell me summat, yeah?” he murmured. “Was he ‘andsome?”

You frowned. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” His eyes locked on you like a rifle sight. “That fella from the meeting Tommy sent you to. Was he handsome, treacle?”

And just like that, the world clicked into place.

The memory rushed back. A few days ago in Stepney—Tommy had sent you to deal with some young punks trying to move stolen guns. You were there to make an impression, be polite and seal the trust. One of them, a man named Carter, had laid it on thick. He’d spent the entire time flirting with you, you’d kept your distance, staying cordial but never encouraging him. He was the kind of man who thought he was charming just because women didn’t slap him across the face. Objectively good-looking, sure, but nothing else. Barely even looked at him. Because none of them were Alfie.

“How do you even know about that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Are you having me followed now? Sending your men to go everywhere I go?”

“I got ears everywhere,” he said coolly. “Loyal ones, right? The kind that let me know when some wanker’s flirtin’ with what’s mine.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come off it, Alfie. It was business.”

“Oi, don’t talk to me like I’m fuckin’ stupid,” he growled, rising slow from behind the desk like something uncoiling. “You let that posh cunt flirt with you to make a deal? Smile at you? Did you let him fuckin’ touch you?”

Your heart kicked. “No,” you snapped. “Of course not.”

His nostrils flared. His voice dropped to a vicious whisper. “Word is you smiled at ‘im. Laughed even.”

“I was being polite,” you bit out. “Diplomatic. You know that word, Alfie?”

“I don’t give two shits about diplomacy,” he hissed. “You let him look at you like you were his for the takin’. Like he could fuck you over some piss-stained table and then have a pint about it with ‘is mates. And I—” He slammed a hand against the desk, “—don’t share what’s mine.”

You stepped toward him, slow but furious, jaw clenched. “You don’t own me, Alfie.”

His face twisted like you’d punched him. “Don’t say that,” he snarled, closing the distance in two steps. His heat rolled off him, his presence wrapping around you like fire. “Don’t you fuckin’ say that like you ain’t still walkin’ ‘round with your cunt tastin’ like me.”

A flush of desire surged through you before you could stop it, betraying the fury in your voice. As much as his jealousy was annoying it turned you on in unspeakable ways.

“You’re acting like a bloody lunatic,” you hissed, the words shaking from the burn between your thighs. His madness—his obsession—should’ve scared you. Instead, it made you ache.

“I’m actin’ like a man who can’t fuckin’ breathe thinkin’ about another man touchin’ you,” he growled. “Who can’t stand the idea of someone else thinkin’ they’ve got a fuckin’ chance with his woman.”

“Since when exactly am I your woman?” You shot back.

His pupils blew wide. “Since the day you walked through that fuckin’ door.”

He leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear, voice a filthy rasp. “You want other blokes lookin’ at you like that again? I’ll put you in chains, lock you in this fuckin’ office, and make sure the only name you remember is mine.”

“Alfie it was just a stupid meeting, you’re blowing this out of prop—“

You barely got a breath in before he snapped again.

“How would you feel, right—if you saw me shaggin’ some slag, eh?” Alfie snapped, his voice low and sharp, like it cut through the air between you.

“I wasn’t shaggin’ him, Alfie,” you said, trying to stay calm. “I barely even looked at him.”

Alfie’s eyes narrowed, jaw twitching. “Yeah, but you laughed.” His voice was quieter now, rougher, like something raw was clawing its way out of him. “You laughed with him. And I only want you laughin’ at my fuckin’ jokes.”

For a moment, the room felt smaller, with something heavier than anger. You could feel it in his voice, in the way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours.

“I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you,” he bit out, raw and hoarse. “That’s the fuckin’ problem, innit?”

His rage unraveled, twisting into something vulnerable. Wild. He looked unhinged—every thought laid bare, no filter, no mask.

“I’d carve his eyes out,” he spat, trembling. “Feed ‘em to the fuckin’ dogs. Let the fuckin’ crows have the rest of him. I won’t let no bastard think he’s got a chance to fuck what’s mine.”

And just like that, the shift came, so fast you almost missed it. His anger turning into something softer, more desperate.

He collapsed into your space, burying his face against your neck, voice cracking. “Fuckin’ hurts me,” he whispered. “Just thinkin’ about someone else touchin’ you. Someone else hearin’ those moans you make just for me. I’m mad at the fuckin’ world that tries to take you…to tempt you away from me.”

His hands gripped your hips with brutal need, yanking you close. You gasped softly as your body reacted, arching into his hold like it was your instinct.

“You need to trust that I chose you, Alfie,” you whispered, threading your fingers into his curls. “You think I’d leave you for some bootlicking bastard who couldn’t handle a real deal—let alone a woman like me?”

He froze. His eyes found yours—wild, glassy, desperate.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say it again, that you wouldn’t leave.”

“I won’t leave, Alfie. I’m here. You’ve got me.”

That broke him.

His mouth crashed into yours, brutal and claiming, like a man starving. There was no hesitation, no build-up—just raw hunger. His lips smashed against yours like he meant to devour every sound you’d ever made for another man.

It wasn’t a kiss, it was a mark, a stake in the ground. Possession. Heat. Teeth clashing and breath stolen. His beard scraped your skin and his mouth tasted like blood and whiskey, like violence and desire.

One hand grabbed your jaw possessively like he needed to hold your words in place. His grip was rough, fingers digging into the hinge of your jaw as if daring you to deny him. To say no. To even try.

The other was already hiking your skirt up, fingers shaking as he undid his belt.

Metal clinked, leather hissed free. His hand was shaking— not from nerves, but from rage, from need so tight it frayed at the edges of control.

It was the kind of urgency only jealousy like this could create.

“Yeah, see now, I want every bleedin’ fucker in this city to know, right? This cunt, yeah?” His voice was low, feral, lips dragging across your jaw. “Don’t smile at anyone else. Don’t open for anyone else. Don’t moan for anyone else but Alfie fuckin’ Solomons.”

He brought two fingers up to your lips “Open up, get them nice and wet for me” he said.

You took his fingers into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around them and sucking onto him as if it was his cock, coating them with your drool until they were dripping.

Your lips sealed tight around his knuckles, your cheeks hollowing as you drew him in deeper, slowly, deliberately. The taste of salt and skin flooded your tongue. You moaned softly, letting the sound vibrate against his fingers, and watched his pupils flare with dark hunger.

Alfie hummed in satisfaction, his eyes focused on your mouth as he pressed his thick digits against your tongue and pumped them in and out your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, more to himself than you. Each drag of his fingers from your lips came slick and slow, strings of spit clinging between them and your tongue. “That’s it, treacle… just like that. You suck anything with that mouth, and I forget every fuckin’ thing else.”

Once he was satisfied he took them out of your mouth your lips pop off with a wet gasp, breathing heavily, saliva glistening on your chin. His fingers trailed down your bottom lip, smearing it, eyes locked on the filthy mess you’d made.

Those two fingers drove deep inside your tight pussy, rough, practiced, curling into that spot that made you whimper and clutch at him.

You gasped, legs trembling, body reacting like muscle memory, like it knew the shape of him. Like it had been waiting to be claimed.

The way his fingers curled inside you was so precise, so punishing, it ripped a sound from your throat you didn’t know you could make.

“I don’t share, alright? I don’t lend, neither. I fuckin’ own,” he rasped. “An’ this—this sweet, tight cunt—belongs to me. And if any bastard so much as looks, I’ll send ‘im to God with his bollocks in his mouth.”

His voice was feral, thick with possession. Each word made your pussy clench tighter around his fingers, soaking his knuckles.

Your body bucked, your moans were involuntary, as he fucked you with his hand. His fingers pumped harder in and out of you, driving you closer to the edge.

He shoved them deeper, twisted them cruelly, making slick, lewd sounds fill the room—wet and shameless.

You couldn’t stop it—your hips grinding into his palm, needing more, needing him. You were humping his hand like a desperate thing, mindless from the pressure he built between your thighs.

“Alfie…fuck,” you whimpered, your hips bucking into his hand. “Feels so fucking good.” You were gasping, babbling—more noises than words now. Your legs shook, eyes rolling back.

“Yeah, tha’s it, innit? Tha’s my good girl,” he growled, voice gone ragged. “Say my name while I ruin you. Louder. I want all Camden to fuckin’ know who owns this pussy.”

His thumb found your clit and pressed down hard, rubbing tight and ruthless circles like he wanted to brutalize you with pleasure, sending sparks up your spine. Your entire body went taut, thighs trembling, your breath hitching as pleasure shot through your core.

Your legs trembled, and your orgasm hit fast, ripping through you like a live wire. Your vision blurred as you came, your body locking up around his hand, your cries echoing off the office walls. You clung to him like an anchor, like he was the only solid thing in a world that had just split wide open.

He didn’t let up—his fingers kept moving, pushing you through the aftershocks, milking every last ripple of pleasure until your body went slack.

You sobbed into his coat, overwhelmed, twitching with overstimulation as he wrung out every drop.

He pulled his fingers free, all covered in your slick, and sucked them into his mouth with a loud groan. The sound he made was filthy—guttural, satisfied. His eyes locked on yours as his tongue licked your taste from his knuckles. Like a man tasting the proof of ownership.

Then his cock, thick and furious was out, slapping against his stomach. Glorious and proud.

You dropped to your knees, kissed your way down his chest—tongue tracing the lines of him, teeth scraping lightly over the mess of hair beneath his sternum. You felt the way his stomach tensed, the way his breath hitched when you reached his hips.

You loved this part—loved owning him like this, making him lose my mind, getting to see Alfie in his most vulnerable state.

Your mouth was soft and wet, your hand stroking the base as you worked him slow, deliberate, teasing. You flattened your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting salt and sweat, hearing the way he grunted every time you took him deeper.

“Look at that—fuckin’ perfect. Mouth’s so warm, so wet… I’d fuckin’ die happy right here.” He gasped.

You sucked harder, letting the spit drip from your mouth down his shaft, let your hand work slick over the wet skin as you hollowed your cheeks and made a mess of him.

Slobber spilled from your lips, running in thick strands down his cock to his balls. You stroked him with one hand, sloppy and eager, while your mouth worked him like you needed it to breathe.

“Make a fuckin’ mess, go on. Drool all over it.” He groaned. “Want you sloppy, want you lookin’ like you can’t even help yourself.”

He was grinning down at you, eyes wild, watching your mouth stretch and suck like it was the only thing you were good for.

He grabbed the back of your head now, fingers tight in your hair but not pushing—just holding, just watching you devour him with reverence and sin.

His grip tightened every time your throat caught around the head of his cock, every gag making him groan, every messy suck making him twitch.

“Look at this,” he muttered, half to himself, eyes glazed. “Sweet lil’ mouth stretchin’ over my cock like she belongs there. My pretty girl takin’ it so fuckin’ good.”

You moaned around him—loud and filthy—and he shuddered. You bobbed faster now, head moving with slick rhythm, hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, tongue swirling every time you pulled back to catch your breath.

“That moan just now—yeah, I felt that. Felt it in your throat, you filthy little thing.” He chuckled low, breathless, like it was driving him mad. “Fuckin’ felt it vibrate round me. You moanin’ on my cock like a dirty prayer.”

You let yourself get nasty with it—strings of spit clinging between your lips and his shaft every time you came up gasping, mascara streaking your cheeks, mouth raw and shining.

Alfie’s legs tensed, hips jerking. You looked up at him—wet lips, flushed cheeks, eyes blown wide with lust—and smiled with his cock still in your mouth.

He gripped your hair tighter, holding your head steady, and started thrusting into your mouth. Slow at first, letting himself sink in deep, then harder, filthier—like he needed it.

Tears blurred your lashes as he pushed deeper, hitting the back of your throat. He watched it all—watched you gag a little, then swallow him again, eyes watering, lips stretched around him.

“You like this?” he hissed. “You like bein’ used like this? On your knees, gettin’ fucked by your man’s cock?”

You held eye contact as you swallowed him deep again, let a thick trail of spit leak from the corner of your mouth on purpose. You knew exactly what it did to him.

“Right, that’s fuckin’ enough now, innit? Can’t have you makin’ me blow before we even get to the good bit.” He growls, yanking your mouth off his cock with a slick, wet pop, spit stringing between your lips and his tip, and dragging you up with one rough hand.

Before you could even gasp, he spun you, slammed you down onto his desk, the wood groaning beneath your back, and climbed over you like a storm.

The wooden desk creaked under the weight of both your bodies. Papers scattered. An ink pot rolled and crashed to the floor. His weight crushed you into the desk as his hand shoved your legs apart.

He drove into you with a brutal thrust that stole your breath. Fucking you like a man possessed. The sound of your bodies meeting—wet, loud, obscene—filled the office. He bottomed out in a single stroke, and you saw stars.

His cock hit so deep you nearly screamed, the stretch brutal, perfect. Your back bowed, mouth open in a silent wail.

“You know what that posh little twat Carter would’ve done with you? yeah?” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucked you once, right? Bragged to his mates, then left you empty.”

He continued, “he wouldn’t know what to do with a tight little hole like this,” he sneered. “Would’ve made you fake it, yeah? But me—I ruin it. I fuck it till it forgets anyone else ever existed.”

Each word was punctuated by the slam of his hips, the slap of skin against skin echoing like gunshots. The noise was brutal, wet and violent. His balls slapped your ass with each vicious thrust.

“Alfie—” you gasped.

“I don’t leave,” he snarled, hips snapping toward. “I fuck you full. I fuck you good. I stay.” He said with a sharp thrust, as if to emphasize what he was saying.

You cried out, your nails digging into the edge of the desk, dragging against the wood as he fucked the words into you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, sweat beading on his brow. “You feel what you do to me, treacle? You feel how deep I am? I’m so deep I’ll fuckin’ ruin every other man for you. They’ll never fit. Never dare try.

Your hips lifted to meet every thrust, greedy, frantic. You reached back blindly, dragging him deeper inside you.

“Harder,” you begged. “Please, Alfie—fuck me harder.”

He grunted and obliged with a savage snap of his hips that made the desk creak dangerously. The sound of it—so loud, so raw—made you bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“Good girl,” he hissed. “My perfect fuckin’ girl. Look at you—takin’ it like you’re made for it. Like you were made for me. Anyone else would break, but you love it.”

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so he could see your face twisted in pleasure, so he could watch every second of you falling apart on his cock.

You moaned louder under the pressure, your lips parted, drool slicking your chin as you begged without shame.

“This is what you wanted, innit? Me jealous. Me mad. You like seein’ me go rabid over you. Want you to feel this cock every time you look at other man.”

Your cries were shattered, breathless, and desperate, each thrust of his thick cock, buried inside you to the hilt, stealing another piece of your sanity.

“This cunt’s got memory, eh? She remembers me” he panted. “Tightens up like she knows I’m the only one allowed in. That’s loyalty, that is. Better than half the blokes I do business with.”

His rhythm turned ragged, unhinged and erratic. You felt him losing control, the heat building in his groans. You could sense him coming undone—hips stuttering, voice breaking, teeth bared like a wolf. He was already close to his breaking point.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he snarled. “Want you leakin’ for days. Want you drippin’ in me every time you walk, want the boys in the street to smell me on you—saying yeah, that’s Alfie’s girl right there. Know this cunt is taken.”

He slammed into you with punishing force, over and over, desperate to bury himself so deep no one would ever get you out.

“I’d cover you in my cum if I could,” he whispered. “Every part of you. Face. Tits. Belly. Neck. Fuckin’ everywhere. You’d walk around drippin’ in me, and no one’d say a word ‘cause they’d know.”

“Alfie—please,” you cried. “Do it. Give it to me.”

“That’s it,” he growled. One hand hooked your leg up onto his chest as he pounded into you, even deeper now. Your body arched, back bowing off the desk as he found that spot that made everything go white. “You feel so perfect, treacle.”

“You know what I should do? I should put a fuckin’ baby in you. Yeah… i’m gonna fuck a baby into you. That’s how they’ll know. That you’re owned.” He said.

“Alfie, don’t—” Your moans cut you off, You knew it was a terrible idea, and that he was only mumbling in the heat of the moment, but still your walls clenched at the words. “Don’t joke about that…”

The thought of it, of being claimed so fully, so permanently, made something primal tighten deep inside you.

“I’m not jokin’,” he said, low and dark. “I’ll do it. One day, I’ll fuckin’ do it. Put a baby in you. Fill you up proper. What’ll Tommy say then, eh? His little sister walking round full of my seed, carrying my fuckin’ name inside her?”

His voice went soft and filthy, dripping with depravity. “You’d look so pretty, all round and swollen with my child. You’d leak for me every night, beggin’ to be filled again.”

His hand moved to your stomach, pressing flat against your navel as he fucked you deep, rocking his hips into you, fast and heavy. “Right here. That’s where It’d grow. My baby. Our baby.”

That tipped you over.

The words. The pressure. The stretch of him inside you. All of it crashed over you in a tidal wave.

You came hard, pulsing around him, crying out as your orgasm ripped through every muscle. His own orgasm followed quickly with a roar, hands clamped tight around your waist, burying himself into you, and emptying himself inside you with a final thrust, his body convulsing against yours.

“Take it,” he growled. “Fuckin’ take it all.”

You felt every pulse of him, hot and endless, flooding you so deep it made your whole body tremble. Thick spurts, deep and claiming, like he wanted to fill you up until you couldn’t hold anything else.

He collapsed against you, panting into your neck, holding you like he never wanted to let go, and didn’t pull out. Just stayed, buried deep, both of you trembling. You could feel him twitching still, cock heavy and spent, but not softening yet—like even his body refused to let you go.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” he whispered raggedy against your neck. “If he looks at you again. Him or any other cunt who thinks you ain’t mine.”

“I know, Alfie,” you whispered, heart pounding.

“You gonna let another man look at you like that? Talk to you like that? After this? After I made you cum on my cock like it’s your fuckin’ home?”

He thrust once, shallow and slow, just to feel the way you fluttered around him—overstimulated, used, and still clinging to him inside.

His hand slid down between your thighs again, just to feel the mess he’d made—his spend leaking out around his cock, sticky and obscene. He groaned into your neck, completely feral.

When he finally pulled out, you whimpered at the loss, at the wet mess dripping down your thighs. But Alfie caught it—used his fingers to push it back in. Shoved two fingers inside, wet and messy.

“Nah, nah, none of that escapin’, yeah?” he muttered, thumb brushing your stretched, leaking entrance. “You’re gonna keep every drop, love. Need that womb soaked in it.”

He leaned over you, kissed your neck, trailing his beard down your stomach.

“Feel that?” he muttered against your stomach. “That’s my cum in you. My fuckin’ seed. Gonna do this again and again till I see you waddlin’, yeah?”

Then, slowly, he pulled his fingers out. His weight still over you, breath hot on your neck, and for the first time all day, he was quiet.

“You’re still shakin’,” he muttered, voice almost gentle. “Fuckin’ hell, I did that, didn’t I?”

“You always do,” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone, and when he pulled back, his eyes were softer. Still wild, still dangerous—but worshipful.

“Don’t ever make me jealous again, darlin’. I’ll kill someone. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill ‘em.”

“I didn’t do anything, you’re a crazy bastard.”

He chuckled and pressed his lips to your throat, possessive and soft. “You’re the only thing I need,” he murmured. “I don’t need peace. Not heaven. Not forgiveness. Just you. Like this, lying under me, breathing hard, clawing my back, dripping with me.”

You stayed wrapped in him, bodies tangled, breath syncing like your souls were still catching up. Until he broke the silence.

“I fuckin’ love you.” It slipped out of him like a curse. Like he didn’t mean to say it. The words tumbled from him like a confession. “I’ve loved you since the first time you walked in here and made me feel like some fuckin’ schoolboy who couldn’t stop staring at your tits.”

You kissed his chest, breathless. “I love you too, Alfie. God help me, I do.”

He stood up on his feet, looking more disheveled than before. Hands roaming over his desk’s drawer for a cloth. He cleans you up himself, his gruff hands holding the rough towel between your legs, wiping the little drops of his seed that had dripped down your thighs, trying to be as delicate as he can, even if delicacy wasn’t his strongest virtue.

“Look at this mess. My fuckin’ mess. All over you. In you. On you. Can’t even let you leave like this—might start a riot.”

He cupped your cunt again after wiping, like he didn’t quite want to stop touching you, like he needed to memorize the way you felt—still hot and used, still twitching from being fucked within an inch of your sanity.

Alfie leaned under the desk, and you watched as he searched for something—only for him to stand up with a smug grin on his face, holding your underwear in his hand, which had somehow ended up beneath the desk.

He brought them to his nose, shameless, inhaling the scent of your arousal like it was his fucking lifeline. “Better than fuckin’ opium, this is. Gets me high every bloody time.”

“Jesus Christ, Alfie—”

“Think I’ll send ‘im your scent-stained knickers in a box—let him know exactly what he’s not gettin’.”

“Nothing you say surprises me anymore.” You chuckled, wrapping your arms around him, needing to feel the skin to skin contact between your bodies.

“I meant it before. I’ll put a fuckin’ ring on you,” he whispered against your hair. “Then I’ll put a baby in you. That way they’ll all know you’re mine.”

And he was a man of his word.

A/N: Really hope y’all enjoyed this part. Not sure know if the whole breeding kink is your thing but I think it’s hottttt.

Next part’s gonna get even spicier, there’s a big revealation coming.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about posting a new part of this every Saturday, I’m planing to make this story seven parts total cause I don’t wanna over do it, and maybe after that focusing on writing different Alfie one shots, but idk yet.

Also, constructive criticism and request of what you’d like to see next are always welcomed (as well as comments, likes and reblogs) Thank you sm for your support<3

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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