#I have a lot of thoughts about their relationship

[miedei]

what can i do for you?

hiding your relationship doesn't exactly go according to plan, not when you have two good-natured coworkers armed with a magazine. (aka the love languages fic i've been neglecting)

a/n: this has been in my drafts since december omfg. not totally sure how i feel about it but i like it i think!! title's from what can i do by penelope road :)

cw: reader has she/her pronouns, established relationship, sneaking around, lots of fluff, garcia and morgan being super nosy and oblivious at the same time, also reader collects shot glasses in this one because i do that too and what i say goes

wc: 3.3k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

His hand in yours is warm, warmer than it should be considering the cool breeze that hits as you walk out of the metro station. A rush of giddiness rolls over you, scrutinizing the domestic comfort of this moment.

Four months of whispered affirmations and nights holed up in either of your apartments have led you to feeling more in love with him than you thought was possible. Even just contemplating it brings a rush of blood to your face, forcing you to huddle closer to him, leaning your cheek against the puffy exterior of his coat. 

Without looking, you can feel his shoulders shake in silent laughter, your mind conjuring the image of his lips pressed together, suppressing the giggles you know are threatening to burst out of him. 

“Cold?” The amusement bubbles up in his tone, and you both know that your uncharacteristically shy demeanour has nothing to do with the temperature. His hand comes up to rub at your shoulder comfortingly. He’s awful.

“I hate dating profilers.” Despite your words, your mouth twitches up into a smile.

“Well, I love dating a profiler. And as a profiler, I can tell you do too.” A mock-exasperated sigh leaves your mouth at his words, but you make no move to part from him.

It’s only when the imposing Quantico buildings come into view that you finally step away from him, hand slipping out of his. His lips quirk up as he eyes you. 

“You think they’d be suspicious, us showing up in the elevator at the same time every day.” 

“Don’t jinx it! We’re lucky they haven’t been insinuating themselves into every part of our lives yet.” You step into the elevator, leaning against the wall and staring him down.

“Hey, if they figure it out, did you know it’s statistically more likely that it’ll be because of you? You touch my shoulder on average 17 times a day. Even when we’re on a case.”

“Oh, don’t start. How many times did you almost call me ‘angel’ yesterday? I can’t believe Hotch hasn’t noticed, especially that one time in his office.” It’s gratifying to see the apples of his cheeks redden with embarrassment. 

Stepping into the bullpen, you step away from him, striding to your desk and calling out greetings.

“Morning, guys. What’s that?” 

Emily and Derek are huddled over Garcia, who’s sitting in Derek’s desk chair with a magazine in hand. 

“Well, sweetheart, someone’s missing their monthly Teen Vogue, it’s accidentally been delivered here instead. We’re just catching up on what the young female populace is doing these days.” Garcia answers absentmindedly, their eyes all fixed on the glossy pages.

“Teen Vogue? Need I remind you, we’re in the FBI. Surely you’ve got work to do.” You stare pointedly at the stacks of paperwork piling up on Emily and Derek’s desks.

“If you must know, this is research, kid. How are we supposed to do our jobs if we don’t know the interests of such a huge potential victim pool?” Derek croons over to you, voice sugary-sweet.

Garcia calls out to you. “Did you know that, apparently, even unconsciously, if a person is in love, they will always demonstrate the 5 love languages to whoever they’re into?”

She holds up the magazine, open to a glossy blue page with ‘LOVE LANGUAGES’ etched on it in swirly handwriting.

You can see Spencer tilt his head at his desk, and beat him to the punch. 

“Are you sure that’s true, Penny? Doesn’t seem very statistically sound.”

“There’s actually been very little scientific research done into the concept of love languages as they’re considered colloquially, and what little there is really doesn’t support it as an actual concept that strengthens relationships.” Spencer chimes in, swivelling back and forth in his desk chair as he muses. 

Emily chuckles, wisely retreating to her desk as Penelope and Derek begin to puff up like irritated cats. 

“Yeah? And what would you know about that, pretty boy? Had some experience lately?” 

It’s clearly meant in a joking way, no real accusation behind it, but Spencer’s eyes widen just a fraction. Enough to bring their attention to it. Enough to get them to pounce. 

You shake your head softly, turning to your desk as Derek and Penelope descend on him, peppered questions being met with resolute silence (and occasional sputtering).

It’s a solid 30 minutes before the two of them let up on Spencer, and that’s only because JJ sweeps through with a case for the team. As you all file into the briefing room, it’s clear Penelope and Derek are still scrutinizing Spencer from across the round table. 

As JJ explains the details of the case, you can’t help but smile at the sight of Spencer patting his reddened cheeks, trying to come down from the mortification and stress of fending off the others. 

In a lull in conversation, you rise from your seat, crossing the room to the pot of coffee sitting under the window. Snatching up two distinctive mugs, you set about pouring coffee, adding copious amounts of sugar into one and considerably less into another, as you muse aloud about the case. 

“Sounds like the victimology is pretty clear. Young men in their 20s, all successful academics who have relatively small social circles,” With the two mugs in hand, you return to the table, setting the FBI logo-emblazoned one in front of Spencer with a discreet brush of your knuckles to his shoulder. 

He looks up with a soft smile, nudging his shoulder back into you, mouthing thank you.

“Should help us narrow down who would’ve interacted with them all.” You finish, settling down in your seat in between Rossi and Emily. 

Hotch nods. 

“The local PD’s already got a few people of interest in mind, but they’re holding off on questioning until we arrive. Garcia, you’re coming with us, the victims’ tech is proving difficult for the local experts to get into. Hopefully this will be a quick one. Wheels up in 30.”

There are multiple decisive nods around the table, most of you standing to grab your go-bags.

Notably, Penelope and Derek stay behind, watching you leave the room with unreadable expressions on their faces. 

If you’d stayed, you might have caught her pulling a glossy, torn-out piece of paper out of Derek’s pocket, crossing off a phrase.

The police department you find yourselves in is more sparse than you’d expected. The police force spread thin, there are only a few officers still in the building. The setting sun filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the conference room. 

“...So, we’ll spend this evening going through the details, and I’m confident we’ll have a profile by tomorrow morning. Based on that, we can see whether any of your suspects fit.”

Hotch’s no-nonsense voice cuts through the light chatter in the room, and the local captain nods. The two superiors walk out of the room to the captain’s office, leaving you with the rest of your team and a local officer. 

Nodding politely at the officer, you walk over to the large table, digging into the copious boxes of evidence stacked on the table and murmuring your initial thoughts to Emily. 

“The victims were all part of the city’s chess league, save for the second one. That seems significant.”

Before she gets the chance to reply, a brutish officer in uniform butts in, shouldering past Emily to take the seat next to you. 

“So, you guys get a lot of these murder cases, huh? This is pretty huge for us, but I guess it’s everyday for you.”

There’s a glint of morbid curiosity in his eye, leaning into your space as he waits for your answer. 

“Um, yes, we’re assigned to murder cases from time to time. But we also consult on all sorts of crimes, like—”

He waves a hand in the air, as if dismissing your statement.

“Yeah, uh-huh. What’s the craziest murder you’ve seen? You know, the real gory ones.”

He’s scooted closer to you now, his face lit up with excitement. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Spencer start towards you, but you’d rather shut this down yourself.

“I mean, yes, we do see quite a bit of violent crime. But the aim of our unit is to shut it down, not sensationalize it. So, we kind of need all of our attention on this case right now. You understand, right?” You try not to, but a hint of exasperation creeps into your tone.

A flash of irritation sparks in his eyes, but the officer backs down, rising out of the seat and tossing a half-hearted agreement at you. 

You sigh as he leaves the room, and Spencer makes his way over to you with a wry smile. 

“I’m glad you dealt with him, I wouldn’t be able to do it as quickly. You’re always so good at dealing with people like that, ang—” He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes darting around the room nervously. 

Holding in a laugh at his slip up, you nudge his foot under the table.

“Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate that.”

After he not-so-discreetly attempts to see if anyone noticed his failure to maintain the facade, the two of you settle in to the casework.

Notably, Derek only gets to work after holding a hushed conversation with Penelope at her laptop.

Presenting a profile is always exhausting, but doing it first thing in the morning after basically pulling an all-nighter is worse.

You stand in front of the gathered crowd alongside the team, alternating with explaining different aspects of the profile. Once you’re done waxing poetic about the presumed trigger that set off the string of murders, you get to sit back and let Derek do the last bit (thank god).

Leaning against the edge of the desk behind you, you put a lot of effort into looking stoic and professional, hoping the gathered agents and officers can’t see the exhaustion oozing out of you. Although it seems an eternity, it’s probably another five minutes of talking until they’re dismissed, and the team gathers in the conference room. 

Hotch looks surprisingly alert, standing at the head of the table and gesturing to different points of interest on the map mounted on the wall. His voice drones on, your drowsy ears registering each sentence a few seconds after. 

“Prentiss and Rossi, you two stay here and question the suspects that the uniforms are bringing in. There’s probably nothing to it, but give it a try anyway.” 

Resting your hip against the table, you stare bleary-eyed at the various faces tacked on to the whiteboard. Despite the coffee in your hands slowly bringing you back to life, you can’t help but muffle a yawn, your upper body swaying with the force of it. 

“Morgan, JJ, you go down to the local news station, see if the tips they’re receiving are actually any good. One of their reporters has been into the PD every day asking for updates. Find out if it’s anything more than journalistic curiosity.”

Spencer steps up next to you, nudging your shoulder with his. Without saying anything, his eyes lull you into a sense of ease. Looking around to see that everyone’s staring at Hotch, you can’t help but lean into him slightly, the lines of your upper arms melding together until your bodies press against each other pleasantly. 

 A soft sigh leaves his lips, and you’re inclined to agree with him. Just this level of touch has you melting, the tension in your body slowly seeping out of your bones. 

“L/N and I are going to meet with the families of the first and second victims. Reid and Garcia, go to the workplace of the latest victim. His computer system needs your expertise, Garcia, and Reid, you take the time to interview his coworkers about his behaviour before the murder.”

Hotch looks around for everyone’s assent, then nods once more, dismissing everyone to their tasks. 

You and Spencer make sure to part from each other quickly, hoping to evade suspicion. Flashing him a smile, you brush past him, catching his pinky with yours for a split second before you follow Hotch out the door. 

Spencer is left in the conference room, brushing his thumb over his pinky with an absentminded smile, oblivious to the shit-eating grin that’s found itself on Penelope’s face. 

Spencer and Penelope are the last to get back from their assignment, the rest of you gathered in the PD before the sun begins to set. Derek’s sitting at the display along the wall, currently showing the live feed of the suspect in the interrogation room along with Hotch. 

The case is shaping up to be a relatively short one, so if the interrogation goes well, you might be able to spend the night at Spencer’s.

Rossi’s voice joins the soft haze of conversation, and you finally snap out of your head in time to hear the tail end of his statement. 

“...Hotch is pretty sure that Reid will be able to crack him. He’s putting on airs, the only way we'll get him to confess is if he doesn’t perceive any threats to his ego.”

Emily nods from her seat beside you, chiming in. 

“They’ve been gone for a while, has Garcia called?”

JJ grins softly, unlocking her phone to display a message full of angry emojis and very little text. 

“I’m assuming something held them up, but she says they’ll be here pretty soon.”

The room falls into an amiable silence, all of you alternating between getting a headstart on your reports of the case and watching Hotch glare at the suspect. Emily lets out multiple heavy sighs, the the last two days catching up to all of you.

It’s probably another fifteen minutes until Spencer and Penelope finally burst through the doors, the latter looking very huffy.

Rossi throws his hands up in mock exasperation, questioning the pair.

“About time you showed up! What took so long?”

Penelope groans, rolling her eyes and plunking herself down into a chair. 

“I was ready to be here a while ago, but Boy Genius over here felt the urge to browse multiple novelty stores, for god knows what reason, before he deigned to let us come back!”

Her cheeks are flushed, and Derek and JJ quickly devolve into poking fun at her vexation. Rossi quickly stands, grabbing Spencer by the shoulders in preparation to steer him into the interrogation room. However, Spencer slips out of his grasp with a lithe finger held in the air. 

Apologies on the tip of his tongue, he paces across the room to where you’re sitting, hand delving into his pants pocket and emerging with a small object wrapped in brown paper. He comes to a stop next to your chair, bending over your shoulder to snatch up a folder from the desk (one that you know has nothing to do with the interrogation he’s about to perform). As he does so, he takes the opportunity to slip the object in your palm. 

Straightening up with the folder in hand, he moves back over to Rossi as if nothing happened. 

Turning the small, solid object over in your hand, you watch the two of them leave the room with a soft smile on your face. You have an idea what might be in your possession. 

The first time Spencer stayed at your apartment, he’d taken a particular liking to the collection of souvenir shot glasses that you had on your mantelpiece. Once you explained your goal of buying one in every city where you’ve had a case, he’s taken it upon himself to help you. 

Just as you’d suspected, when you sneak a glance at the object under the table, a tiny shot glass with a cartoon cat stares back up at you. 

A rush of affection runs through you, slipping the glass into your bag as you attempt to hold in a smile. 

Among the many sounds currently coming from the frustrated Penelope, one seems to be less angry, and more triumphant.

Thank goodness, Spencer gets through to the suspect in an hour, extracting a confession that will more than nail the suspect in court. Because of that, the entire team now finds themselves on the jet once more, in various states of sleepiness. 

Rossi is knocked out, head leaned against the wall, mouth agape. Hotch is similarly asleep, with JJ and Emily across from him, sharing wired earphones as they both try and get some shuteye. 

Derek and Penelope are sitting on the couch, leaving you and Spencer to claim the table. 

You’re not complaining, not when Spencer’s foot is pressing against yours from the seat across from you, and you can use the excuse of taunting him about the chessboard to hear his melodic voice float over to you.

“What was it Gideon always told you? I don’t think you’re exactly thinking outside the box right now, Spence.”

His eyes dance as he looks up at you, hand hovering over the board. 

“You think so? I think I’ll be done with you in 5 more moves,”

A glint of cockiness reflects in his irises, forcing you to shift in your seat, cheeks flushing. 

The two of you quickly duck your heads though, both of you sucked into the game. 

Low voices murmur compliments and jabs, and his ankle hooks around yours before long, sending a tremor of fondness through your body. 

You’re so focused on the game and Spencer, that you don’t notice how Derek and Penelope have fallen silent. It’s only when Derek scoffs loudly that either of you acknowledge them. Shooting you a look loaded with meaning, he gestures to the kitchenette on the other side of the cabin, motioning for you to follow him there. 

With a confused glance at Spencer, you rise from your seat and trail after Derek, watching Penelope slide into your vacated seat with a determined look on her face. 

Turning to Derek, you’re met with teasing eyes, his eyebrows waggling as he looks at you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“What’s up, Morgan?”

He chuckles, the sound coming from low in his chest as he stares you down.

“Sweetheart, you’re not exactly being subtle.”

A silence follows, as you try and discern what he means. Seemingly getting sick of it, he sighs, launching into speech again.

“If you haven’t noticed, you’ve been acting mighty close to Spencer recently, don’t you think? Making him coffee, playing chess, nearly falling asleep on him. You know what that sounds like to me? A crush.”

He brandishes his phone, the grainy screen showing a familiar blue page. The list of love languages has been marked up, each item crossed out and scrawled handwriting marring the image. 

Barely hiding your disbelief, you stop peering at the phone to stare up at Derek instead.

“You’re bringing up Teen Vogue again? What is this supposed to mean?”

He laughs at your incredulity, slinging an arm around your shoulder to tug you into his side, his other hand coming up to ruffle your hair. 

“Fine, fine, you don’t have to say anything. But I’ll help, sweetheart. If you need to convince the kid to man up and ask you out, I’ve got some strategies.”

You can’t stifle a giggle, not when you look over your shoulder to see Spencer with a harried look on his face, trying to listen to Penelope’s frenzied chatter (she’s louder than she thinks she is, you can hear her say get some flowers, and just ask her!). 

Whatever else she’s saying, you’re sure the two of you will laugh about it later, when you inevitably end the night in his bed.

[hairspray-heart]

this is actually something important to internalize if you grew up with parents who manipulated you maliciously during abuse. just because someone once influenced you with the intent to harm does not mean that ALL influence equates to manipulation and/or harm.

for instance, my parents were both very manipulative, especially my father. one of his most memorable forms of manipulation involved a dangerous combination of gaslighting and love bombing—and mind you, it was not as benign as whatever passes for those terms online in 2025, but that's another post—and it set me up to feel threatened whenever someone experienced anything differently from how I experienced it, or whenever anyone was particularly affectionate toward me or praised me too highly, because it triggered a trauma response and I was inclined to defend myself.

this meant that my wife showering me with affection could feel threatening to me, even though it was not precipitated by the grievous harm that always preceded my father's love bombing. it meant that if she said that she didn't see something the same way I did, I might feel threatened, especially if the topic was a disagreement or some form of conflict, because my father often gaslit me about his behavior during conflict after the fact.

please note that in these situations, my wife was not manipulating me. she wasn't gaslighting me by telling me that her perception didn't match mine. she wasn't love bombing me when she showed me a lot of affection. my trauma response was activated by those behaviors, but the behaviors themselves weren't harmful at all.

in fact, discussing differing perspectives after a conflict is part of reconciliation. you need to communicate and figure out what happened so that next time, it can be a conversation instead of a conflict. that's healthy. it's fine for your spouse to shower you with praise when you got into the honors program you applied to or whatever your personal "BIG YAY! YOU DID IT!" situation is.

abuse can make normal or healthy actions flag as danger because they once signaled danger. our brains create a lot of heuristics to shortcut cognitive processes and let us react quickly. these shortcuts can save your ass in abusive situations. I have severe hypervigilance that flags shifts in mood, expression, posture, etc. those things used to signify danger with my father. seeing them early and preparing for fallout was vital to survival.

once you're out of the situation, you HAVE TO unlearn the behavior that once saved your life. this is hard! my body and mind internalized that reacting quickly and seeing through manipulations would keep me safe.

but the thing is, to interact with life is to manipulate. to pick up an item is to manipulate it with your hands. to write a good paper is to manipulate the professor to give you a good grade. to be kind and thoughtful to your friends is to manipulate them to like you and respond in kind. a baby crying is manipulating their caregiver to care for them. to interact is to manipulate and influence.

when you grow up in danger, your mind and body are primed to expect that the whole world and everyone in it is like your parents were. it's not. deprogram that shit once you're safe. go to therapy. learn to tell the difference between "this is a threat to me" and "I feel threatened by this" and how to differentiate response appropriately. it's okay that you feel threatened! learn how to respond with self-soothing instead of throwing accusations. teach your body how to feel safe.

anyway, go forth and live your best life and heal from your past trauma and apply a nuanced perspective to interpersonal relationships.

there's a fine line between being wary of manipulation and becoming completely paranoid because you get very close to the realisation that pretty much all human interaction involves doing things we hope will lead to a result we like

[caitlynsrighteye]

Hi! Can i request a caitlyn x reader? where reader is starting to get baby fever and is getting sensitive about it and doesnt want to let caitlyn know cause she dont know how cait would react if she says she wants a baby? ... Could be wholesome or smut. Or both honestly... Thanks. I literally read all the things you wrote already keep up the good work i really enjoyed them.

Baby fever with Caitlyn

G!P Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

Contains: SMUT, fluff, wlw, g!p, fem!reader, established relationship, vanilla, cowgirl, blowjob, soft baby fever and conceiving

wc: 3.2k

Masterlist

She already goes through so much. Plate is always full with duties and priorities. Sheriff of Piltover and head of the Kiramman name. Standards to live up to fully, whether it’s set by herself or by others. Leaving you early in the morning with a quick kiss to your forehead while you’re still asleep and coming home late after another long day at work.

And you. Giggling, smiling in awe as you stroll the Piltovian markets and pass by a children’s clothing store. Walking around inside to find the most adorable shoes in the shape of lions, bear onesies and tiny shirts with almost cringe-worthy quotes. You pinch the edge of one hanging on a rack with other shirts, taking a closer look at its size and how your hand covers its entire torso.

Your heart throbbed at the sight of all of these miniature clothes. Watching a couple push their toddler in a stroller, browsing toys while the small child happily holds the item they picked out. You would often be scrolling on your phone, randomly coming across pov videos, watching a baby in a onesie attempt in climbing up a seesaw to ride it.

The sound of their sweet wordless voices, the soft looking chub on their cheeks, and you could almost smell the baby breath through your screen.

The baby fever has haunted you, lingered deep in your thoughts. It even had you confused, you thought you’ve been ovulating since last month.

You sit on the couch in the living room of you and your wife’s shared home. Legs tucked up on the sofa while you lean on the arm rest, once again scrolling on your phone with an opened book left forgotten on your lap.

It was sometime in the evening, Caitlyn should be back soon. The fireplace crackling, and the flickering light glowing on your features while you dream of a life you could grow with whom you love.

You heard your front door open and heavy feet stepping inside your home. Caitlyn finds you, stupidly smiling at your phone while you continue to watch the same videos over and over again.

“What has you grinning like that, Darling?” She says. You turn your attention, finding a tired, but sly smirk tilted on her lips as she makes you way to sit next to you. You fix your position and she sits down, hip to hip, throwing an arm around your shoulder, trying to peek at your phone.

You tilt it away slightly. “Just…” you weren't sure if this was a good time to tell her, but the thoughts have been eating you alive. You gently sighed, figuring out how to break the news.

“I've been thinking a lot,” that was a start. She had leaned forward over her lap to look you in the eye with her one and only. One not covered by a dark blue eyepatch. Your fingers fidgeted, tapping the backside of your phone as you tried swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat.

She took your cheek in her hand, turning your head slowly but surely to meet her gaze fully. “My love, you can tell me anything,” she said with such comfort in her tone. Though tired after a long day she's still there to reassure you when you're in need. Which just makes you more sure that you want to start something with her. To share a life with her and something beautiful you both create.

You inhale deeply, exhaling the breath before you say, “What would you think about trying for a baby?” You face winces just slightly, bracing for a negative reaction.

Caitlyn doesn't say anything at first, but with her hand still on your cheek her thumb rubs it gently. Her lips pressing together, curling upwards, smiling along with her eye that squints while staring into you deeply.

You both sat together in silence. The smell of wood burning, the warmth of the fire, its glow highlighting your soft expression. Her knee touching yours, hand caressing your cheek. She huffs to herself.

“Darling, that's what you were so nervous about telling me?” the hand on your cheek reaches for a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

Your hand closest to her reaches for her thigh to fiddle with the fabric of her pants. “I just thought… with you being so busy with work and everything else, I thought it would maybe be too much. I didn’t want to be selfish,” you look around the room. “And it gets quiet around here, maybe a child of our own can fill that void, you know?”

She takes a moment before leaning in. Her soft lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and full of love. Noses brushing together as your lips tangle.

She breaks the kiss, eye slowly opens with a sweet smile on her lips.

“Love, in what world would that be selfish? I would love to have a child with you,” her voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. You search for any signs of uncertainty, and when she expresses nothing but genuine assurance you jump from your spot on the sofa, launching yourself into her arms. She catches you, hugs you close with her arms holding your waist tightly while your arms are around her neck.

You giggle into her shoulder. Feet swinging in pure joy. You repeatedly say ‘thank yous’ and ‘I love yous’ in her neck, giving her skin soft pecks while she leans in your touch.

You sigh in relief. Kissing up her jaw before planting a kiss on her mouth. Your palms squishing her cheeks, holding her still and close, feeling her smile within your passionate kiss.

When your lips break off from hers, her hands meet yours on her cheeks, holding them gently in her grasp, thumbs rubbing with reassurance..

“This would make you happy, dear?” She asked, wanting to make sure you were perfectly fine with this new, important idea.

You nodded excessively, tightening your grip in her hands before bringing them to your face and kissing each knuckle.

“It would make me the happiest wife in Runeterra.”

-

You and Caitlyn had planned a night together. A night Caitlyn knew not to work late. The papers in front of her laid half finished. Pen twirling in her fingers as her eye watched the clock tick with each and every passing second. Counting the minutes before it's time for her to leave.

Right when that minute hand struck 12, signaling a new hour she was up on her feet, scrambling to gather her things while attempting to put on her coat mid walk.

She could feel her heart pounding through her chest. Sweat began to form on her brow in anticipation. Kicking off her boots and climbing her way up to your shared room. The smell of lit candles led her, like a bloodhound sniffing out a trail.

When she finally reaches the bedroom door. She stares, gulping down a nervous lump. Why was she so nervous? You both have been married for well over a year now, how could this be any different?

She grabs the door knob and turns it. Pushing the door open till she’s met with the sight of you, and oh what a view you were.

Sat at the end of your shared bed, one leg over the other, leaned back on your hands that have been fidgeting with the sheets for the past couple hours. The candle lights flickered and reflected off your glistening eyes that nervously met with hers. Deep and icy blue.

Your cheeks were flushed. Imagination alone was enough to get you flustered but with your wife standing in the doorway, her single eye skimming down your chest. Breasts bound inside your pushup bra and matching panties growing damp.

It had taken Caitlyn a second to process. Process how lucky she was for winning over a beautiful wife such as yourself.

“You're absolutely stunning, my love,” she says quietly. As if speaking too loud will scare away all the love and sexual desire you both were feeling.

She stays by the door, staring, admiring, or maybe a cover up of her wobbly knees that grew weak at the sight of you, worried she'll trip and fall and ruin the moment.

So you stood up, the bed slightly creaking as it shifted. You walked slowly, enough for her to burn an image in her head of your hips swaying throughout the short distance from the bed to the door. The eye contact was on and off. A nervous glance to the side every now and then, but when you were toe to toe, you reached for her hand, gave her a slight glance with rosey cheeks and a sly, knowing smile.

She let you guide her to the bed, hands interlocked while she tailed behind you, having an amazing view of your pretty ass covered in lace panties. Halfway towards the bed you turn back around, continuing to walk backwards while your attention is on her. You stop when you feel the back of your knees hit the mattress.

You let go of her hand to ride yours over her shoulders, pushing her coat off her arms and having it fall to the floor with a slight thud. She goes to undo the buttons of her shirt but you stop her.

“Allow me,” you say softly. She’s hesitant as fist, but puts her arms down and watches your hands move along her chest. Your fingers tremble against the material. After every few buttons undone you glance up, looking if she’s still staring at your hands. Her shirt opens revealing her bra and you help shimmy off the shirt. Once her shirt is on the floor along with her jacket you lean into her, kissing her soft lips.

Caitlyn holds on to you like instinct, like her hands were made to cling to your hips. You run your hands up her stomach, passing every curve of muscle to her underboob where you push up the mounds of fat. She moans in your mouth, sticking her tongue in after you’ve given her permission to do so. Your tongues swirl together inside your mouth, your arms wrapping around her neck to bring her in closer. Hers follow up the dip of your back to your braclip, separating the clip with expertise, letting your boobs free.

You gasp from the cold, lips still in contact. You pull her closer, switching your spots and making her sit at the edge of the bed. Your hands rest on her thigh for balance, kissing her deeply till her neck is arched back. One of her hands on the bed, keeping herself up while her other is on the side of your neck, fingers curling under your ear.

You pull your lips away, taking in the heated blush you’ve painted on her cheeks. You can hear her breath, chest rising and falling as she waits for your next move. You slide off your loose bra straps, removing the clothing and giving her a knowing nod before going back in to kiss down her neck. The further down you go she leans back onto her elbows. You place gentle pecks on her skin, sucking on her defined collarbones. One of your hands leaves her thigh to lower her bra, allowing her breasts to slip from its tight fabric.

You suck on one of her hard nipples and finger the other. You hear her exhale softly under her breath, feeling her intense gaze on you. Latching your lips around her bud, sucking unhurriedly as your fingers pinch. A gentle and harsh juxtaposition. You meet her stare, observing every little twitch whenever you peck over a sensitive spot. Back onto the path of open mouthed kisses along her fit body, making sure each ab gets the attention it deserves, before met with the waistband of her work pants. Now kneeling on the floor between her legs, the everyday bulge of her show-er print twitches just slightly when your hand passes over her zipper.

Glancing back up where she gives you a consensual nod. You’re skilled in this art of pleasure, but something about today makes your knees weak underneath you. You kiss her clothed groin before undoing her pants and grabbing both sides of the waistband, pulling it down along with her undergarment till it's off her ankles and thrown somewhere on the floor next to you.

Her member was half hard, a slight leak at her tip, but floppy on her thigh.

You can help with that.

You use your hand to help guide it into your mouth that’s wet from salivation. She throws her head back and hisses as you suck on her soft length. Her cock grows harder by the second with each bob of your head.

She whimpers under the touch of your mouth that becomes more compact and tight as she hardens, your throat getting shallower as her tip grazes the back. Once she’s hard enough for you to stroke your hand along it you pull your mouth off till it's only her tip between the warmth of your lips. You jerk her with your hand while sucking on her sensitive cockhead.

“Oh.. yes baby, fuck,” she lays back, head digging into the sheets and her hips gently buck when you bottom out on her cock. Gagging when she twitches, just that centimeter of movement felt as if she went deeper. You bob up and down her cock. Fully engulfing her flesh in your warm, wet mouth. Her hand found its way into your hair, brushing anything in your face and holding it up in a makeshift ponytail. Keeping it out of the way while using you as leverage.

Her chest heaves and arches. Ball sack ready to squeeze out what is stored, but you don't let her. You pull off of her, earning a struggling sigh from your wife. Cock standing tall, twitching on edge.

She lifts her head to look in your direction. “Darling–”

“Finish inside me, baby,” she watches you stand and climb onto the bed next to her, placing a hand on her cheek and turning her head for a kiss. She lays surprised, but gives in less than a moment later. Swinging an arm around your waist.

You both kiss while she rolls you over onto your back. She gets on top of you and you gasp when you feel her erection poke your inner thighs that spread wider for her. She grinds herself on your clit to your naval, her hands on boths sides of you while yours pull her face closer, kissing her deeper.

Your hands follow the fabric of her bra around her torso to unclip it. She pulls away from you for just a second to remove her bra before coming back in to trade spit. One of her hands slips to your panty waistband, tugging it from the back to pull it off your ass then down your legs while you kick the lace off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

She breaks the kiss for you both to look down at her erection, glistening with your spit and leaking pre on your pelvis. Your drenched hole twitches in anticipation, beginning to get impatient.

With just her hips, she aims her tip to your entrance. Her swollen head meeting between your folds before accidentally slipping back up to your clit from how soaked you were.

“Shit,” she says. You both giggle, feeling like it was your awkward first time with each other all over again.

She tries again, using her hand around her shaft this time. Letting go once her cockhead had dipped inside, then she let her hips take over, slowly thrusting. You take it inch by inch till her baby maker has met your slickness.

Your back arches, adjusting around her while she kisses your breasts. Your fingernails digging into her shoulders.

“Oh fuck…” she whispered in your cleavage, kissing up to your neck where she pecks it softly. “You feel so good,” the same phrase she's mentioned almost everyday of your marriage, but today with added intimacy of creation.

You moan, feeling yourself loosen and ready for her to start thrusting. You buck your hips and whisper a “Fuck me, baby,” in her ear, your breath sending chills down her spine. She pulls her cock out halfway, then rams back in. A low-tempo pace with harsh thrusts to make sure she hits as deep as she can each time.

Her lips leave your neck to watch you look breathless. Eyes half lidded, sweat building on your forehead and your sweet moans escaping your mouth. So beautiful. You're the woman she married and hopefully soon to become pregnant with her baby. She leans in and passionately kisses you. Wanting to feel every part of you while you conceive.

Her hips snap against yours. Her sack clapping on your skin as she does her best to kiss your cervix with her tip. Hard shaft penetrating your sopping hole, walls clenching and tightening. Holding onto her length like you never want her to exit.

Your wife groans deeply, completely addicted to the feeling of your insides wrapped around her girth. Her hips keep pace, trying to increase in speed yet tires.

You push up on her chest, flipping her over so you're now straddling her cock. Quickly bouncing your ass on her lap.

In shock she groans, “Ah~ fuck, darling.” Her hands find your hips, helping you bounce harder.

“We're making this baby together, aren't we?” You say. Lifting your hips up then back down. Your ass slapping on her thighs with each bounce. You tits following your motion, bouncing in circular rotations.

You lean over her till your chest meets with hers. You kiss her eyepatch before trailing pecks to her lips that are moaning whenever you squeeze around her.

“Oh fuck, Cait–” you moan. Her tip abusing your sweetest spots, tickling your kidneys when she feels so close to your soul. She wraps her arms around you, bringing her knees to a bend and thrusting up into your cunt. Your lips still latched, tongue finding hers in her mouth, swirling around as your insides tighten.

The bed creaks underneath you, her thrusts becoming relentless. You cuss gutturally into her mouth, squeezing her hard as you gush around her. Your body is shaking uncontrollably on top of her.

She makes a few more harsh thrusts before releasing into you, keeping her cock deep inside your heat. Both of you moan together as you stay interlinked. Body combined as one, hot with intimacy and love, and hope in conceiving.

You both fall onto your sides, still stuck together as you hold each other close, not wanting to part. Her hips buck slowly and gently, making sure no cum escapes and wastes.

Breathing hard, air feeling steamy. Overheated bodies relieved by the cool sheets of the bed. Her arms hold you tight, while you hand plays with her navy hair roots on the back of her head, massaging her scalp.

“I love you,” she says softly. Her face tucked in your neck, eye closed with exhaustion. “I love you so much.”

Your lips curl into a sweet closed mouth smile that she can feel when your cheek flexes on her forehead.

“I love you too, my love,” you both lay in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other. You don't know if it worked this time, but you will try over and over again till you finally have a part of your wife growing inside of you.

Note: AHHHHH!!! Thank you for the request and thank you for your patience. I've tried getting this done all week but i was so busyy!

Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading everyone :))))

Have a good day/night♡♡♡

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Need To Hear It

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, pre-established relationship (sort), light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v), humor.

Summary/Warnings: After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Author's Note: Request from @grosskyjaja! Once again, I can't just be horny, I gotta have feelings too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

You’re drenched in things that should never be outside of bodies. Your hair is stuck to your brow, and your fingers are caked in dry blood. Something thick is spattered over your jeans, and there might be hair that isn’t yours in your mouth.

And that was a good hunt.

No deaths. No major injuries, either. Just a few traumatized housewives, and fingernail marks on your palm from when they’d been flirting with Dean in front of you. So you have no real reason to feel horrible. You’ve been covered in worse. You’ve killed more things, and come a lot closer to losing Dean—and actually lost him—in a much realer way.

But you were tired. The week had been filled with women—who had teeth that were straighter than yours, and hair that was better kept—shooting you bitter glares as you stood a little closer to Dean than you needed to. Now, you just want to go home.

And Dean hasn’t fared much better, in the aftermath. At least he remembered extra clothing, though. Clothing that he ditched in favor of his stupid fake-fed suit, in favor of you—after a long, hot shower and a lot of scrubbing your skin until you skin is raw and untouched by blood—wearing his extra shirt and too big boxers.

“They look like shorts-“

“Not they don’t.” You’d grumbled, and Dean had sighed.

“We can stay the night,” he’d said your name, not fully looking you in the eyes. “Most places are closed, I’ll go out and get you a new shirt and pants in the morning.”

“From where?”

“Store.”

“Dean.” You’d given him a flat look, shoving your bra—the only thing you’d been wearing that wouldn’t have to be burned—into your bag. “We’re in Northern Idaho.”

He shrugs. “They got stores. Don’t be classist, sweetheart-“

“I’m not. They won’t have anything I’ll wear twice.”

“They might-“

“They won’t.” Maybe he doesn’t want you to keep wearing his shirt. The thought just makes you more exhausted. “I’m being pragmatic, not elitist.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t say elitist.”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your chest. “I know. Elitist is what you meant.”

He snorts. “I love it when you talk dirty-“

“Dean.” You’d snapped, and he’d stilled. Your distress must have been audible. “I just want to go home.”

That had been enough. You had fresh clothing at home, and a bed without lumps, and—if you were lucky—maybe Dean would let you crawl into his arms and not let go until morning. 

He’d packed everything up and into the trunk of the Impala without another joke, and when you crawl next to him on the bench, his arm goes over your shoulder and stays there. He doesn’t stop touching you for the entirety of the drive. Lots of fields and forests and sky, Dean’s hand either rubbing small circles on your upper arm or resting on your thigh.

You know he’s pushing Baby to her limits, just to get you home. Or get away from your sulking sooner. You can’t blame him. You’re glaring out the window as if the trees are responsible for your exhaustion.

And it’s so stupid. It was a good hunt. It was an objectively good hunt. And Dean didn’t even flirt back. 

But you’re not his. Not officially—though through your whole body you’re only ever sure of one thing, and it’s that you’re Dean’s—and not in a way that gives him any claim over you. 

Which means that Dean’s not yours. And you have no claim over him. So if he’d decided to indulge one of those housewives, you’d have no good reason to stop him.

You try not to think about it too often. How Dean could, on any day, just decide that he was done with you. You’d wake up, and suddenly last night would be the last night. The last time you’d touch him. The last time he’d touch you.

And you really, really try not to think about it. But the floodgates have been opened, and now you can’t stop.

Dean might be able to sense it. 

Maybe that’s why he’s touching you, even as the air becomes wired with silence. He’s trying to remind you that for now, he’s here with you.

For now.

“It’s gettin’ late.” He mutters, and you only hum. You’d left at dawn, but Montana was a big state. You’d only just crossed the border into Wyoming, and the sky is already dark and scattered with scars.

“You know where we are?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Think it’s nowhere. Haven’t see a sign for miles. And I can soldier through, sweetheart-“

“No.” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can-“

“You’re not driving.”

“Dean-“

“It’s not cause I don’t trust you,” he says your name, giving you a pointed look. “It’s cause you’re tired. We’ll just sleep out here.”

“Out-“ You blink at him. “In the car?”

“Yeah, Baby’s safer than a motel. I used to sleep in her all the time, when it was just me-“

“But it’s not just you-“

“We’ve been closer than squished in the car, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is a drawl, and he squeezes your thigh like a reminder. As if you could ever forget. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got a gun, and you’ve got me.”

You don’t have him. 

You give in anyway.

And it’s only an hour before it’s too much. Dean pressed up right behind you—there wasn’t any cold to huddle against, but he hadn’t seemed interested in hearing that—with his knee almost between your thighs, his face near your neck, and his arms wrapped around your stomach. 

Everything smells like him. Even the blanket he’d pulled from the trunk. And you’d thought it would be good for him to hold you like this, but this isn’t in the sanctity of his bedroom. No one but you has ever been allowed in his bedroom. You know for a fact other girls have been in this position.

In the Impala, Dean wrapped around them like he’s never wanted to be anywhere else.

You used to be jealous of them, and how they got to be close to Dean, even for a night.

Now, you know it’s never enough. And you’ll never be able to admire those girls more, for having Dean once, then walking away.

There’s a chance they didn’t have him quite like you do. His laughter and company and stupid blanket, his shirt over their body and his total vulnerability as he sleeps.

You’re trying not to think about it.

But it’s hard with Dean pressed right behind you. 

It’s another hour before you squirm away and climb outside. You need the air, the isolation, the anything but Dean holding you like he’d like to keep you, when he doesn’t. 

You just need space.

And there’s a lot of it, above you. Glittering in the sky as you climb onto the roof, and seemingly infinite with the flat skyline. You lay flat on your back and watch it until you feel sleepy again. And Dean will be pissed if you fall asleep outside, but you’re so tired-

“Come back inside.” 

You feel a tap on your knee, and push up to see Dean frowning at you.

“You’ll get sick, sweetheart-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter, lying back down. “I’ll be in soon.”

Dean makes an odd sound. “Will you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you come out in the first place.”

“I- Just wanted to watch the stars.”

“Could’ve woken me up.”

You rise back up, and Dean’s almost glaring at you. As if you’ve offended him. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

His jaw twitches. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“What I-“ You frown at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his brow with a hand. “Alright. We’re doing this.”

“Doing- Dean!”

He’s yanked you forward until your knees are dangling off the side, and he’s standing between your legs. Pressed between your legs. Pressed into you, and barely a breath away as he scans over your face.

“Dean?” You whisper, unable to move away, and his face tightens. “What’s-“

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I- I’ve been in the car with you all day-“

“But you’re not talking!” He snaps, his tone heavy. Like this is painful. “Ever since we did the interviews, you haven’t talked to me or let me touch you, and I don’t know what I did wrong, baby, but I can’t fix it if you keep-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You grab Dean’s face between your hands, shaking your head. He can’t be allowed to think that. “I- It was me. And it’s stupid.”

He frowns. “Not stupid if it makes you upset.”

“It is,” you mumble. “It’s- Don’t worry about it. You didn’t even do anything, or pretend you would, but I- Never mind.”

Dean’s not pulling away. He’s just examining you. Like the answer will be written all over your face. 

It might be.

Because you can see the exact moment he gets it. His eyes widen, he lets out a sharp breath, and then he presses in closer with a small smirk.

“Were you jealous?”

“I- no-“

“Yeah, you were.” He shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh. “You were upset I might- Son of a bitch-“ He says your name, and looks far too amused for how your face might be burning. “Why didn’t you say something-“

“Because it’s dumb!” You snap, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when you shove at his chest. “You weren’t doing anything, and it’s- it’s not like we’re together-“

Dean catches your hand and tugs you forwards, all but pinning you to his chest and scanning over your features with a small frown. “Say that again.”

“I- It-“ You voice is going a little hoarse, but Dean won’t stop staring at you. “It’s not like we’re together-“

“Wrong.” Dean certainly looks offended now, shaking his head with a tight frown. “I got two women in my life, and it’s her.” He pats Baby’s hood with a grin, and it’s hard not to roll your eyes at him. “And- Hey. Saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’re starting to smile.

You’re not sure how he always pulls that out of you.

But he’s Dean. So he does.

“Stop getting smart with me,” He mutters, leaning forward to bump his nose with yours. “I’m trying to be helpful-“

“You are being helpful.” You sigh, dropping your head into his shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Wasn’t stupid.” Dean’s hand finds its way into your hair, running it carefully through his fingers. “Nothing you do is stupid. Can be dramatic, but not stupid.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, and he shrugs, his fingers stilling suddenly in your hair. 

When he speaks again, his voice is impossible low, and rough, and right in your fucking ear. “You still doubting that I mean it, babygirl?”

“Mean what?”

He chuckles, and god, his voice is getting deeper. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I-“

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” Dean’s palm starts to rub right over the cloth of your shorts, and your breath hitches against his skin. “You’re not that good at it.”

“‘m good at it.” You’re already a little dizzy, but Dean’s all around you and pressing down. “You- I-“

“I know. You need some extra attention? Need me to fuck you until you get that I damn mean it?”

There it is. The deepest voice. The sex voice, that he’ll almost growl in your ear on a case before pulling you into a closet, or hum at you in the kitchen before herding you back to his bedroom.

Asshole. 

He knows you’d jump off a roof if he asked you with that voice.

“Answer me,” he mutters your name, teasing his thumb up and down your still-clothed slit. “Gotta hear it.”

“Ye-“ You let out a breathy moan into his shoulder. “Yes, please-“

“There she is.” He’s almost crooning at you, and it’s enough to make you start grinding onto his hand. “Never anything stupid with you, my smart girl.”

You squeak as Dean tugs you back by your hair, and even in the dark of the night, he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. Pretty green eyes darkened and focused wholly on you, an expression of something dangerously close to reverence all over his face as he scans over you. 

His hand moves away from your core, bracing him on the hood of the Impala, but you don’t get a whine in protest before he’s pulling you into a long, deep kiss. Taking his time, pressing his tongue into your mouth and humming when you part without a thought, never coming up for air because you don’t need it. You have Dean, grunting when you almost fall over his body, moaning his name against his mouth because if he’s going to let you have this, you’re going to take all of it. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters your name, pulling you back with a lazy grin, and you can only pant and drop your brow against his. “Never think I want anyone but you. Ever.”

“Dean, you-“

“No.” He shakes his head, pressing a softer kiss and mumbling against your lips. “You’re my girl, baby. Don’t forget it.”

You sigh. “I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or the car.”

Dean barks a laugh, and it pulls a smaller smile onto your lips, that splits into an almost stupid grin when Dean grabs you back into another long, slightly rougher kiss. More teeth and spit, a little bruising and mind-numbing. He might be trying to sedate your brain into not overthinking.

If he is, it’s working.

“Right now I’m talking about you, pretty girl.” He hums, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, and you can’t even think of a quick comeback.

All you can really think is Dean, handsome and somehow yours. Against all odds and reason, Dean seems to think he’s yours.

And you could never hate yourself enough to deny him.

“That’s good.” You whisper, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” his hand goes back to pressing between your thighs, and your hips buck. “Lemme show you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod, already humping his hand as he rubs around your clothed clit, and Dean hums your name.

“Words-“

“Yes, please.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hold on.”

 Dean hooks his fingers on your underwear, pushing it to the side before shoving one finger right into your pussy, and you let out a high squeak.

“Jesus.” He mutters, glancing down to where you’re squeezing around him. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, your brow pressed back to his. “Only for you, Dean, only ever for you-“

“Fucking-“ Dean groans, pulling your lower lip between his teeth. “You’re so perfect baby. Always so ready for me-“

You moan as two fingers slam into you, scissoring and pumping with a rough, precise speed, Dean grabbing your chin and angling your head to the side. His kisses fall to your neck as you start to hump against him, scratching at his neck and whining whenever he lets his thumb flick over your clit. You’re already going out of your mind, Dean’s somehow still tucked into his pants, and you want more. 

You must have said it aloud, because Dean chuckles against your neck. “This not enough for you, sweetheart?”

“I- It is- I- Feels so good-“ You moan, your hips jerking as Dean crooks his fingers against the deepest spot inside of you, and his grip tightens.

“Gotta stop squirming, baby.”

“But I want you-“

“You got me.” Dean starts to rub over your clit, and you shake your head, your voice almost a whine.

“But I want you,” You repeat, grinding over his bulge, and he lets out a long hiss, his fingers in your cunt picking up to a brutal pace. “Please.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, pulling back to watch you with that reverence again. “This not enough for you, babygirl? You wanna take my cock too?”

You nod frantically, squeaking when his fingers start to rub on that deep spot, his thumb teasing feather-light touches over your clit, and you’re going to fly out of your skin-

“One time.” He holds your gaze, and you might fall apart just from the sight of him. Blown-out pupils on yours, his jaw set as he watches you, so handsome and somehow yours- 

“Dean-“

“Just one, babygirl.” His thumb presses down and starts to roll firm circles around you, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “There you go, wanna see you cum one time before you take my cock, you can do it-“

It’s like he flips a switch. Your orgasm crashes through you with a high, wanting sound of Dean mixed with pleas, and he swallows it with another rough kiss. You’re only seeing stars and feeling an impossibly good rush of pleasure through your whole body. There’s a brief moment where Dean fingers are gone and you whimper at the lost, but Dean’s knee presses right against your cunt, and you let out a soft, easy sigh.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

If his question is teasing or mocking, you really don’t fucking care, and nod dumbly as he pulls away. 

Dean only laughs, his fingers—the ones that had just been fucking in you—coming up to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze never leaving yours, and your hips roll against his knee.

 “I- C’mon, Dean, please-“ 

“Christ,” Dean mutters your name, brushing some of the hair stuck to your brow away. “You’re like- My dream girl. You know that, right?”

“I- I think I do.” You lean forward, continuing to grind onto him as your hand wanders down to squeeze his cock, straining through his pants. “Can you show me?”

His eyes flash, and he swats your hand away, pinning it to the hood. “You still need my cock, sweet girl? Still need me to fuck you on the roof, make you scream so all of Montana can hear?”

“We’re in Wyoming,” you whisper, and Dean shrugs.

“They can hear too. You want it?”

You nod, not breaking Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

He’s so fast you almost aren’t ready. Kissing you so harsh you think he’s trying to meld his lips to yours, before pulling you right into his chest and sucking a sloppy line along your jaw and neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder in a desperate play to keep steady, but it’s not needed. 

Dean won’t let you fall.

There are a few things that break through the haze of Dean’s lip, nipping on your neck. The sound of the Impala door opening and the rustle of a belt, as well as the feeling of big, calloused hands kneading up your thigh before pulling down your shorts, and taking your panties with them.

It’s a quick second, where you’re completely bare and shivering from the cold air on your pussy. But then you hear the door close, Dean’s mouth slams back over yours in a demanding, harsh kiss, and you’re never going to be cold again.

His dick slams into you in one, movement, and your mouth falls open at the perfect stretch of him inside you. Dean takes advantage of it, pushing the kiss further until you’re melted over him, fluttering slightly around him as a second, tiny orgasm rips through you.

“God, fucking-“ Dean groans your name, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock, wanna-“

“Do it.” You mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Wanna feel it, please. Need to feel it.”

He groans, his hand moving back to brace himself against the Impala’s roof. “You sure-“

“Yes.” It’s the easier question to answer. 

And the certainty in your voice pays off. Dean’s will snaps with a half growl of your name, and you’re gone.

Usually, Dean lets you lead with sex. And you almost always make it slow. You’ve wanted to savor it as much as you could, to stretch out the stolen moments because you’d thought, one day, you’d never have them again. You’d give Dean everything you had—on your knees and riding him and splayed out below him, trying to put on a show when he’d bury his face in your cunt—because you’d thought it was what you needed to do for him to come back. 

He’s going to come back no matter what. 

And it seems to be your turn to take.

Dean’s almost feral against you. Hammering his hips into your sensitive cunt, splitting you open and pressing against that needy spot over and over until you’re a moaning, writhing mess in his arms. His lips never leave your skin for a second, kissing and biting over your shoulder, nipping at the base of your neck before rising back up to mutter filthy praise against your lips.

“Takin’ me so good, sweetheart, fuckin’ made for my cock,” his thrust are already starting to grow uneven, and when you bite on his lower lip, he slams into you so hard stars start to form behind your eyes.

“Dean.” You gasp, and he groans as you squeeze around him. “Feels so good, you’re- God-“

“You like takin’ my big dick, baby?” He drawls against you, adjusting your hips to hit you impossibly deeper. “Shit, you feel like heaven, wanna- Fuck-“

There’s a tension in his voice, even if he doesn’t stop moving, and you frown. “What’s-“

“Forgot a condom.” Dean grunts, rutting against you as he drops to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart- I gotta-“

“Inside.” You mumble, your breath hitching as he bottoms out again, the angle making your clit rub against his abdomen. “Dean, please- I said I wanna feel it-“

“Shit,” he moans your name against your skin, cock twitching in your cunt. “You’re so- Fuckin’ love you, baby, I’m gonna-“

He moves back up to kiss you as he chases his release, still fucking moaning down your throat as he fucks you desperately through it.

But then he doesn’t stop. Dean’s cum is dripping out of your pussy, down your thighs and onto the roof of the car, but he’s not slowing down. Still half-hard and grabbing your waist until you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise—you hope it does—and fucking his cum back into you, until you’re so impossibly full you think you’re going to fucking die from it, and he- He’d said-

“Dean-“

“Last one,” he mutters against your lips, rolling his hips in a sharp circle that makes your squeak. “You can gimme one more, pretty girl, c’mon,” his thumb moves to your clit, and your hips jerk off the bed.

“God-“

“Not god. Just me” Dean laughs at his own joke, pinching you and rolling the nerves between his fingers, and there’s a tight coil deep in your gut that about to snap, and-

“Dean, please-“

“I know,” he hums, and this is too soft a kiss for how he’s still bruising your cervix, how you’re on fire and he’s still using his sex voice. “Squirt on my cock, baby, you can do it, so fuckin’ gorgeous all fucked out ’n full of me-“

He gives a small, harsh slap to your clit before pressing his palm and rubbing it back and forth, right as his cock presses on that hypersensitive place inside of you, and you cum with a scream that echoes through the night.

Something is flooding out from between your thighs, but in the white-hot daze of your orgasm, you really can’t tell if it’s pee or Dean’s cum-

Not Dean’s cum. He’s still buried inside you, mumbling low words as he kisses all over your face, holding you as you shake slightly against him. 

“You fucking soaked me, sweetheart.” He chuckles, kneading gently against your skin. “C’mon let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

There’s no way you’re in danger of catching a cold. You’re all warm as Dean slowly pulls away, making a movement like he’s considering diving between your legs and licking you clean, but deciding against it and hauling you fully into his arms instead.

You’re grateful. Right now it feels like one touch could set you over the edge again, and you’re not sure you’d be able to take it. Dean’s mouth on your still aching cunt might actually kill you. It can be an experiment for another time, when you’re not in the middle of nowhere.

Because there will be another time. Dean wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want more times. Wouldn’t be cleaning you up with his own shirt, and grinning at you so affectionately when he tries to replace your shirt, and you shake your head in a cock-drunk daze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s covered in-“

“I know.” You mumble. “I like it.”

He laughs, kissing you once with a grin. “Alright then, dirty girl. Keep the freakin’ cum shirt, see if I care.”

You smile like an idiot as he pulls away—likely cleaning the roof—and then it hits you again. There will be more, because Dean- He- He said-

You sit up suddenly, pushing open the door, and Dean is running back in a second. He doesn’t get to bend down to your level, though. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach before he gets the chance.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat, tugging on your hair until you look up to meet his gaze. “What’s- Are you good?”

In the dark, with all the shadows and lights, and the vast night sky above him, he looks like an angel. Not the real kind, but the story kind. That only protect and care and guide you home, even if—as long as Dean is here, with you—you’ll never need to be guided.

Dean is home.

“I love you too.” You whisper, and his eyes widen. “And you don’t have to say anything. I know you feel it too, and I- you’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s it.”

He nods slowly, his thumb dropping to trace over your lips. 

“Only competition I have is Baby, right?”

Normally, Dean would laugh at that. But tonight, his throat just bobs as he shakes his head.

And his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Never any competition for you. I feel it.” He mutters your name with that same reverence returned. “Always feel it. And I- Thank you.”

You can’t stop your smile. “Of course. I love you, Dean. I mean it.”

His lips twitch. “I know.”

End Note: God, help me. I'm giving myself impossible standards.

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[holyschnitzel]

Hi holyschnitzel!

A friend showed me the game's demo and I absolutely loved it, I got really obsessed with the character Damon. The game's background is really interesting, so I started following you to keep up with the lore and updates.

However, when I started looking into things, I was surprised that MC basically end up in a three-way relationship with DG and Damon, which isn't apparent in the game.

I don't really like this idea and wanted to ask if this will stay this way or if there will be individual routes where they haven't slept together before (like I see in posts about him taking her virginity) and have just been friends… I saw them as a family and it feels like incest.

I've found out that quite a lot of people think the same.

Thanks a lot for your time

Blastic is having trouble explaining this properly, so I'll take over :)

First of all, thank you for your interest in Broken Colors and for sharing your thoughts. I appreciate your enthusiasm for the game and especially for Damon's character <3 You seem to have some misunderstandings about the relationships in the game, so I'd like to clear that up for you!

Let me clarify that DG and Damon are absolutely not family or related in any way. They are explicitly established as friends (with benefits) who met as adults. There is no familial connection whatsoever between them, so your concern about "incest" doesn't apply to them. Just because you consider them family doesn't make it incestuous, this is not how it works, you naughty little thing you! ;P

Next, regarding Damon's personality and behavior: While Damon does have attachment issues and can be intensely possessive, his relationship with DG is unique and established before the events of the game. Their dynamic is special precisely because DG is the only person Damon trusts enough to consider sharing someone with. This is actually consistent with his character - he's not casually sleeping with multiple people; he has one deeply trusted connection (DG) that allows for this specific arrangement aka poly-relationship.

About the possible routes in the game:

There will be a route where MC ends up with DG.

A route where MC ends up with Damon.

And a poly-route option with both of them.

You're free to choose whichever route appeals to you most. If you prefer a one-on-one relationship with Damon, that route will be available to you. The poly route is simply an additional option for players who might be interested in that dynamic :)

Of course, we understand some players may have different preferences or interpretations, but Blastic wants to stay true to her characters and world she has created. Everything you have read are intentional aspects of the narrative and character development!

Well! I hope this clarifies things. Thanks again for your support and for engaging with the game so thoughtfully, eleipsis! ^o^

[cribabey]

I love the pervert!mark fanfics but… what if pervert!rex? eh? eh?? you see the vision I’m showing???

lowk imagining him unabashedly taking user’s panties or boxers and bringing it up to his nose to sniff aggressively, especially when he’s away from home and he has at least a whole box of user’s underwear. in post lobotomy he would at least ask politely now even if you still dated him despite being an asshole and all

bonus: Rex slowly finds out about scenting so he purposely sprays user’s underwear with his own cologne so you’ll perfectly smell like him once he goes down there for a meal <3

a/n: omg ofc i would love to... tbh i haven't actually watched much of invincible so i will do it before the lobotomy. actually anon you're a literally genius i was talking about this w one of my friends but more of for mark but rex is totally it as well. he's an asshole but he wants you. wait lowk i wasn't sure if you wanted it to be est. relationship but i thought it would be super juicy if there wasn't! cuz u know then it's supppper perverted.

MDNI- pervert reader, pervert rex.... panty stealing, m masturbation, (no est. relationship, he's literally just a freak.) PinV unprotected (wrap it before you tap it kids) , oral (m! recieving and f!) assertive r! and rex

wc: 4.2k. (freaky)

what it involves: rex is your roommate, one that you just couldn't get along with no matter what you tried. it was annoying cuz you liked him. finally you've had enough, and you decide you're going to try to find him with one of your panties, but it's a bit more than what you've bargained for.

a/n: sorry anon this too soooo long to write idk why.

rex is an asshole. there's no doubt about it.

in some ways, he's one of the worst roommates you've ever had. he's loud, obnoxious, and he almost always is playing some dumbass meme music that you can definitely hear from your room.

you're always knocking at his door, trying to get him to turn the music down so you can get some shut eye before some exam or something else that's quite important, but he tends to ignore you.

sometimes, if he's in a good mood, he'll tell you that he'll do it, and he'll switch it off for awhile. key word, awhile.

he may be an asshole, but he's a good looking asshole. and that pisses you off to no end whatsoever, because what do you mean, you literally need him so bad you can't function properly when he stretches at the breakfast table.

what do you mean, you hate how thin the walls are in your house because you can hear him fucking some other girl, and god she sounds like she's enjoying it a bit too much....

and sometimes, he can be nice. if he knows you've had a bad day and you can't deal with him at all, he won't play his music, and he'll cook dinner or buy take out for the two of you.

he'll make sure to clean up, and when you protest, he'll go, "well, i'm the best anyway, so just remember that."

but the main thing that pisses you off about rex, is that he gets all up in your personal space. he's always barging into your room, not even knocking before he does it.

he plays his music too loud behind closed doors, but the music can still be heard outside.

but what you don't know, is that behind that closed door, he's fisting his cock to the thought of you.

he plays his music so you can't hear him groaning your name as he thinks about fucking you on your couch, having you sit on his lap reverse cowgirl as he spreads your bottom lips open to watch where you're connected to him.

his favourite is when you wear his favourite black little lingerie that he gets to rip off of you with his teeth alone, before you scream his name out when he sheaths himself into you.

as your roommate, rex manages to get a lot of spank material about you, just living around you and watching you live your life out.

one time, when you were both in the kitchen together, he watched you reach up the cupboard, your shortest sleep shorts moving upwards to give him a glance of your tight panties hugging your cunt, mound obvious even from where he's sitting.

he came to that so many times he's lost count, and that night alone he masturbated until he passed out.

rex hates how he's obsessed.

he hates how the first thing he does when he gets home from being out all day is sniff the air of the house, seeing if he can still catch your sweet, sweet perfume in the air, despite that you've been out for the last five hours.

and when he knows you've just showered and have gone to your room, he hates how he basically sprints to your shared bathroom, thanking whatever gods that gave him this tiny ass house he shares with you that has one bathroom, and that you keep your laundry in the basket there.

he hates how he feels just the slightest bit of guilt when he fishes through the laundry basket looking for the freshest pair of underwear that he knows you just wore, the ones where he can smell you fresh and sweet, and he hates how his cock twitches so painfully in his pants.

and god, does rex hate how he doesn't even last more than 20 pumps of his hands when your panties are pressed so close to his nose he might die of asphyxiation, but he knows it'd be a happy death.

with each passing day of his dirty, dirty habits, rex gets more depraved and addicted.

he starts bt not bothering to wash your panties once he's done with them, just leaving the panties back in your laundry basket, covered in his cum.

he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's started to keep your underwear, no longer returning it back to the laundry basket, tucking it into his own drawers to keep for himself as keepsakes of his obsession of you, and your smell.

you ask him if he's seen your favourite pair of panties, as you tell him that your underwear has started to disappear more often, and he shrugs, saying that it's probably just the washing machine eating them all up. they usually turn up weeks later, and your favourite red panties have disappeared a total of 5 times in the last 5 weeks!

he's suspicious and you know it, but the idea of rex, oh so arrogant rex, on his knees for your used panties? it sends a hot burst of...something into your stomach, and you can feel your panties getting damper, not that you'd admit it!

rex is getting braver, you can tell. it's now just a matter of catching him in the act.

he's started to sneak into the bathroom when you're showering, with the spare key that you don't know exists, and he steals the dirty underwear that you've left on the floor to throw into the laundry, and with the dirty underwear pressed to his nose, he uses the clean ones to get himself off, wrapping them around his cock, thinking about you putting them on without a clue.

he cums in those panties, leaving them on the sink for you to wear, just waiting for you to put them on so you can smell like him, and when he does this again tomorrow, you'll already smell like him. that thought sends a devious grin across his face.

when you come out of the shower after that, you can feel your panties are a bit heavier than before, but you put them on anyway, and you immediately feel the wet spot from his cum, because the thought excites you more than you could possibly explain.

sometimes, he doesn't even use them for his own pleasure immediately. he takes his cologne, and sprays the wet spot right where your entrance will be, thinking about how your entrance will smell just like him. the thought, hours later, gets him shooting his load all over his desk, where he was staring at up skirt picture of you he'd managed to sneak.

you finally catch him in the act one day.

you'd been planning this for weeks, slowly building up the courage to finally confront him and get what you want from him.

you've been telling him for weeks about a made up conference that you'd have, telling him that you'd be out for most of the day, reminding him through small things such as saying "don't bring anyone over when i'm gone, i don't want them going through my things" and "don't let anyone trash my shit."

and so you get ready. you wear your red underwear that you know he loves, and you leave the house. you plan to come back four hours or so before you tell him you'll be back, to see if you can catch him in the act.

when you get home, the house is a bit quiet. you open the door as quietly as possible for you, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door as quiet as possible.

you walk slowly, and with purpose, setting your coat up on the hanger, and you walk towards his room.

as you near his room, you can hear some grunting, and the wet sound of skin on skin.

you can hear the low murmur of words, but can't quite make out what's being said.

as you near the sounds, you can make out what's being said.

he's grunting out your name, saying; "god, you really want this, don't you. you love smelling like me. you're such-hngh- a dirty girl, wearing your panties with my cum on them"

"god-" he whimpers, rex actually whimpers, "i bet you taste so good, fuck-" and you can hear the desperation in his voice.

but soon, you realise, the sound isn't coming from his room, it's coming from yours.

rex is in your room, fucking his fist to the thought of your pussy clamped around his dick, squeezing him like a vice.

based on the sounds of his voice alone, he sounds like he's close, and you decide this is the best time to interrupt, thinking about the look on his face alone is getting you wet as hell, walls fluttering around nothing.

you push your door open slightly, and you see rex. he's lying on your bed, his sweatpants pulled down to his thighs. you see his cock strained and flushed a dark colour, and god, his thick tip is gorgeous. you can't wait to sink down on it, feeling it bully against your cervix.

his eyes are screwed shut, and your panties are pressed against his nose with one hand, the other one gripped so tightly around his dick it looks like it might just actually hurt.

he has his eyes shut so tightly, and the wet sounds of his cum 'shlick, shlick' sound across the room.

the sight is gorgeous, and you can't help but appreciate the view in front of you.

rex's abs are flexing under the dim light from your lamp, sweat is beading on his chest. but the real show, the real show is his dick. it's bigger than you imagined, and you can feel the drool collecting in your mouth from the way you're salivating for its weight against your tongue.

you want to taste the precum beading at his pretty flushed tip, but all in due time. he needs to pay for stealing your underwear, making you go commando around the house, feeling sticky in your shorts when you're near him.

he doesn't notice the dip of his bed when you sit down quietly, and only opens his eyes when he hears your breath hitch. your face is pretty and flushed, lips wet and breaths shallow.

"you having fun without me?" you ask, and you cringe slightly, but it's too late now, it's already out of your mouth.

he stops immediately, yanks your panties off of his nose and throws them across the room, as if you haven't seen them already.

his hands drop from his cock, resting on his thighs as he stares at you, open mouthed.

it elicits a response from you, the arrogant rex quiet under your gaze? goddamn, you could get used to this.

"oh no, don't stop on my account. you really seemed to be enjoying yourself." you essentially purr out, getting excited.

rex can only stay quiet as you look at him, a dirty grin on your face, now.

"need a hand?" you ask him, seeing how he just sits there open mouthed.

you watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows, and he nods.

oh god, you're gonna cum untouched in your shorts like some teenage boy.

you shift forward, moving towards him. his hands move from his thighs, not entirely sure where to rest.

you move them gently out of the way, and you sit on your knees, looking down at the view in front of you.

his tip is flushed a light purple-red, and you think he's hard enough that it actually might hurt.

the underside of his dick has a couple of veins that are rather prominent, and you remind yourself that you're going to want to lick them as best as you can when you finally get your mouth on his dick.

your hands wrap around his cock, and he hisses from the sensation, already being so sensitive. you can immediately feel how hefty and big he is.

you struggle to wrap your hand around him, and the thought of this entering you later is exciting to you.

you let go for a moment, and rex is disappointed from the lack of warmth, and just as he's about to interrupt and complain, you spit in your palm, making eye contact with him as you use the spit in your palm to lube him up.

you hear the wet shlick from both his precum and your spit, and rex throws his head back, eyes shut as he fists your hair.

you lean forward, tentatively licking his slit, and he groans gutterly, "fuck- you can't- " and you grin in you kiss against his slit, kitten licking the precum that's spilling over like a faucet, refusing to waste a drop.

and without warning, you wrap your lips around him, taking him inch by inch.

he really thinks he might bust any moment now, and he needs to fight it. he can feel his abs tightening up again, and you can hear him almost...whimpering?

"god, you feel so goddamn good. you were keeping this hot mouth from me? god baby, you're taking me so well."

the compliments are really going straight to your cunt, and your panties are slightly uncomfortable with how much they're sticking to your mound.

you deepthroat him in one go, choking slightly on his length as you feel his tip bump against the back of your throat.

using your other hand, your hand is splayed across his bare thighs, squeezing the muscle as you try to bob your head up and down, before rex uses his hand to push you down all the way.

using the underside of your tongue, you fondle his veins, and you can almost feel the way he throbs on your tongue, dangerously close to cumming down the back of your throat. the idea is delicious to him, but he doesn't feel right doing that on the first time.

suddenly, rex doesn't seem so submissive anymore, and he pulls you off of him.

when you're using the back of your hand to wipe the saliva away from your mouth, you look up at him questioningly, and rex feels his dick twitch again, just from seeing you underneath him.

"not yet, sweetheart. in due time." he grumbles, pulling you up from the underside of your arm, before pushing you gently onto the bed.

he hovers over you, his arms on either side of your head with his elbows pressed against the mattress of your bed.

and then he kisses you.

rex literally kisses you. it's quick and urgent, and he presses his tongue so roughly against yours your teeth clash together.

it's painful but god you're melting into him.

rex is done holding back. he's gonna take what he wants, after struggling all this time to contain it.

as he kisses you so deep you can feel saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth, he's grinding his raw dick against your clothed cunt. the rough stimulation of your clothes against his dick hurts in a good way, but he wants more, he needs more. he needs you now.

he breaks the kiss, stomach clenching, dick twitching when he notices the string of saliva connecting you two, and he looks at you for permission, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants.

you nod, and he yanks them off so hard he moves you down. you laugh, and he immediately clocks in on your underwear, shoving his face in between your thighs, nose bumping against your clit.

your laugh breaks off into a moan, and you can feel him sniff as much as he can.

"god, you smell just like me...fuck, baby, all this for me?" he says to you when he pulls back, grinning up at you.

you can see the slick from your panties slightly brushed across his nose, and you flush, which makes him groan more.

you nod, "all for you, rex."

he grins against your mound, his nose nudging against your clit.

suddenly, his mouth closes around your covered clit, and he sucks harshly, leaving you to let out a mewl.

your hand clasps over your mouth, and you're embarrassed of the sounds that you made, so loud and wanton.

"na, baby, i wanna hear you. can you do that f'me?" he mumbles against your clit, as he pulls your hand away from you mouth, fingers interlocking with yours.

his words against your clit vibrates through you, and you can feel yourself pulse around nothing, completely desperate for him, for his dick.

"rex, please. i wan' you." you mumble, your face flushed and sweaty already.

rex grins arrogantly again, and he nods in compliance. he pulls your panties down, discarding them somewhere across the room, forgotten until later.

he groans at being greeted with the site of your cunt, and rex's mouth drops open.

"oh baby, you're so pretty...you're dripping wet for me, honey." he groans, before he leans in to take a sniff, like the pervert he is.

"rex!" you squeal, pushing his head away from between your thighs with your hands.

rex tuts, "none of that, sweets. this is all mine now, you don't get to keep her away from me." his voice is deep, drizzling like honey.

and without another word, he shoves his face into your cunt.

he spits onto your cunt, drawing back to watch the way it drips between your legs, falling between your ass cheeks.

he groans, rutting his hard-on into your bed, leaking so much he thinks he's about to explode.

he dives right back in like a man starved, flicking his tongue against your clit fast and rushed, and you think, you think you can feel him spelling out his own name; 'r', 'e', 'x'. marking your cunt as his.

you're gonna die, you're gonna die.

"fuck!" you squeal, when he finally pushes his tongue through that first barrier of tight muscle, squealing his name again when he contracts his tongue, causing your tight hole to stretch.

the stretch catches you off guard, but it feels so good, you can't stop thinking about how good his dick will feel in comparison.

"you like that, baby? can't wait to have you splitting apart on my cock." he tells you, before he breaks away from your lower lips, yet another string of saliva breaking between you two.

he grins at the mess in front of him, the flush on your face, and the pool between your thighs.

he finally pushes his fingers into you and you gasp, the intrusion making you throw your head back, clenching down on rex's fingers.

"god, you're so tight. 's all for me?" he asks, smiling down at you.

he starts pumping his fingers in and out, the speed increasing slowly but gradually, and it's almost too much, just because it's him.

he manages to find your soft spongey spot so quickly, making sure he hits it every time. he adds a third finger, stretching you out slowly, to ensure that you can fit him later on.

"all fo' you rex. only for you." you're babbling now, feeling your approaching climax.

rex feels it too, with the way your walls spasm around his fingers.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he asks you, smug written all over his face.

"yeah, yeah i'm gonna-"

with the coaxing of his words, your walls clamp around his fingers like a vice, rex swears, and he pushes his thumb onto your clit, pushing you over the edge.

you feel it wash over you, your thighs clamping shut tightly around rex's hands, which he pries open. your legs twitch, and rex helps you ride through your high.

there's tears in your eyes, from the violent high rex just pushed you through.

you're babbling now, begging for his cock.

"rex- please, i wan' it." you babble, cunt aching for his dick stretching you out, making you cum.

"say it louder, use your words. what is it that you want, baby?" rex asks, cocky as he waits for you to beg for his cock.

"i want your cock in me, please rex, please." you look so sweet underneath him, tears in your eyes and your shirt pushed up to your chest, tits spilling out of your bra.

he leans forward, popping a tit out of your bra, and latches onto your nipple, sucking your nipple hard into his mouth, his teeth grazing over your nipple.

"ah!" you whimper, hand flying into his hair, tangling in his long locks. at some point, rex's hair had come loose, his long hair down now.

rex grins again, against the fat mound of your tit, using his other hand to grope your other one, rolling the nipple between his index finger and thumb.

"aw, well i gotta give my sweet girl what she wants, right? i'm gonna give you my dick until the only thing you can think about is the feeling of my cock buried inside you, stretching you, claiming you, owning you."

with that, rex slowly pushes in the mushroom tip of his cock through the first row of muscles of your tight cunt, into your clasping heat in one smooth stroke. He lets out a guttural moan as your walls flutter and clench around him, trying to adjust to his size.

rex thinks he might cum from this alone, with how wet and tight you are, your insides gripping onto him.

you can feel the veins on the underside of his dick, grind against your walls, the feeling dragging a wanton moan out of

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight" rex grits out, fingers gripping into the fat globes of your ass, as he slams into you in one go, groaning as his cock head hits your cervix.

"fuck me, please!" you scream, the cervix bumping causing your legs to tighten around his waist, nails raking into his back.

it hurts a little for rex, but the look of pleasure scrunched into your face is totally worth it. and he can't wait to see the marks tomorrow morning, marking him as yours.

He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them up and back towards your chest to expose more of your dripping sex to his relentless thrusts. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, to hit that special spot inside you that has you arching off the bed with a sharp cry.

"Fuck, right there!" rex snarls in satisfaction, feeling your pussy clench and flutter around him. "That's your sweet spot, isn't it? The spot that makes you fucking drench my cock in your juices. I'm going to ruin it, baby. I'm going to ruin it for anyone else." his obsessive side peaking through. rex knows he's never going to let you go after this, even if you try to run away. nothing will make him let you go.

rex's dirty talk is just making you clench tighter around him, and you can begin to feel rex's dick twitching in your cunt. you throw your head back as you moan, eyes closed.

rex leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down just shy of pain before soothing the sting with his tongue. He laves the sensitive bud with long, slow licks and suckles, coaxing it to stiffen even further.

He snakes a hand down between your sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, rapid circles into the sensitive nub. rex feels you teetering on the edge, your body tensing, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

all the while, rex never stops with his unrelenting pace of fucking you with his dick, his balls slapping against your skin, hips bruising against your ass. you're gonna be bruised all over, especially where he's been biting you and gripping you tight.

"cum, baby, cum on my cock." rex demands, and that finally pushes you over the edge, spasming around rex's dick. you feel him follow right after, groaning as he drops his head against yours, slowing his unrelenting pace.

With a final, brutal thrust, rex buries himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as you orgasm. He grinds against your cervix, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he starts to erupt, painting your insides with thick ropes of his hot, sticky seed.

he collapses against you, trying to catch his breath.

he pulls his half-hard cock out, and you let out a whine from the loss of pressure and warmth inside you.

rex tuts as he watches his cum leak out of your pussy.

he pushes his seed back into your abused cunt with his fingers, tutting about "such a waste", before scooping down and collecting your underwear off the floor.

he pulls your ruined underwear back on for you, letting his cum collect on the panties instead, his spend keeping your abused cunt warm, completely ruining your panties once and for all.

you groan, something about feeling gross, but he grins at you, already thinking of next time, and how he wants you to smell just like him.

but it's totally worth it for him, because when you go shower later that day, he steals them again, using them to get off with the wet splotch from both your cum and his. he sniffs them, eyes rolling back into his head as he groans, cumming just from the memory alone of your walls fluttering around his dick, before he's even touched himself.

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!! hope you thirsty freaks enjoyed

[fromwherespiralhill]

I feel like people don’t talk halfway enough about how well these scripts work, once you find the ones that work for you… even though it’s so obvious that the well-established scripts have their place

We adapted the traffic light safeword system for sex / sexual scening, bc we learned about it ages ago and felt it would really work for us, and ended up w/ someone who we thought it’d also work for. So like after a handful of scenes where shit went poorly bc there wasn’t a lot of in-the-moment communication mostly because we didn’t have the language for it, we did decide to try out some new language, we did formalize when and how we want to check in / be checked in on. And holy schnitzel guys right, it works?? Next scene is like four trillion times comfier (AND FWIW SEXIER) bc the only gravely missing thing was a script to help us follow and express our real feelings… smth that matters a lot… during a SCENE…!!!

Relationship stages… I mean they exist for a reason too. How it’s been this time around is (and tbh similarly in the past for us) — those stages rly do exist, in the background and as a script, because they offer like… a framework to understand commitment on top of. Or more precisely, to verbalize commitment, but thats the thing: being able to word your feelings is often a huge part of how you understand them. So it’s part of understanding too.

Only, there’s a big catch (for us) with taking smth that has like… tbh so much cultural baggage. (Maybe like all the scripts people get judgy over, if you don’t meet them perfectly.) Well the catch is in the baggage lol: we just try to be aware of that baggage, and the expectations that come with it, cuz it is so freakin easy to fall into it like, yeah, just go with the flow and Advance The Stages because That’s What Comes Next (therefore, That’s The Right Thing To Do). Too many parentheses, paragraph break lol

Thing is the baggage doesnt make it useless to us. We still find comfort in relationship stages as a concept bc like of course we’re gonna find comfort in it, that’s what we grew up surrounded by. Speakin’ out of my ass but call it a “social script” cuz it’s societally normalized lol. We just take care with it, and that means doing a load of communication and just TAAALKING about… get this… what relationship stages even mean to us. Like what the words we call each other (and ourselves) FEEL like. Ikr, talking about a script, oh nooo, cover your ears—that shit is sexy too man

…And friggin’ important too. Stuff’s moved quickly for us, but y’know why we feel comfortable with that? Cuz it’s all on a real sturdy ground of talking about our feelings and figuring out + making changes for each other to help those feelings feel safer and more awesome. And when the relationship is (yea) literally mostly over text but also involves a lot of words, full stop… lot of the changes we make… are in those words!! In our scripts, in our ways of being and expressing together! And it frickin works!

Anyway we take a lot from our tbh fairly minimal total experience with scening and if y’all like caring about the words you say and the words people say abt you, you could probably give scenes a try

the vigour and furor with which some people are repulsed at the mere existence of a "social script" is just pure ableism. you sound exhausting to have to communicate with

[vainvenus]

jealousy jealousy | ll30, ka12, ih6, ob81, jd7, fc43 and gb5

drivers: liam lawson, kimi antonelli, isack hadjar, ollie bearman, jack doohan, franco colapinto and gabriel bortoletto

synopsis: when another man gets too close, each driver makes sure to remind everyone and you exactly who you belong to.

includings: established relationships, petnames, jealousy, possessive/obsessive behavior, heavy pda, mild threats, not fluff not smut this is kind of just my usual content!

an: no one requested this i did it purely because i love the 25' rookies

part one → here

꩜ liam lawson

The late afternoon sun glinted off a line of luxury cars in the paddock parking lot, each one more polished than the last. You stood near a particularly flashy one—a sleek, matte black McLaren that looked like it hadn’t touched a speck of dirt in its life.

Its owner leaned against the hood like he thought he was part of the display. Young, cocky, wearing a sponsor cap tilted just enough to look effortless.

“So,” He drawled, tossing his keys into the air and catching them. “How about it? I’ll take you for a spin. No cameras, no seatbelts.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. “No thank you."

He leaned closer, hand brushing against your arm as he gave it a small squeeze. "Oh c'mon, why-"

“She said she’s not interested.”

The voice sliced clean through the air, deeper than usual. Familiar. Dangerous.

Liam.

Jaw tense, sweat clung to his forehead and hair. His eyes weren’t on you.

They were on him.

And they were burning.

Without a word, Liam grabbed your waist, spun you around, and pushed you gently but firmly back against the hood of the guy’s car. His hands were on your hips, and then he was kissing you.

But it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a statement.

His mouth crashed onto yours, lips parting yours with zero hesitation. His tongue slid into your mouth like he owned it. like. Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt as he kissed you deeper, harder, practically bending you back over the hood.

One of his hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head just how he liked it. The other gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. The metal of the car was cool against your back, but Liam was burning. His kiss wasn't just deep it felt filthy and drawn out.

He didn't care if people were walking by and gawking when they were exiting the paddock. He didn't care that someone could snap a photo, hell, he wanted someone to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, breath heavy. Your chest rose and fell against his. You didn’t dare look at anyone else.

Liam’s eyes snapped to the other guy.

And his tone turned lethal.

“You touch her again,” He said, voice cold and measured, “and I’ll make sure the next thing you’re driving in is the back of an ambulance.”

The guy stood frozen, mouth slightly open and Liam gave a small, cold smirk then turned back to you, brushing his thumb across your lip slowly, purposefully, smearing the kiss like a mark.

“Let’s go,” He said.

꩜ kimi antonelli

Kimi didn't usually raise his voice, he didn't need to.

There was something that was more dangerous about his silence, the way he just stared without blinking when he saw something he didn't like. Right now he was watching one of the mechanics chat you up by the Mercedes motorhome.

He was all smiles and hand gestures and you were softly laughing. Completely oblivious to the storm brewing from across the room.

He moved towards you without hurry but with swiftness. When Kimi stood next to you it was like the world went still as you turned your head to smile up at him.

"Hello my love."

"Hi." He hummed as he leaned down for a kiss and at first you thought it was going to be a soft and quick one.

You couldn't have been anymore wrong.

The kiss was consuming. His tongue slid past your lips, lips parted and greedy. His hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he were scared that somebody was going to try and take you while he wasn't looking. You felt the best of his body pressing against yours, solid and grounding.

When he finally pulled away you were dazed. Your lips were tingling, heartbeat stuttering against your ribs. Kimi didn't even look back down at you as he gave him attention to the poor mechanic who stood there in shock.

"Stay away from her." He said, no kindness in his tone as he pulled you closer like that was even possible. "If I ever see you near her again I'll make sure you're replaced."

The guy swallowed and Kimi smiled yet it didn't reach his eyes.

꩜ Isack Hadjar

Hospitality tents were usually a circus that Isack didn't mind. Usually they led to him and Liam having to record a few videos or just relax with a nice lemonade. He didn't mind them until now.

You were seated across from one of the engineers, chatting while you waited for Isack to finish with media. The guy was smiling, leaning in, complimenting your outfit. He asked how long you'd be in Monaco, if you'd be free to “hang out” after the race.

You laughed awkwardly, trying to change the subject.

Isack didn’t like that.

You glanced over at him, trying to give him a look that screamed for him to drag you away from the conversation but he was already walking over before you could even look away from the other male. His jaw was clenched, irritation written all over his face.

Before you could even greet him with a warm hum his mouth was on yours.

It was hot, the searing kind of kiss that made you clench onto the sleeve of his shirt. His tongue tangled with yours, his hands firmly on your waist with a tight hold like you were going to fade away if he ever let go. He made it obvious that this wasn't just a kiss but a warning.

He only pulled away when he heard the guy clear his throat awkwardly when he stood up.

Isack turned his head, slow and deliberate with his fingers still tight around your waist.

"She's mine." He stated, voice flat as he narrows his gaze at the engineer. "Not sometimes but all the time and I don't share." Then he had smiled.

"The next time you try flirting with her I'll make sure I kiss her while you're standing there with a broken nose."

꩜ ollie bearman

It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon in the paddock. Media day had slowed down, most of the drivers had already filtered out, and you were just chatting with one of the newer PR guys near the hospitality area.

He was nice enough just too talkative, a little too confident, leaning in like he wanted something more than a friendly chat.

You shifted your weight, glanced around, hoping it looked obvious you weren’t interested.

He didn’t get the message.

“You’re not here with anyone, right?” He asked with a crooked grin. “You seem too cool to be just someone’s girlfriend.”

You opened your mouth to answer but the conversation cut short before you could get a word out.

Because Ollie had showed up.

You felt him before you saw him. That quiet storm energy he always carried. Calm face, small smile, sharp eyes. He wasn’t walking fast, but there was a purpose in every step as he crossed the paddock. He didn’t even look at the other guy.

His eyes were locked on you.

He didn’t say your name. Didn’t ask what was going on.

He just stepped right into your space and kissed you.

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he tilted his head and kissed you like he couldn’t hold it in another second. Tongue, lips, breath. His other hand curled into your hair, anchoring you in place, not letting you look anywhere but him.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were pink, eyes a little darker, chest rising with quiet intensity.

Then, and only then, did he turn slightly. Not even all the way to glance at the guy.

“She’s taken,” Ollie said coolly, voice even, controlled. “So stop looking at her like you’re about to make a mistake.”

The guy blinked. Mumbled something and walked off quick.

Ollie didn’t watch him go.

He just looked back at you with a softened expression. “You okay?” he asked, like he hadn’t just kissed you breathless in front of everyone.

You nodded.

He smiled, squeezing your hand and pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. “Good. Because if I see anyone else try that again…I won’t be this nice.”

꩜ Jack Doohan

You were just being polite.

That’s what you kept telling yourself even though you knew the guy had been hovering for most of the evening, slipping in and out of conversations with you at the team event, waiting for Jack to be distracted.

He wasn’t even that bold. Just slippery. Friendly smiles. Little touches on your elbow. Inside jokes that weren’t really funny, but you laughed anyway because it felt easier than brushing him off and accidentally causing a scene. You hadn’t seen Jack in over ten minutes

And then he did.

You caught the flicker of him from across the room, jaw tight. You recognized that expression. The kind of stillness that only meant one thing: jealous.

You stepped forward to greet him, to defuse the look on his face and hopefully the interaction that was going to happen but the other guy said something just loud enough to stop you.

“So, do you and Doohan actually have a thing,” He said, grin cocky, “or is that just paddock gossip?”

The next second felt like a blur.

You felt Jack’s hand slide around your waist from behind and yank you back into him. His fingers curled against your side, possessive, as he turned you in his arms.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation.

His mouth crashed into yours, deep and open and full of tongue, swallowing your startled sound with a groan against your lips. His grip on your body didn’t loosen for a second, one hand in your hair, the other on your lower back, pressing your chest flush to his. You could taste the bite of champagne on his tongue.

People were watching. The guy behind you? Staring. But Jack didn't stop. Didn't pause.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, lip-gloss smeared, heart thudding like you’d been spun around.

Jack didn’t even glance at you.

He looked straight at the guy and smiled. But it was sharp, with no warmth at all.

“You want to ask that again?” He said, voice low, lethal. “Because I’ll happily take her into a back room and remind you how real it is.”

The guy held his hands up, backing off.

Jack turned his attention back to you, eyes heavy with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

“Next time,” He muttered. “You walk away the second someone thinks they’ve got a shot. I don’t like sharing, baby. Not even your attention.”

꩜ franco colapinto

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been talking to the guy.

He was funny, you’d give him that. He was some visiting engineer, a bit older, cocky in that way that made most people overlook it because he smiled a lot.

It made Franco's smile drop, lips curling in disgust as he watched the way the man leaned in. The way his eyes dipped too low when you laughed. The way you twirled your hair, not even realizing you were doing it. The way you always did when you were nervous or unsure.

Franco could tell you weren’t flirting. But the guy? He didn’t care. He thought he had a chance. Thought he was getting somewhere.

And that was enough to set Franco off.

You didn’t see Franco walk up.

You just felt a hand slide onto your waist, tugging you away from the table with such smooth confidence that your conversation cut off mid-sentence. A breath hitched in your throat as you turned.

But you felt a breath of relief leave your lips when you saw it was just him, smiling warmly you opened your mouth to greet him but he was already pressing his lips against yours.

Hard.

It wasn’t tender, wasn’t soft. It was deep and possessive, lips bruising. His tongue sliding past yours like he needed to wipe away the sound of your voice when you were talking to anyone else but him. One of his hands tangled in your hair, holding you there, and the other pressed firmly to your lower back, anchoring you in place.

The room didn’t matter. The people watching or taking pictures didn’t matter. Even the guy still standing behind you faded into nothing.

When Franco finally pulled back, his lips were red, your chest rising and falling fast. He didn’t say anything to you at first. Just turned, slow and deliberate, toward the man behind you who was now gaping, awkward, stunned into silence.

Franco’s jaw flexed. His accent curled around the words, soft but edged with steel.

“Next time you try talking to her like that…” He tilted his head. “Make sure I’m not around. Or do, I’d love to show you what happens.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

The guy took the hint and walked away without another word.

You blinked, breathless, still trying to recover from the kiss. “You didn’t have to do all that."

“I did.” He said, voice low. “I needed him to see it. And I needed you to feel it.”

꩜ gabriel bortoleto

Media days were always chaotic. Cameras flashing, press buzzing, voices overlapping but somehow you’d managed to carve out a little calm. Gabriel had been by your side most of the time, fingers brushing yours when no one was looking, always leaning in to say something only you could hear. That boy never liked being away from you long.

But he’d been pulled away for literally one minute.

That was all it took.

You were standing just off to the side, not even in frame, when one of the photographers, someone clearly new or just feeling brave turned his lens away from the drivers and started snapping you.

Not in a quick, professional way either. Lingering.

“You have a great look,” He said, camera dropping for a second so he could smile. “You model? If not, you should. Mind if I get a few more?”

You shifted awkwardly. “I’m not really- I just-"

You didn’t even get to finish before Gabriel returned.

And he saw everything.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped in quietly, like a shadow, placing himself between you and the camera. You could practically feel the shift in the air. It was calm on the surface, but charged with something simmering underneath.

Gabriel didn’t look at you. His eyes were on the photographer.

And his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Didn’t realize you were doing personal shoots today,” He said casually, tone light enough to pass as playful. “Or are you in the wrong paddock?”

The guy hesitated, clearly unsure whether to joke back or apologize.

“I wasn’t doing anything weird,” He said. “Just thought she looked good in the light.”

Gabriel’s jaw tensed.

He stepped forward, just slightly, his voice dropping into something softer. More dangerous.

“Here’s the thing,” He said. “You don’t point a lens at someone who isn’t yours to shoot. You don’t stare like that. And you definitely don’t talk to her like she’s available.”

“Man, I didn’t—”

“She’s not your model. She’s mine.”

Then, before the guy could say another word, Gabriel turned to you and kissed you.

Right there in the middle of the paddock. On media day. Where millions of cameras were already flashing.

It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t for show. It was slow, deep, his hand curling around the back of your neck like he needed you closer. His tongue slipped against yours in a way that left no room for misinterpretation.

By the time he pulled away, your head was spinning.

Gabriel looked back at the guy. “Next time, focus on the cars or drivers.”

The photographer nodded stiffly and walked off without another word.

Gabriel didn’t say anything at first. He just slid his hand into yours, gently this time. But when he leaned close again, brushing his lips near your ear, his voice was back to that low, private tone he always used when he was only talking to you.

“I hate when I have to share you with this world,” He murmured. “But I’ll remind everyone as many times as it takes.”

You didn’t need reminding. But you didn’t mind the way he did it.

[northopalshore]

Chiron in the

Midheaven persona chart

The midheaven persona chart is the extension of your natal midheaven placement. Chiron here tells you what is most criticized about you in terms of your public image or professional reputation & what about your public image/career that hurts you the most. Everything here only applies to the MC persona chart. Also shows the healing presence you may carry. Criticism is not always true to your own intentions or nature, but rather correspondent to how you behave in other people's eyes.

Northopalshores' Masterlist| MC persona chart | Union persona chart

Personal observations, do not repost on other platforms without consent ʕ⁠ ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔฅ

°0 criticized for being ignorant, having a lack of depth or maturity, enhancing whichever house or sign it's in

In retrograde the problem may often stem from something that you personally did or are insecure about whether you are aware or not. However, I haven't seen much consistent results or differences between retrogrades & non retrogrades. So just take the original meaning. It's just that I know someone will ask about it at some point so I'll write it here to avoid that.

signs, degrees & houses

⚷ Aries (°1,°13,°25) | 1st House

You could be judged for being rude, abrasive, agressive, self centered, egotistical, smug, being a bully or doing things in a brash and inharmonious way (not thinking of other people you may hurt or the consequences of your actions beyond where it's or what is happening). People could say that you lack actual depth or maturity and just doing something for your own benefit (like pushing your brand or agenda, or interest onto other people). People may also find you to be a one trick pony or someone that can't actually do more than that one thing they cling onto desperately.

Ex: Ryan Reynolds has Chiron in Aries °4 Cancer in the 3rd house. Honestly, he has similar placements to Blake which I'll elaborate further as one of the examples. Both of them push their relationship to the frontline a lot & just pushing their brand more than their actual artistic talents. Going for that familiar comedic style that people are now used to expecting from them.

⚷ Taurus (°2,°14,°26) | 2nd House

People are most likely to critique your spending habits, or your lavish lifestyle. People may think of you as vain and overly materialistic to the point that you are out of touch with reality (insensitive to the world or people around you). Having business ethics that are questionable or self-centered. Your beauty standards may also be something that people judge you for; saying that you highlight unrealistic expectations surrounding beauty and live solely to reach or preach it by existing and being proud of yourself (maybe looking down on others as well because of it). Conversely, beauty standards might be the exact thing that causes you pain throughout your career. Either way it's often related to money, business, feminity, beauty or brands.

⚷ Gemini (°3,°15,°27) | 3rd House

You may be critiqued for being self centered, acting like a know-it-all, being mean or having sharp comments, making jokes that do not fit the situation (insensitive). People will judge you for your voice and your beliefs, your writing and your skills questioning your overall capabilities & what you know. You could be criticized for public statements or your claims and rights as well. You may be afraid that people will dig too much into the words that you say or use them against you at some point. You may be rather insecure about your thoughts and perspectives at times as well.

Ex: Lana Del Rey has Chiron retrograde in Gemini ° 14 Taurus. I remember reading people's opinions on public forums about her earlier performances saying she wasn't particularly a remarkable singer. Also there was that thing about her vocalizing other people's opinions about her songs and aesthetics seemingly romanticizing ab*se and narcotics (unhealthy relationships, grooming yk the works) then her pointing out other female artists songs that depict cheating & etc. However, it's undeniable how impactful her aesthetic & music has been in the industry. Many of her fans resonate deeply with both those aspects of her.

⚷ Cancer (°4,°16,°28) | 4th House

Your career may be influenced by your familial relationships, either from accusations of nepotism or getting everything easily due to your close relationships and being related to someone who already had some sort of leverage. People may say that you are heartless to some degree (or on the opposite end; too attached or have attachment issues). Also, your home life may take a jab due to your public image or desire to be someone important (spending more time at work or polishing your image compared to being with your family). You may have had to struggle with your work and public image much earlier than others (working or being exposed to the public life from an early age).

Ex: Beyoncé ( natal Aries rising) has Chiron retrograde in Taurus °18 Virgo in the 4th house. Her dad was her manager and was the one that helped search for record deals (with Girls Tyme aka Destiny's Child) which people say explain the bias around her when she was in the group. Her luxurious lifestyle & crazy work ethic tend to hurt both her (health wise) and people around her (she's known to overwork & underpay her employees). Now, she literally works with her husband & children too. I can't say I know what her home life is like but it's not easy that's for sure. Plus, that means she has been working her ass off ever since childhood.

⚷ Leo (°5,°17,°29) | 5th House

People may criticize you for your expressive or dramatic nature or overly positive personality. People may think you crave attention & gloss over things too often (making light of serious matters as well). People may dislike how quickly you gain attention or how everything is a game or entertainment for you. People questioning why others like you so much. You could be called unserious as well. People may dislike how loud or how much of an oversharer you are which could contribute to people thinking you are insufferable. Your flighty love life & overtly sexual energy could be a topic of interesting amongst them too ( being a topic to critique you for). It may be difficult for you to share things about yourself or feel like you have to act more interesting than you really are to compensate for how boring people may find you without that extra layer or "fun".

Ex: Cardi B, Lisa, Miley Cyrus & Gypsy Rose all have Leo influences with their MC PC Chiron. All four of them were criticized for being too expressive or dramatic and questioned their skyrocketing (at the time they gained that popularity in the first place) popularity. Also, their sexuality has been remarked as "too much" from fans and haters alike.

⚷ Virgo (°6,°18) | 6th House

Your lifestyle, your work ethic, almost everything about you here is put to the test. This placement honestly makes people criticize you from the things you do, food you eat, your attitude, your environment, your talents, how you work, your inspirations; everything seems to be judged in one way or another. It's like one they've exhausted one issue they're on to the next thing about you that either rubs them the wrong way or is literally problematic. Alternatively, you could feel like what you do is never enough and are your own worst critic . People may also find healing or comfort through your work itself.

⚷ Libra (°7,°19) | 7th House

Your looks, partnerships, your spouse, your lovers, are usually what causes your public image to go under public skepticism and judgement. People may questions you due to your connections or down play your efforts due to your "upper hand", especially if you are connected to anyone important or significant in whatever context that your public image applies to (whether work, or what people around your neighborhood says about you). People may think that what you have is unfair or maybe compare you with your partner & their lives or history seeing you as either lackluster or bland in comparison (or vice versa). People may also find you shallow or superficial.

⚷ Scorpio (°8,°20) | 8th House

People may call you a manipulative person, with a lack of morality or distain towards other people. A liar, trauma dumper, or an overall toxic person. People may find you to be contradicting (which leads to distrust). Some people may over sexualize you as well or think that part of you is "too much" or unbearable. People may hate your guts for no reason too (but it's likely out of jealousy). Any changes surrounding your career may also be scrutinized saying that you "change for the worst". People's obsession with you or the constant invasion of your privacy may be an awful backflash following your career or public image. You may be paranoid that someone somewhere is just watching your every move, just judging you (and they likely are). People's attachment to you and strong feelings (whether positive or negative) is what hurts your image the most depending on other placements. Also, people may criticize you for not having a consistent identity or public presence. People just expect too much from you.

⚷ Sagittarius (°9,°21) | 9th House

You could receive hate or backlash for cultural appropriation, r*cism, personal beliefs or world view & philosophy, political views, and even your unconventional way of life. Your lack of morality or views surrounding activism may also fall under public scrutiny. You may be seen as a "bad influence" to a lot of conservative people. Conversely, you yourself may be awfully rigid or and conservative, pushing your beliefs onto other people that do not necessarily agree with your ideals. People may say your are a one note character too either doing too much or too little to prove yourself. People may say you are rather "tone deaf" with your opinions. People may also call you ungrateful & lazy. People's opinions and thoughts about you hurt deeply. You may hold a lot of your thoughts, act ignorant or downplay yourself due to that.

Ex: Blake Lively has Chiron° 25 conjunct Venus°21 & Groom°21 in Gemini in the 10th house. She is definitely a fitting controversial figure. She is criticized for a lot of things, from being a bully to being fake and even r*cist (because they literally got married at a plantation amongst all things). Is she just trying to be her Gossip Girl character or was she not acting when she played Serena. She also seems to imitate her husband's humor and brings him up numerous times like it's a required statement. There's honestly a lot to say about her but I won't elaborate further.

Brigitte Bardot has Chiron in Taurus ° 9 Sagittarius in the 2nd house & Jennie has Chiron in Libra °16 Cancer the 9th house. Both are criticized for their "I don't care" attitude, their mentality, their dismissive or laziness, expensive taste and relationships. Jennie also started being perceived (or working in the industry or something relative to it from a young age) and thus has gone through much pain or insecurities at an early age.

⚷ Capricorn (°10,°22) | 10th House

Criticism often comes from people with a higher status than you like your employer or a senior executive at work, someone that has more experience than you or even just people that assume they have authority over you. You could be criticized for your work ethic the most or even how people view you or you view yourself. You may get criticized because people think other people deserve what you have or your position more than you even if you did work yourself up to where you are /will be in the future. Your work itself is also something that may go through a lot of backlash. Also, people may think of your brand or personality as something made (manufactured) to be marketable and not a reflection of who you are.

⚷ Aquarius (°11,°23) | 11th House

You may be criticized for favoritism, accusations of having"main character complex", being unresponsive to (shutting out) other people outside of your circle or your world, being the noticable odd person out. Thinking too highly of yourself or being the spotlight stealer. People may also criticize you for either being overly altruistic (up your own ass) or oppositely; being incredibly dismissive about other people in your community. This hate may come from peers or "friends" and most of all netizens if your job or public life involves the internet. It may be hard for you to share what you like because of how "out there" your ideas can be fearing that no one will understand where you're coming from. In some cases your peers may be your worst enemies (especially if Chiron is in the 11th house).

Ex: Michael Jackson has Chiron in Aquarius °18 Virgo in the 7th house. His career has effected his entire life, from his childhood to his relationships and even his personal actions. He was nicknamed Wacko Jacko for his capricious and strange personality.

⚷ Pisces (°12,°24) | 12th House

You may be criticized for playing victim or acting/being oblivious to certain things. Lack of transparency, leniency. For some, even citizenship may be questionable. Being manipulative, and fishing for pity or willingly letting go of control over yourself for some reason. You may also be under the control of people that may effect your public image. People may not understand your vision or your true intentions, making you feel discouraged or even invisible to a greater audience. You may be overshadowed by the work of people around you for example. People may also view you as someone that's easy to walkover due to that feeling of incompetence you hold.

Ex: Taylor Swift has Chiron in Cancer °24 Pisces in the 10th house. She's most criticized for playing victim & standing by her altruistic tendencies. This was most prominently showcased during the Kanye incident & the "Snake" backlash. Man, that was wild. Also, she was literally interrupted by Kanye because he thought she didn't deserve her VMA award.

Aspects (Conjunctions only)

⚷ Chiron conjunct 11th house

People may criticize you for your choice of friendships or the people you choose to surround yourself with. Your friends themselves may be the issue at times.

Ex Taylor Swift's Chiron conjuncts her 11th house. She gain quite a lot of backlash for her "Squad" as people thought it had a lot to do with exclusivity & elitism (since everyone in it was quite famous and influential at the time). Also, it's notable that most her friends had controversy of their own at one point or another (then or in the future). Blake being one of those friends. She is also deeply involved with her friends however, providing them a safe place to share & heal with her and vice versa like her friendship with Selena Gomez.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Descendant

People may call you a homewrecker (especially if Chiron is not in the 7th house, just conjuncting it), or be criticized for your choice of partners (whether romantic, platonic or business related). Your connections and transaction based relationshipa tend to rub people the wrong way (like how you manage it for example will also be dissected).

⚷ Chiron conjunct Briede (19029) or Groom (5129)

Being criticized in relation to your partner. You may feel less noticable compared to your partner or vice versa, people could say that you don't deserve to be their partner or just get criticized for being with them. Either that or it's you as a partner (people may think you are an inadequate as a marriage partner).

⚷ Chiron conjunct North Node

You are criticized for your vision, your ideals and what you believe in the most. People may think that you change too drastically or that you were "better before the change". People may find you too righteous or self entitled as well.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Industria (389)

You will be criticized heavily for your work and what you choose to do professionally. However, it may also be an indicator of having a career that is tiring but at the same time very healing (to both you and other people). Not necessarily related to doctors, could be artist or holistic healers too.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Sun

Scrutiny towards your personality, your ego or your self assertivenes, literally just how you present yourself to others (that may or may not "steamroll" other people). Some may find your optimism or personality to be rather appealing and comforting, while others think of you as inadequate. You may work 2x as hard just to prove yourself worthy.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Moon

Being judged for the way that you feel or portray your emotions. People not understanding your feelings and actions. People may call you immature too. However, those that vibe with you will be deeply attached due to your relatability and aptness at connecting or trauma bonding with other people. It's easy for you to get too attached to something even if it doesn't mean much in hindsight; your genuine feelings may be put to the test.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Mercury

They way you speak or sing or write is very healing to other people, however you may be criticized by the same thing many people may like about that part of you. You may hesitate to talk to share your thoughts because of that. Staying silent at times may be more fruitful in your opinion.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Mars

People may crutize you for your energy (whether the abundance or lack thereof). You may seem "lazy" or "doing too much" depending on other placements. You may feel like you have to doore than other people to prove yourself.

Ex: Wonyoung has this placement, people often says she does too much compared to the rest of the members or literally wherever she is.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Venus

People may condemn you for your love life or for being with your partner/lover, your creativity and your talents. Judging your looks, beauty & aesthetics as well (especially if you have or will go(ne) through some cosmetic procedures). Though people might also say that you "lack beauty" or are not on the level that people in your place would otherwise have based on their assumptions. People that connect with you however, feel that you are a valuable soul that's love transcends almost anything. They may also be deeply attached to your love life or story. You tend to have a "hurt maiden" type of beauty or always look scared on unsure. Your looks or love life may suffer due to your career.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Neptune

People may call you delusional or manipulative. Though people that trust you will see you as someone who is able to foresee more than most people can, seeing you as a healer and genius of sorts when it comes to your talents, beliefs and "life navigation system". Also, you may be rather inconsistent with your presence (hard to get to and find, disappearing more often than being present). Being out of touch with people. Your art is healing, but often receives judgement by people.

⚷ Chiron conjunct Pluto & Saturn

Judged for putting your beliefs or best interest first, for assuming much about yourself or others. People may also dislike you for being a "wet towel" i.e being the person to bring other people to their senses or introduce controversial ideas. People that connect with you will see you inner power and potential to bring light to the darkness; having a greater purpose to push past the karma or hurt. You get a lot of hate just for being there (where public image/career is most relevant to you).

⚷ Eros conjunct Chiron

You may be judged for your sex life or your sex appeal. People may call you a ... hussie or indecent person when it comes to the body and sexuality. People that connect with you will find your energy compelling and even motivational. You may have the ability to heal wounds surrounding s*x or past dreams/desires.

˚₊‧꒰ა paid readings available ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Arrivederci ♡, thanks for reading. Hope this helps! (support?)

@northopalshore

@northopalshore midheaven persona chart 2025 all rights reserved. Disclaimer.

[delugyu]

I LOVE U SO BADDDDD 😭😭🤍🤍🤍🤍 thank u so much for reading bae!!!!

eek i’m so glad that u found yj cute and awkward in an endearing way hehe that’s exactly what i was going for! writing men that are lowkey losers and kinda pathetic is everythinggg like that’s my bread and butter… writing yeonjun this way specifically was super fun, especially cause he really is clumsy and silly irl and i love bringing out that side of him for a fic 🙈

the soobin yeonjun roommate dynamic was sooo based on me and my roommate from my first year of college tbh LMAOO so writing that came easily. hehe yup while they’re a little quiet around each other, they’re still comfortable and, as u mentioned in the scene where soobin makes sure yeonjun’s okay, caring for the other

ackkk i loved writing that scene w taehyun lol!! it was so short but revealing towards yeonjun’s character. he cares about his responsibilities, but he doesn’t always have his priorities straight and is prone to making impulsive or poor decisions lol. this is seen again when he carries his phone with him while doing his spidey activities, or leaving the lab instead of cleaning up the mess from the failed experiment... etc lmfao. i loved breathing life into his character, he was just so real and entertaining to write

hehe the party scene is one of my faves of the whole fic. i loved writing their dialogue and developing their relationship. esp when kai came in lol, im glad u liked that scene too 😇

aghhh that whole scene where jjun talks to gyu was so difficult to get the way i wanted!! but it came out decent after like… three total revisions LOL but yes yeonjun’s disappointment was so palpable, poor boy ☹️

MUAHAHA the apoptosis line was one of the only things i didn’t have to look up to make sure i wasn’t totally wrong… thank you neuroscience! hated that class but was good for this one sentence in this one fic<3

glad u liked that ending line cause i thought of it like midway thru writing this fic and had to write around it to make sure it fit LMAO. i never write in scene order but tbh i think that actually helps me a lot in terms of foreshadowing!

anyway i’m geeking out rn thank u friendddd hehe this was a joy to read 🙈 so flattered that u like my writing style eek!!! also i’m so happy to hear the fic feels seamless cause i def tried super hard to make sure each scene felt like it had its place, that the transitions were smooth enough, and that it had a steady flow !! sending u kisses rn ily hehe tysm again 😚😚😚😚

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 🤍

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[pinkpigtailsprincess]

◠࡛۬🏩⋆.How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days ! 🍋‍🟩 ₊˚☆ 💿ୢ꣒

𝓐: Have you ever been personally victimized by a guy before? he’s made you feel crazy? stressing you out? well today ill be giving advice on how to get rid of him with ease and my credentials? being absolutely STUPID about this boy for possibly 2 and a half years…(not my proudest moments) 💢

Dial “D” for DETACHMENT ๋࣭⭑

The d word is gonna be a key source is forgetting about this guy it may start slow but gradually reply to him slower,don’t engage with him lots when you see him at school,work etc. and if you’re angry enough and over him you’ll be able to do this with ease - distance is key

Remove his presence from your life ๋࣭⭑

not his PHYSICAL presence but his spiritual presence so his clothes,memories,any relic that reminds you of him or that keeps you attached to the IDEA of him must go any and all of it BUT if you choose to keep something like shirt at least wash his scent and skin flakes out of it P.S - keeping a negative energy in your sanctuary is not the way to go

FLITER HIM OUT ๋࣭⭑

you HAVE to completely filter out his presence in your personal possessions and my that i mean your devices delete pictures,delete his number,delete chat and call logs,block him on all socials , stop stalking and engaging with his social media , stop obsessing over him i promise you are more valuable than a crumb of attention or satisfaction a guy could give you ESPECIALLY if he’s playing mind games

AFTERMATH ๋࣭⭑

Now even thought you may miss someone doesn’t mean that you HAVE to go back to them or that they’re some special being NO. you can miss the memories you have with someone and the love they gave you but that doesn’t mean that they are the beat for your mental and physical health you are ALLOWED to mourn the loss of a relationship that once seemed perfect

and beware these steps wont completely wipe your memory of this person but it will help you to stop obsessing and realize that you are worth more and deserve better NEVER let a guy drain your energy or back you feel ugly or bad about yourself you’re way to valuable for that !!!

𝓐: Thanks for tuning in pretties remember never let someone break you do or steal your spirit and your energy you’re worth more and you deserve better!! 🫶🏼

[pricesprincess]

Back To You | j. price x fem reader

synopsis: Marriage wasn't as easy as you thought it was, now you're suffering the consequences of your actions that you began to think were in haste.

wc: 4.0k

tags: 18+ only explicit smut + breeding + some angst with happy ending + edited repost from my old blog + this is one of my most treasued pieces

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You tried to jam pillows against your ears when the water made contact with the metal sink in your kitchen, which was a few feet from where you slept, the sound loud and more than annoying.

Since your bedroom is now shut off from the rest of the house because the windows are so drafty that winter makes it impossible to sleep in without freezing, you opted for the lumpy couch with mixmatched cushions and pillows you bought from tag sales.

Which only reminded you of John.

Ironically enough, it felt like everything was falling apart in the house the moment he moved out, leaving you with more than a broken heart.

Now you had leaky pipes to fix along with your life.

With it being two am, you knew John would still answer but when you called, you weren't expecting a woman to answer his phone.

Her sultry voice came over like a soft purr. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to let images become burned into your mind.

Immediately, you hung up and debated calling Kyle; he lived close and would help, no problem, and then your phone buzzed in your hand, hoping it was Gaz, maybe he knew you needed him?

Nope. Not, Kyle.

John was calling back.

"Hello? You okay, sweet'eart?" He asked like there was no rift between you two and he was still your concerned husband, the worry bright and clear under that thick British accent you missed so much,

Part of you wanted to ask who she was but refrained. "I'm sorry, John, but my sink won't stop dripping and it's keeping me awake. Can you come fix it, please?" You asked with a tight throat.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to sink further into the couch, your duvet tucked around you to keep the cold air from penetrating under it and you wanted to stay warm.

There was some background chatter, then John came back speaking in that honey-dipped tone. "I'll be right over." He hung up, leaving you wondering who he was with and what he was doing with them.

Tucking the covers under your chin, you looked at your expenses, wondering if a hotel was out of the question. It would keep you warmer than here and the water would be a lot hotter than it is in your own home and you knew John would chastise you for not telling him.

He wasn't your husband anymore so that wasn't his business anymore; what either of you did or had going on was no longer something you should care about but John moving on hurt more than you wanted to admit, even though you were the one to ask for it.

But John deserved to be happy so when he used his key to let himself in, you didn't ask him about the woman but still greeted him from where you sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket. "Thank you."

"You're livin' in a damn icebox, love." He sighed and made his way over to you, stopping for a moment out of habit to kiss your head but he missed that step and walked straight into the kitchen to work on the sink, which caused him to let out a few colorful cuss words.

Once that was finished, John made his way to the furnace, getting it to start then he checked the vents, making sure hot air was being forced through them. His eyes shifted to the couch you lay on alone.

Silence filled the room as you met his gaze. "I know, the heat stopped working after you moved out and I don't have the money to fix that right now so I was getting by. Thanks again, John." You told him softly.

You only ever called him by his first name when you were irritated with him; during the whole relationship, his name was baby or honey and hearing you call him that made his heart shudder in his chest.

"Why didn't you just ask me?" His question made you prickle.

"Why do you think? You're not my husband anymore."

John took a step toward you, feeling the air become tenser. "Which means I have to stop carin' and lovin' you?" He shot back and sighed, fixing his bucket hat before pulling his keys from his pocket.

John's question left you speechless as he pulled his shoes back on, not wanting to fight with the person he cares about the most. "If you need anything else, let me know, sweet'eart."

Knowing that you were now safe and warm, John could leave and go back to Simon's.

That night you barely slept, tossing and turning, wishing you had asked him to stay the night, maybe for old times' sake but that would only further the crack in your heart and you didn't want to confuse it all, making the divorce harder than it needed to be, really.

The next morning you hardly could get off the couch; the squeaky springs dug into your back all night and it didn't help that the wind kept slamming the shutters against the house, creating so much noise and to make matters worse, you ran out of coffee beans.

John usually kept that stuff stocked.

Slapping a hand over your face, you scrubbed until you felt a little better and snatched something to wear from the tundra that is your bedroom; even with the heat on, it was still too chilly to sleep in.

Once dressed warmly, you set off to work, hoping that the office would be empty. It was a weekend, meaning that no one else should be there, and you could listen to music and crank the heat all the way up. Excitement sizzled through your veins as you drove.

It lasted all but a few minutes when you saw another car in the parking lot, your coworker Lucas, who has been super sweet to you ever since you started, and now that you don't wear your ring, he's bringing you coffee and flowers and lunch during the week.

He was cute and funny so it didn't bother you too much; perhaps you'd finally accept a date from him, seeing that John went on a date, or at least you thought it was because why did a woman answer his phone?

The thought made you clench your fists as you grabbed your bag from the backseat before scurrying inside to beat the chilly air that bit any exposed skin. "There she is. I was hoping you'd come in." Lucas beamed as he greeted you by the front double doors with a smile.

Lucas also held two coffee cups; one he gently thrust toward you. "I always do. I'm beginning to think you're coming in only because of me." You teased taking the cup with a grateful smile and nod.

He stepped in stride with you toward the cubicles where you answered phones, which got your bills barely paid but it was better than nothing and it helped you meet new people. "Is it snowing?"

"Thankfully no, but tonight I think it will start." The idea of having to spend your first winter alone hurts, and being cold isn't your only problem. Being with John for a decade and sharing everything left you stumbling after becoming a single woman after a long time.

The two of you chatted as you began the quick shift; it was something that helped cover the expense of other things you wanted, like the new vibrating clit toy that your friends all talked about.

It was a bit out of your price range but at this point, you'd pay it just to have an orgasm. After almost a year without a man's touch, you swore that if anyone got lucky enough to get you home, you'd hump their leg like a small dog.

"Are you doing anything to stay nice and warm? I could pick you up for dinner tonight." Lucas asked when it approached lunchtime, and you ended up in the break room for a moment to decompress.

Clearly, he was asking you on a date but was too shy to come out and say it outright like that. Being wanted stoked your ego and it had you nodding your head. "I'd love to, Lucas. How does six sound?"

The smile that pulled on his lips had you worried that he'd crack his cheek for a moment as he droned on about the details and how much fun you're going to have with a great man such as himself.

Your idea for a fun night took a dive with how he was bragging about himself. Once you accepted the date, it was like Lucas turned into another person but you didn't want to cancel on him just yet.

Thankfully the four hours ticked by and you were free of people screaming in your ear about getting a refund or how shitty of a person you are for not being able to help them the way they wanted.

You had a few hours to get ready before Lucas came, so you opted for a quick shower and to dive in your closet for something cute to wear. Since the divorce, you hadn't dressed up in such a long time, it felt like.

After applying some makeup and putting your hair in your favorite style, you looked in the mirror, running your hands over your curves that the dress you pulled on clung to and your tits looked good.

With a few sprays of perfume and some accessories on, you texted Lucas you were ready, followed by your address. Like magic, a few seconds later there was a knock on the door that startled you.

Lucas stood on your front porch with a bashful smile, holding a wilted bouquet of flowers that looked like he swiped them from a garbage can and they even smelled like it too, making you scrunch your nose.

"Wow, you're even sexier in a dress." His compliment made you sick to your stomach as he gazed at you like you were his last meal. The facade Lucas used at work was quickly crumbling, making you regret this. Perhaps if you call John, he could come and get you.

The thought was shoved away just as quickly as it came. He's probably on a date right now, and he's probably fucking her—no, you can't think about that or it will drive you insane all night.

You already said yes, Lucas was here and maybe he would cool his jets.

Taking the flowers, you placed them on the table next to the door, making a mental note to throw them away when you came home. Letting Lucas walk you to his car, you stayed a few feet away from him.

The idea of letting him touch you made your skin crawl.

It was painfully obvious he didn't know what to do on a date.

No opening the door, already asking if you could split the bill or at least get something cheap if he has to pay for it all and if he does, then you don't mind putting your mouth to work on the ride home.

You counted down the seconds until you were able to burst free from his car, where you barreled towards the front doors of the restaurant, ready to get this over and done and go home for the evening.

"There's no table available?" Lucas asked the host and then began to argue with the teenager, who seemed uncomfortable and out of his element, as you watched the scene unfold until you finally pulled Lucas back.

"It's okay; it's not that big of a deal. We can go somewhere else."

The angry mask he wore slipped for a moment as he smiled and took your hand to walk you back to his car. "I have a better idea in mind."

The better idea was driving by his ex-girlfriend's house, where she stood in the front window, heavily pregnant and dancing with someone. "That's her husband; she left me for him! Can you believe that?" he asked, white spittle forming at the corner of his lips.

Inside the cabin of the car was dark, making it difficult to see anything else but that or the way he gripped the steering wheel while you stayed silent, afraid to say anything that could set him off even more.

"Did your husband fuck around on you on his job? I couldn't be married while traveling to fuck other women." His voice was cold, void of any emotion at all and you felt your pulse race at his accusation.

You twisted your body to stare at him, your lip curling in disgust. "What the hell is wrong with you? John would never do anything like that and he didn't join the military to fuck around on his wife."

Your chest ached with the soft pulse of pain that never quite went away as you defended your ex-husband. Lucas's face contorted into something dark and dangerous as he pulled into your driveway.

"Sounds like you're still fucking him and I thought you two were over? Why call yourself his wife?" His voice teetered on possessiveness and something sinister as you reached for the door handle, desperate to leave his car and his space as fear took hold of you.

The moment you shoved your door open and stumbled out, you fell right into the chest of the very man you were defending; rough hands kept you upright as he peered into the dark car with a dead look.

John's eyes glazed over, something you've only seen twice since you met him. The first time was when he was talking about his missions and the other time was when a guy slapped your ass at the store.

You curled your fingers into his soft shirt as his scent wrapped you up like a bow on a pretty present. "John..." you whispered, getting his attention. His blue eyes shifted down, softening slowly.

Lucas watched the entire thing with a scoff as he rolled his eyes, not knowing what he just got himself into. John had already texted Simon his license plate and his name so later that night they could visit him.

John guided you into your old shared home. Passing under the threshold made you lean into the man you once promised to cherish and love for the rest of your life; a mistake was what it was, truthfully.

However, you couldn't say that out loud for fear that it was already over. Silence hung over you and John like an umbrella, keeping you two in a bubble of misunderstandings and unasked questions.

"That arseface has been after you ever since you started working there." John broke the silence as he stood by the front door with his arms crossed over his chest, putting you on the defensive.

Your eyes narrowed as you felt the bubble of irritation flare up. It's what the last year and a half of your marriage was like: one wrong move and you stepped on a landmine, and there was more fighting.

That's what did you in. When John wasn't home, it felt like you were single anyway and when he was home, he was more of your roommate. What hurt you the most is you weren't sure when it all started to fall apart at the cracks until it was finally broken.

"I had no idea because I wasn't worried about entertaining another man." You hummed and dropped your purse on the table where the rotted flowers lay, which John picked up, examining them with a grin.

He followed you into the kitchen, where you poured a glass of wine that John took for himself, taking a sip from it. "A man who gives a woman dead flowers wouldn't know how to properly romance her."

You wanted to make some sort of comment about him not knowing either but that was a lie. When you first met John during girls' night, he swept you off your feet and ever since, he has never let you walk.

To him you were his goddess; he worshiped the ground you walked on and there was nothing he wouldn't do for you nor was there any part of your body he hadn't kissed or touched and even though you no longer had the same name, he still felt that way and always would.

"He's unhinged to say the least, and since you're here, will you take a look at the windows in our," You cleared your throat and took the wine glass back from him with a huff to take a sip. "My bedroom, please?"

He leaned over the counter to wipe away the bead of wine on your lip before tasting it off his thumb, making your skin prickle with heat.

"Anything for my wife." With a wink, John headed toward the bedroom, feeling memories haunt him like a ghost attached to his back.

So many nights he carried you to the bed when you fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home, evenings you both spent curled up under the covers talking about everything and nothing.

You've seen him in dark times that he swore would take him under but you shooed away the dark, heavy clouds; your light, like the sun, parted them, providing him the warmth and love he needed to flourish.

A few moments later you joined him in the bedroom with two mugs of spiked hot chocolate, a silent apology for snapping at him when he's saved you again.

"I'm an asshole, huh?" You murmured and handed him his mug.

"At least you're a pretty one." He teased taking a drink of it, smearing the whipped cream on his beard that you kissed away without thinking the moment he sat next to you on the edge of the bed.

John stared at you for a moment, drinking in how the light caressed your features. It's been a year since you've been this close to him.

Setting both mugs down quickly, he leaned in to kiss you properly, like how a man should. His calloused palms cupped your cheeks to hold you still as his tongue parted your lips with a deep groan.

You held onto his arms with a whimper, gliding your tongue with his while moving to straddle him, your hands knocking off his bucket hat to grab a handful of his hair as you ground your clothed pussy against him.

It was a kiss that stole your breath as you molded yourself to John; he was the air you needed in your lungs to keep moving on.

He tasted you with desperate licks that made your clit throb with need as his hands trailed down to slowly peel your clothes off you as his mouth left open-mouthed kisses all over your shoulders and neck once they were bare for him; then he lay on his back to touch you.

"I'm sorry John, for letting our marriage come to this." You whispered, your voice teetering between the rush of emotions and the honesty.

With you straddling him, it was difficult to get him naked, and you missed seeing him. He's a bear of a man with thick, dark hair all over his body that softened with age but was still rough around the edges.

His hands roamed your body missing the feel of you after so fucking long. "Stop apologizin' darlin', I'm right where I want to be."

Despite him lying down, you still got him half naked, enough for you to rub your face against his chest with a sigh as he caressed your back with his fingertips and then popped your ass when you licked his nipple with a soft giggle before peppering his face in kisses.

"We should've had a baby." John whispered into the darkness as one hand cupped your cheek with your heart beating in tandem as you stared at him, feeling a rush of warmth wash over you.

It was something you thought about a lot but with him missing so much of it, you let it simmer on the back burner but now your womb was clenching. "Then no man will ask me on a date because I have my husband home waiting for me. No more, John, please, just come back."

Your soft pleas felt like a ton of bricks on his chest as tears matted his hair while you sobbed in his arms, breaking down. John shushed you gently with kisses and rolled you to your back to spread your legs.

He took his sweet time in kissing his way down to your glistening pussy that ached to be stretched out by John. You whined when his tongue finally glided across your sweet and slick cunt, making your back arch off the bed as he devoured you messily.

With slow and measured strokes of his tongue, your ex-husband had you gasping, your fingers curled in the sheets as you humped his mouth.

John slid his hands around your thighs to keep them open as he ate you out like you were made of the sweetest candy that would leave him with aching teeth but that didn't matter when your moans matched just how you tasted.

Everything was covered in diamonds from the sheer amount of pleasure that was pumping through your veins, like liquid desire making your pussy drool as you humped John's mouth.

It's been so long since you've felt his touch and now it was all you could feel; pressure built up the more his tongue swirled and stroked over your aching and puffy clit before he was kissing your cunt.

Then he slid two thick fingers inside you with a wet squelch, hearing you squeal and moan brokenly. "John, give me a fucking baby already."

He chuckled against you and pulled away with a glistening beard. "Being a bit bossy, are we? You're the one who went on a date; steppin' out on me deserves a punishment." He hummed quietly.

Your blood ran hot, making it feel like you were experiencing the worst hot flash of your life. "I only accepted it because you went on one!"

John now laughed as he kneeled between your legs, watching as you propped yourself up on your elbows, your eyes shifting down to his one hand that worked on his belt and then his pants to free his cock.

It sprang free, warm, fat, and heavy. It was thick too and just the right amount of hair covered his pubic bone; a few veins ran up on either side and a bigger one ran from the deep red, engorged head to his heavy and hairy sack that smelled like all John, potent male.

You wrapped your fingers around the base, unable to let the tips meet, and then slowly you jerked him off from the shaft to the tip before wrapping your legs around him.

"When that woman answered my phone, she thought it was hers. I was with my mates, sweetheart."

The sting of jealousy faded to embarrassment. "You never dated?"

"No, lovey, how could I date anyone when I was still married to you?"

You cried out and hugged his neck, pulling him further down to kiss him with passion as he rutted his hips against you blindly, trying to thrust in from the excitement of having you like this again.

When he speared you open on his dick, your mouth went slack, feeling the sweet sting of the stretch. "Keep it slow, John, you're the last person I slept with..." you admitted in between breathy kisses.

John rocked against you with slow strokes that kept you dizzy while you clung to him as he made sweet love to you, his hand cradling your head as he kissed you back with equal fire. Clearly, he missed you just as much as you missed him, and it was shown in hi

His smug grin not only riled you up but also made you want to sit your pussy on his face to give his mouth something to do and dear lord, did you need an orgasm from him? He's the only man who knew your body so well and could make you cry so sweetly for him.

[reavesluv]

Cameras

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x influencer fem!reader.

Summary: You and Paige are big figures in the internet, Paige just came out to the world as a lesbian and you've always been open about your sexuality. So your managers got a plan.

Fake dating + she plays hard to get

Part 1.

Part 2. “Moving to Dallas.”

notes: Im sorry if this is so bad i honestly have writers block right now 😔

You never thought a fake relationship could change your life in so many ways as it did now that you’re with Paige.

Honestly, Paige wasn’t so bad at all. You two shared a lot of time together while pretending to be lovers, it was actually fun.

Going together to a mall, date nights, park walks with your little Pomeranian called “Cherry.” – Which Paige loves, by the way.

“Cherry! Come here!” You screamed, running behind your dog.

“Y/N, is a damn park. She’s not gonna leave!” Paige screamed watching you run around.

“I don’t care, what if someone steals her?” You screamed back.

“Oh gosh.” She thought. “What did i do to get involved with this girl?”

Paige started running your way to make you stop chasing Cherry.

She was faster than you, obviously. So it wasn’t long until you felt her arms wrapped around your waist making you stop.

You were a little sweaty, trying to calm your breath. But she hugged you anyway.

“I promise you, she’s not gonna leave.” Paige said, wiping away your sweat with her hand.

“Fine.” You pouted. “But if she leaves, i’ll leave you.”

She laughed, amused at what you said. “Oh, you wouldn’t.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, no. But anyway you’re gonna have to find her.”

She chuckled. “Okay, love.”

Oh, love.

Paige had no idea how much you actually cared about her, and she just loved to make all the “pretending” stuff so difficult for you.

“Come here and sit with me, we’ll take some pictures while Cherry plays around.” She adds.

“Okay, sure.” You answer, smiling at her like an idiot.

Being with Paige became more than just a “fake relationship.” But, you were not sure if it was only you, or if she felt the same way.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now you were packing your things, your life, inside three suitcases to move to Dallas, literally the other fucking side of the country.

Draft night was pretty fun, Paige being number one overall pick was amazing, you couldn’t deny that you were really proud of her.

“Congrats, Paige.” You say. Standing up from the table you both were to give her a hug.

“Thanks, pretty.” She answered.

“You’re just teasing me.” You chuckled.

She got closer to your ear so no cameras could record what she was saying.

“Maybe, but is not difficult to pretend i’m not, right?” She said. And after that, she left the table to grab her Wings jersey.

It killed you the fact that Paige loved to pretend. Because that was what she was doing, just pretending.

The after party was worse, everyone blackout drunk, messing around other people. And Paige was definitely one of them.

“Fuck Y/N, you look insanely gorgeous tonight.” She says, getting closer to you. She smelled so much like alcohol you could tell she was not in her five senses.

“Thank you Paige, but you’re too drunk to think.”

“Am i? Naaaahh.” She took another sip of her drink. “Bet you love pretending to be with me.”

“What?” You asked, curious.

“Yeah, don’t lie to me Y/N. I know you love to walk around while everyone thinks i fuck you.”

“Is not like that, Paige.”

“Isn’t it?” She said wrapping an arm around your waist. “Because we could stop pretending and you should let me fuck you.”

Your heart started beating so fast, you didn’t know what to say or do.

“Paige–” You took a deep breath. “I’m taking you home.”

She smirked. “Oh really, now?”

“Yeah, but is not like that. You’re too drunk, and you’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

Fuck, it was really so difficult for you.

“Whatever Paige, but not tonight.” You ended.

She pouted at you. “Can i at least get a kiss? So the cameras can have a little pic of us going around, y’know.”

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would explode. “Ye–ah.?” You tried to answer.

And that was it.

She kissed you. Like she loved you.

And you knew she didn’t.

Next morning, she didn’t remember. Neither of you saw pictures.

So she never knew she kissed you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Do i really have to?” You ask Lena.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But yes, if you wanna keep up with all of this, you need to move in with her.”

“I didn’t expect you would tell me to move in when she got drafted!”

“Well it was obvious, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

Paige was already in Dallas, waiting for you.

You had to text her to tell her the new plan your managers came up with, she didn’t seem bothered by it.

Paige, i have to move in with you, did you hear?

Yeah, Louis told me

You okay with that?

Yeah, i guess we can work it out

Okay, i’ll be on the first plane to dallas tomorrow morning

Alright, i’ll see you then

You weren’t ready, like, why would you be ready to move in with someone you’re not even dating, and worse, in the other side of the country?

The plane landed on dallas. You were not a texas type of girl, so everything was going to change.

Some of the stuff and furniture you had to bring with you from LA was in another plane, so you had to wait for it.

Paige, i’m in texas!

That’s good Y/N, i’m heading to the airport right now

Okay, thank you

see you there, love

Your eyes brightened when you saw her. In a slick back ponytail, nike dunks and baggy jeans.

“Heeey.” You said.

“Hey, welcome to our new city.” She answered.

You chuckled and hugged her softly. “Is it good in here?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Just a bit hot, though.” she laughed.

You both chuckled. Paige noticed you had a worried look on your face, so she held your hand softly.

“We’ll make this work Y/N. We complement each other.”

“Yeah, i know.” You sighed. “I just really miss California.”

She chuckled. “Hey, but at least you have me.”

You chuckled back. “You’re right. I’m here, but with you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

finally part 2, i’m so sorry, im a lazy writer 🤓

tags! @niya500

[qiu-yan]

#i think this is the interpretation were supposed to be getting imho#i read the novel having no horse in thus race#up until wwx comes back - the whole story is about wwx and jc#all i knew about mdzs were pretty pictures of wangxian and people gushing about the cute couple they are#i thought - welp svsss was fun lets try this i stayed for the political intrigue and the background characters#and this is exactly the read i had in this whole situation - a conflict engineered in an exact way to leave wwx without jc's support#because we know that he will jump into fire for wwx if the only cost is himself#we see him do it#we know he absolutely hates losing and seeing his loved ones in danger - we've seen him in these situations#the fact he could admit “there is nothing i can do for you” when before their relationship leaned towards jc cleaning up wwx's messes#and he'd grumble about it but still do it#he would stand up to his mother in protection of wwx - the person that has the most influence on him ever#the fact he admits in the burial mounds that he cant do anything - it startlingly honest and simple#and it had to cost him a lot to admit - it had to come at the end of going through every scenario available to him and coming up blank#we KNOW jc doesn't let go of the people he loves#the fact he was forced to let go now tells us what we need to know#from a literary perspective this is blindingly obvious#but reiterating - jgs may be an old lecher but he is politically astute enough to make a successful grab for power#and the moment wwx and wn murder jzx it's pretty much over for the burial mounds team#even if jc allied himself with wwx - this was a sect leader's ONLY SON#no one would stand with them#jc's feelings about the wen and wwx are moot at this point#his best friend just murdered the president's only son - there's only one way this can go#jzx was popular and respected - there was no way there wouldn't be fallout from that#mxtx doesn't get into the exact politics of her world a lot and i can respect that - it's a lot#she also seems to be balancing between making the world and characters believable - and at the same time the leads In The Moral Right#because the moment you start to think about it beyond the simple “but wen remnants didn't have weapons uwu” and apply real-world logic#it all kinda falls apart - and we are reading a romance goddamnit so it's not a moral thesis she's writing#all scenes lead to the next scenes - character decisions lead to decisions down the line#nothing exists in a vacuum

tags via @whumpbby

just to be clear, my own position on the issue of post-sunshot yunmeng jiang is as follows:

post-sunshot yunmeng jiang was politically weak. yunmeng jiang - which had suffered the near-absolute massacre of all of its personnel, fought through an entire war, was occupied by the enemy for a significant period of time, was now led by a teenager with almost no political experience, and was now the sole great sect excluded from the alliance implied by the venerated triad - was weak in terms of manpower, available resources, and political position. yunmeng jiang was not "flourishing" after the sunshot campaign; the mere 2-4 years between the fall of lotus pier and wei wuxian's defection from yunmeng jiang does not provide enough time for yunmeng jiang to recover to a stable position from near-absolute annihilation and lengthy enemy occupation. the claim that [the draw of wei wuxian's demonic cultivation singlehandedly resurrected yunmeng jiang's manpower and political power] also does not make logical sense, because wei wuxian was not actually teaching anyone demonic cultivation.

by contrast, post-sunshot lanling jin was the strongest and most stable political entity in the cultivation world, given that lanling jin was the sole great sect still led by a politically experienced member of the previous generation instead of a teenager, given lanling jin's prewar levels of wealth, given that lanling jin did not suffer a direct attack by the wen like yunmeng jiang or gusu lan, and given lanling jin's relatively low levels of participation in the sunshot campaign.

post-sunshot yunmeng jiang could not have politically afforded to officially protect wei wuxian and the wen remnants after wei wuxian liberated said remnants from the jin-run qiongqi pass labor camp. officially shielding wei wuxian would entail keeping wei wuxian as the head disciple of yunmeng jiang; therefore, officially shielding wei wuxian would mean that the head disciple of yunmeng jiang attacked and killed members of lanling jin and other affiliated sects. this in turn would then entail yunmeng jiang making an enemy out of lanling jin. furthermore, given that public opinion was already turning against wei wuxian, and given lanling jin's ties to the other three great sects through the venerated triad sworn brotherhood, this in turn makes it highly likely that yunmeng jiang would end up standing against the rest of the entire cultivation world - which is not a situation the weakened yunmeng jiang could survive. in better-case scenarios, consequences of this could include yunmeng jiang paying massive restitutions to lanling jin and/or all the other sects whose members wei wuxian harmed; in the worst-case scenario, this would entail a second fall of lotus pier.

yunmeng jiang is a political entity made up of human beings. yunmeng jiang is not some shiny bauble that exists solely for jiang cheng's personal satisfaction; rather, it is an organization made up of human beings whose lives have moral value. to say "yunmeng jiang would be put into danger" is to say "the disciples of yunmeng jiang would be put into danger;" to say "yunmeng jiang would not survive" is to say "the disciples of yunmeng jiang would die."

a leader's first and foremost duty is to his own people. by the social contract theory, the people consent to give up a portion of their freedoms to the state in return for protection of their rights by the state; the state is afforded the authority to govern the people only through the agreement that the state in turn acts in the best interests of the people and their rights. jiang cheng's mandate to rule the disciples of yunmeng jiang as sect leader jiang, therefore, is derived from the mutual understanding that he act first and foremost in their best interest - that he put their safety and their wellbeing above all else. while an individual hero is free to choose a moral framework that does not center consequences as the source of moral judgment, a leader instead is duty-bound consider the consequences for his people. if jiang cheng had yunmeng jiang side with wei wuxian despite the danger this would put yunmeng jiang into, and/or if jiang cheng left yunmeng jiang to stand alone with wei wuxian, then he would be abandoning his duty as sect leader jiang to protect his people.

both wei wuxian and jiang cheng understood all of the above. when jiang cheng goes to confront wei wuxian in the burial mounds after wei wuxians' attack on the qiongqi pass labor camp - a situation in which jiang cheng has no reason to be dishonest - jiang cheng does not call the wen remnants evil or say that they deserve to die. rather, he says that "if you insist on protecting them, then i cannot protect you" - to which wei wuxian replies that, in that case, jiang cheng should let him go. this specific word choice implies that what stops jiang cheng from siding with wei wuxian is not hatred of the wen remnants alone, but rather the knowledge that he does not have the power to successfully protect wei wuxian and yunmeng jiang if wei wuxian insists on protecting the wen remnants. jiang cheng's words are an admission of his own lack of power, not his hatred.

i believe that multiple interpretations of the text are possible, as is the case with almost all fiction. the above is my own interpretation of the text and what i believe the text most logically implies.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I actually have to give My Stubborn a lot of credit. Sorn is a very old school style seme, yes, but they are giving his actions modern consequences, and setting up why that kind of behavior is a disaster for any kind of actual long term romantic relationship.

The moment Sorn started harassing Jun at the copier, I had the thought, "oh this is when I would start crying". That frustration was so vivid, and so realistic. They are really doing an incredible job of putting us in Jun's shoes. And Sorn finally got his first realization that his actions can directly hurt Jun. He's been in such a bubble around their relationship, and so up his own ass about how Jun is his property, to do what he likes with. If he is going to be capable of any real love, he needs to understand and care about Jun's agency and feelings.

Also I like the reinforcement of how much Tai views Jun as his little brother, and how Champ and Tai both care so much, and want to take such good care of Jun. He's got support and love and care in his life, and I think that will be a very important factor in realizing he deserves better than what he's getting from Sorn.

Damn, how is this horny little show having such surprising depth?

[genomesoldier]

Vaguely x reader survivor headcanon thing good lord

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Hi! I wrote these almost three months ago hoping I would be able to write for all of the games' cast. Unfortunately, I've since fallen out of Forsaken in lieu of the game practically exploding in popularity. I will give what I had written, though! Hopefully someone out there likes this. These will be a mix of general headcanons + more affectionate ones. They may be out of character because they were written such a long time ago.

All writing is below the cut. :)

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Noob

Noob is a quiet, polite soul; naturally reserved and even closed off. They fear being a burden, seeking out comfort in the little things and the small variables they can control.

Noob is someone who takes a long time to truly open up about themselves. Whatever happened between Guest 666 and them left a deep, lasting impression: their devotion and trust is something hard-earned.

Now, that is a high hurdle to leap; but once it is managed, Noob is an utter sweetheart. They strongly value physical touch and affection, finding grounding and security in hand-holding or a strong hug. The ability to make them feel secure and safe is a huge deal, especially with them.

Noob has a lesser-known, more expressive side to them; being a sillier, more teasing individual beneath the skittish surface. This half is often obscured by insecurities.

They love to share their snacks! They do not taste as good here as they do at home, but they hope the thought is what counts.

They had spent a lot of time fretting up to this point: their worth, their usefulness to their fellow survivors… they struggled at a point to believe that people did not secretly find them bothersome or dead weight. Being able to open up is nothing but a boon to their emotional health. They feel braver with someone that they can trust to have their back.

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Elliot

Elliot is a hard-working, (generally) polite person. This isn’t to say he has any lack of sass… that smile of his is practiced.

While he strives to make his work/team environment comfortable for everyone, he will not hide his feelings off the clock. (007 and him are noted to have a particularly rocky relationship.)

Elliot has spent much of his working life in a service position; and so his patience is immense. That is to say anyone who is treating him with decency is good in his books.

Elliot does not have much of a social life; his job was his priority. That is to say he has a lot to talk about. (Plenty of customer horror stories to tell, for sure.)

Elliot did not realize how good it was to vent his feelings—to just sit down and talk—until someone finally gave him the room to speak about himself. He is used to being the person people talk at, rather than the one doing the talking.

Elliot often puts others above himself: not because of others expectations, but rather his own. Elliot’s own exhaustion and stress is often being put aside for what he deems more important or immediate, and puts a lot of pride in being “self-made.” He often forgets to rest and needs to be reminded to slow down sometimes due to this.

Elliot is big on words of affirmation, and knows how to make people feel better or ease stress. He’s eloquent or even flowery if he’s trying to be charming, if not slightly cheesy.

Elliot appreciates quality time, too. Everything around him (including himself) always seems to be moving so fast. Having someone to just be there, a constant in what is otherwise a hectic situation, eases his frayed nerves.

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Two-Time

Two-Time is a flawed individual. A slightly(?) delusional cultist, who clearly has things to hide.

Two-Time comes off as reckless and low-empathy. They have issues to sort out clearly, but they do have some heart.

Most of the things they do are things they believe are for the greater good (even if they may not really be).

...So, someone who doesn’t treat them like a shadow—who well and truly listens to their eccentricity, authentically—is someone that would have them fascinated.

They are a lonely and strange person. Someone even remotely accompanying makes them happier than they may first realize. Company is often taken for granted, but Two-Time is intimately acquainted with isolation.

Two-Time takes much solace in having someone merely be there, to talk to them. Someone who understands or at least listens is a reprieve and reminder that there are still good things to be had, though they may not understand why (or if) they deserve it.

...Azure had not only been their partner, but their best friend. They made their decision a long time ago, but to say they feel no nostalgia or guilt (though they have likely deluded themself into thinking it to be for the greater good) would be foolish.

They will stick their neck out for people with little hesitation under the firm belief that they will come back: “shadows die twice,” as they like to say. Something especially true for someone who they feel they can rely on. To boot, Two-Time is a rather impulsive person who often leaps before they look. They bleed, but it will surely be fine—they will wake right back up again--their faith in the Spawn heaves them upwards.

They are Incredibly perceptive yet simultaneously dense. They can spot when someone is troubled, but may be invasive with their questioning. It is almost frightening how easily they can pin a persons feelings down.

Two-Time values quality time and actions: There will be a hundred little things that they may wish they had done one day… or things they may regret having done.

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Chance

This man has secrets in spades. A liar almost compulsively, a charmer to boot. The charm is natural, however. Chance proves to be quite the people-person, and surprisingly non-judgmental.

It is of little surprise how much of Chance is fabricated however; either to impress others or simply pull the wool over people’s eyes to whatever truths he may be trying to hide.

Much of his positivity is natural! Chance is a person willing to see the good in bad situations. An equal half of that positive attitude however is used to shovel away his actual problems that need addressing. Most issues are contributed by him to bad luck more than anything. (He is a rather superstitious individual, to note.)

...The effort required to get him to lay down his walls is immense; a slow chip-away to reveal someone more authentic beneath the surface-level nonchalance.

He may be rather dense at times as a consequence of this, failing to see the bigger issue (whether in a situation or even with himself) in exchange for brushing it all off.

Chance tends to act like a "hotshot" for people he wants to impress, and sometimes him looking cool is entirely accidental. Lucky him! Respectfully, he is a little stupid at times, but he means perfectly well.

Chance values gift-giving quite a bit. He is more observant than he lets on! He might not look it, but he remembers the little things. There is consideration in the things he gives, and it shows.

As someone with money to spare, he's prone to splurging for people he cares about. He may be a bit of an impulse buyer; at least when it comes to buying other people nice things.

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007n7

007n7 is a troubled individual, with an even more troubled past. In lieu of all the hardships he's dealt with, he's... handling everything the best that he possibly can.

In his younger days, 007n7 was quite the menace--outgoing, even reckless--though nowadays he is rather reserved and even occasionally pleasant to be around... if anyone can even find him to talk to him at all. (Not even to mention that's if anyone would want to speak with him to begin with.)

007n7 has become a bit of a hermit, being both closed off and slippery: in that he seemingly blends in with crowds on purpose if only to escape any modicum of attention.

Oftentimes 007n7 is lost in his own inner world. He is a chronic daydreamer, though not outwardly emotive in reaction to whatever he may be thinking about. He has mastered his poker face at this point, a blank slate that is extremely difficult to read, and he does not plan on letting anyone in anytime soon.

007n7 deals with a fair bit of self-loathing for a variety of reasons. He pins a lot of the blame on himself for losing his son; he had at one point made Elliot's work life practically a living hell; and he had drawn plenty of ire from administrators for his shenanigans. He would not and does not blame anyone for disliking him, and tries to keep himself out of everyone's business if only not to raise their ire or bother them. He is both isolated and self-isolating, to say.

...So, he would be an extremely difficult person to crack. 007n7 would take a long time to open up, let alone hold a conversation. He's rather prone to drifting off into his own thoughts, and it is safe to say he has not had a "real" conversation with someone in a long time.

Having someone snap him out of his zone-outs and drag him into reality, instead of hearing conversations manufactured inside his own head? The notion is surprising to him. Yet, with consistency, 007n7 proves to have a lot to talk about. Most of his past is unpleasant to him, but he is highly prone to reminiscing nonetheless. There is a lot of remorse and regret involved, but that does not mean his past was devoid of any kind of fun--especially not in the moment. 007n7 may hesitate to admit he had a good time out of a mix of shame and a fear of judgement.

Someone to talk to is a small miracle to him in of itself. Someone who won't judge him is even bigger. Someone to ground him in the "now" of things, rather than constantly reminiscing on what had and could have been, was something he did not know he needed so badly. 007n7 is not one to smile much anymore, let alone wear his feelings on his sleeve, but his smiles are subdued and soft and meaningful. Maybe there is still value to be had in the present...

007n7 is not very good with his words, so he tries to convey himself with his actions. No amount of apologies could undo the past, and he has long since lost the words. He understands acutely what it is like to have no one to lean on but yourself, if even that. So the least he can do is be there when no one was there for him. It is surprising how ever-present he seems to be, following like a shadow and appearing when he is needed the most.