#sorry for the clumsy writing

[ruinix]

Cock warming with Jack? Pls.

Hello, anon, lovely. Sorry for taking super long. Something took over my keyboard. I apologize if you don’t want a dom-sub dynamic, but I could NOT stop typing. Sorry, Jack got mean. Also, I am not used to writing this dynamic (a problem when my brain cells decided to brew this). We got another bonus here (you can skip it).

Caught

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Masturbation (usage of toy, then mutual), Dom-Sub dynamics (dom!Jack), Cockwarming as punishment, Degradation because Jack is angry -> slight Praise Kink, Unprotected sex (use protection, lovelies), a bit of Aftercare

Count: 3365 + 370 words | Masterlist

You must’ve not heard him. Jack is sure that you didn’t. If you had, you would’ve greeted him with a smile and a kiss while calling his name in such a melodic voice.

If you had, you wouldn’t still be fucking yourself with your head almost handing off one armrest of the couch, with your beautiful lips parted, your breathy moans escaping them, with your legs shaking at the pace you’re going.

If you had, you would just beg for his cock immediately.

If you had, he would just give it to you like he does with everything you possibly want. It wouldn’t matter if a game exhausted the fuck out of him or if he just arrived from a long flight after a road trip—which he did right now. He spoils you rotten.

You want a kiss? He will kiss every inch of your skin until you whine for him to bite.

You want his cock? He’ll let you feel every inch of him until he’s buried so deeply inside you.

You want his handprints on your ass? He’ll make your skin red and raw and bruised that you’ll feel him every time you sit down.

You want to be filled? He will spill every fucking drop inside your pussy until you are spilling around him. Too fucking full of his cum that you worry if he impregnated you.

You want to explore more kinks? He’ll fucking do it until you beg for more.

You touching yourself is fine. It’s hot. He likes it the best when he orders you to make yourself come. He likes the way your delicate fingers circle your clit, rubbing your folds, fucking your pussy. You’re always such a good girl. So you deserve everything including exploring and worshipping yourself—

Then he notices the dildo in your hand.

A dildo.

A fucking dildo. In. His. Pussy.

Worse thing about it, it’shis equipment—bespoke, molded from his cock. However, the dildo is secondary to the huge problem. The biggest bane of this encounter is the fact that you’ve entered the room. You’ve taken the dildo from there.

You are not allowed inside without him for reasons. He wants you safe. He doesn’t want you to use any of his equipment, because it’s not safe. What if you get stuck on the restraints, on the swing, on the inversion table? What if you used the wooden horse without prepping yourself? What if. What if.

He needs you to be safe.

You promised him that you wouldn’t go inside. You promised that you’ll wait for him. You promised. And you broke it. In turn, you’ve defied him and broken his trust.

Everything. He does every fucking thing for you. Simply because you were so obedient. You were his good girl. He was too trusting. Look what that got him. A fucking brat who doesn’t follow simple fucking instructions.

Right now, your image feels like a lie. A mirage that had successfully lured him in with a promise to quench his thirst, to satisfy his needs over his wants, to make him feel whole and alive. A mirage that killed him for its empty promise.

His heart hammers loudly in his chest, making his ears ring, as your leg falls over the couch, your foot immediately planting on the carpeted floor. His throat tightens the more you moan. His eyesight darkens as he notes his fucking dildo you are thrusting in his pussy again and again.

What the fuck is your problem?

He grips the wall, knuckles turning white. He is glaring daggers into your skin. Cursing your audacity, your idiocy, your mistake. Your betrayal.

People are sensitive that they’ll sense a glare on them. Not you. That irks him more.

His anger exponentially rises. His heated blood courses through his veins. His cock twitches, getting harder as your lewd sounds drive him further towards the edge.

“Jack,” you moan, still unaware of his presence, still digging yourself a deeper hole. “Jack, please. Oh, yes, yes.”

Fucking whore. That’s what you are. A bad whore.

It doesn’t matter if it’s his name that spills out of your lips. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You’re thinking about him. That clears his mind. You are so beautiful as you continue fucking yourself. It’s basically his cock in your pussy. He swears he can smell you—your arousal, your sweat, your delectable scent—in the air. His heart pumps in anger but also his ever-growing, everlasting love for you. He loves you. So much. Even more now.

However, he must correct this act of defiance. He doesn’t want this to happen again. So, he moves.

One, he grips your hair, tugging until you gasp, your pretty eyes opening so widely and full of fear of being caught. Your pleading voice sounds as he drags out the dildo, throwing it over his shoulder. Your arousal wets his hand which he uses to grab your throat, forcing you to look right into his eyes.

“Caught in the fucking act, baby girl.” His voice sounds deeper even in his ears.

Like the whore you are, he knows you like it. The blush burns over your cheeks. Your pupils threaten to engulf all of your irises. When he squeezes his hand—putting pressure on your arteries, limiting the blood flow to your pretty head, limiting your air—your eyes roll up as you let out a strangled moan.

“Just a fucking whore,” he lets go, letting you whine and chase after his touch.

“Jack, I was so close,” you plead, going to your knees on the couch.

Jack can’t stop his scoff nor his eyes rolling. Are you serious? On the couch? Oh, he truly spoiled you.

He grabs you by your arm and yanks. He forces you to the floor, swallowing the urge to coddle you when he hears the loud thud from your knees hitting the floor. He plops down the couch, dragging you between his thighs. He sees the tears running down your cheeks. He hears your apology then your complaints, so he grabs your jaw, leaning down so harsh that your forehead bumps against each other.

“Where’d you get the dildo?” he asks.

“Ja—” One squeeze to your jaw and you stop. You sniffle. “From the room.”

“Which room?” he challenges.

When your eyes stray to the left, he knows you’ll lie.

You say, “The bedroom…under your stuff…”

He sighs, pushing you away by your jaw. He’s seeing fucking red again. He leans back, closing his eyes, controlling his breaths to calm the fuck down, running his hand through his hair. Okay, maybe he’s more disappointed than angry.

“I’ll give you one last chance, baby girl,” he warns. “Where?”

“Just under your clothes—"

“We both know that it was not under my clothes, was it?” He growls, grabbing your shirt to force it off you. You sniffle, trying to hide his tits, so he slaps your hands away. He mocks, “Trying to hide now, hmm? When your cunt has been leaking and making a mess on our carpet? When you were fucking yourself with the curtains open for the whole world to see? You are such a fucking whore.”

“Jack, please,” you cry.

You are breaking and your eyes show it. Of course, you are. You’re not used to this. You’ve only ever experienced the joys of being his submissive. Only ever heard praises whispered in your ears. But he can see how much you want it. You are more curious than hurt. He knows. He understands you more than you do yourself.

Jack swears your pupils grow wider. Your lips—that are still so red from you biting it while you were masturbating—are parted as you pant. Your nipples are hard peaks, begging for him to touch for a smidge of relief, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think you deserve anything right now.

“Did you enjoy it at least?” He motions with his forefinger and middle curling, commanding you to move forward. You follow, your hands daring to run up his thighs. He lets you.

“Yes,” you say so quietly that it’s a whisper. “But I didn’t come.”

He’s still not hearing an apology. Is it so hard to say ‘Sorry, Jack, I broke my promise’ or ‘Sorry, Jack, I needed you and the dildo was the only thing I have here’ or just ‘Sorry, Jack’? Is that hard? You’re a clever girl, but why are you so dumb right now?

“I didn’t ask.” He unbuckles his belt, undoes his pants, exposing his rock-hard cock, totally distracting you. You are so simple when it comes to sex. “If I spank you, you’ll just come. If I tug your hair, you might. You are such a whore that you’ll just come even if I just pinch nipples right now.”

The way your breath hitches, your anticipation is heightening. Too hungry for whatever punishment he’ll give you, because you know it is coming. Maybe that’s why you’re not apologizing. You are taunting him. Fine. You’ve got him.

“You don’t get to come anymore.”

“What—”

He grabs you by your nape, pulling you so close to his cock. When you try to lick him, he gives your hair a tug. “Ah, ah. You’re not going to suck or lick”—you whimper a protest but he slaps his leaking cock on your lips—“or tease. You’re not going to do anything because I know how much of a whore you are that anything would just make you come. You don’t deserve to come or my kisses or cock on your needy little pussy. You’re not my good girl right now. Just a bad, bad girl.”

More tears escape your eyes. More whine from your lips. He doesn’t let you say another word, guiding his cock inside your mouth. He can feel your sob, can feel your remorse, but he chooses to ignore it. He pushes every aching inch of his cock down your throat. You can take all of him, he knows. Fuck, you feel so good. When you gulp, he almost comes, but he holds himself back. You don’t deserve his come.

“This is a punishment, baby. We’re going to stay like this,” he murmurs, smoothening down your hair, sliding his foot between your legs to keep you from making any unnecessary friction. “While I watch the replay of my game, hmm?”

You sniffle. You look so adorable with his cock in your mouth. So cute with your little tears. So cute when you dig your nails into his pants-covered thighs.

“You have your word,” he reminds you.

With no forcing hold over your head, you can pull away and tell him your safe word. This can stop—punishment or not. Just one word. But you don’t step back, and no word escapes you. Jack’s heart beats with excitement about learning this new side of you, rather, a new layer of you. 

When Jack’s sure that you won’t do or say anything, he turns on the TV with the remote conveniently on the couch. He starts the game. Although, he’s not really watching. He can’t just analyze the plays when you’re between his legs and his cock down your throat. He can’t. All his focus is aimed at you, despite his eyes are on the screen. All he hears is your soft breathing. All he feels is your tongue pressed on the underside of his cock, your chin putting the slightest pressure on his balls, your nails finally finding the skin of his thighs and digging into it. All he smells is your shampoo and conditioner—from when you are lying down on this couch—and your arousal. And in turn, all he tastes is your pussy just from the fucking smell. He’s losing it. It takes him everything to hold back and not fuck your throat.

Shamelessly, he prays for you to mutter your word. Maybe if you get overwhelmed, he can calm down while he eases you. What the fuck is he even saying? He doesn’t want you to say it. He wants you to want this as much as he does. He wants you to get used to a punishment, because he can’t just keep spoiling you.

You are such a delight to spoil.

Later.

Definitely later.

Still, he waits for you to pull away, but you never do. He swallows a groan. He can’t wait to spoil you after this. You’re taking this so well that his heart is aching from pride. He has forgiven you, even before the first period ends.

Who is he kidding?

He already forgave you the moment his name escaped your lips. Fine, not that. He was so pissed that you lied to him.

The moment you take in all of him, managing to breathe around him, controlling yourself not to such because he knows how thirsty you are for cum. That’s it. 

From time to time, Jack pats your head once before he slides his hand down your hair. It’s almost like he’s petting you. Every time, you sigh through your nose, air hitting his pelvis, making him fucking shudder.

He can’t help it. You feel so incredible that he’s losing it. Your tiny gulps are enough stimulation. Fuck. Fuck! So fucking good.

Your drool—that you fail to gulp down—drips from your lips. You shift on your knees. He knows your eyes are begging him to give your pillow or a knee pad. He can feel them on him, takes all of him not to cave. It hurts him not to care. To ignore you. He hates this. He’ll find another punishment that doesn’t hurt your pretty knees. Find another punishment that doesn’t make him feel guilty.

He doesn’t fucking understand it. He can bruise you, tie you up, fuck you with a dildo on a machine. He can do all of that with no issue so why is he hurting? Perhaps, he’s not cut out for this? Nope. Not that. He loves dominating you. He just needs to get you kneepads when he decides to do this again. Good idea. Perfect.

‘Good job,’ he mentally congratulates himself. One simply needs to boost his ego. Nothing’s weird about this. At all.

The second period ends.

You are sagging against him. Your jaw probably hurt. Jack finally looks down and sees how tired you look, how blush still stains your cheeks, how sweat beads on your skin. He pets your head again but instead of running his hand down your hair, he caresses your cheek then your jaw.

You sigh, looking so happy and satisfied with his touch.

“Fuck. Such a good girl,” he says, failing to stop the words, the truth. “My good girl.”  He praises, “My good little whore.”

You preen, your eyes shining with happiness and love. Any ache in Jack’s chest disappears. He didn’t lose you. Not one bit. He still has you. You still love him as he loves you. Fuck, he’s so lucky.

He's so weak. One look from you, he’s ready to pull you up and cuddle you. One look, and he has forgotten how he got angry in the first place. It feels so far away.

“I just don’t want you to be hurt if your curiosity gets the best of you,” he says. “I know you, baby girl.”

He can feel the shudder that wrecked your body. The slow blink you did shows your understanding. He grazes his knuckles over your cheekbones, swiping at the dried-up tear tracks, then over chin to smear your drool. Just a bit. Beautiful. How are you this beautiful?

The game ends with the Devils’ win.He needs to rewatch it again so he can truly analyze the plays. Not now though. Later.

Jack carefully slides his aching cock from your lips, hissing from the sensation, groaning at the sight of your saliva acts like a tether that connects him from your perfect mouth which only breaks when his pre-cum drips from his slit. He easily picks you up and settles you over his lap sideways. When you move to wipe away the mess on your chin, he stops you, kissing your pretty fingers. A slow and deliberate kiss on each of them. His eyes on yours. Then he grabs your nape, pulling you closer.

“Jack,” you whisper against his lips.

Not a whine. Just a gentle murmur of his name that sounds like a song that soothes his soul. Like an angel singing hymns of humanity. He loves it when you call him by his name.

He says your name in response, then he kisses you. Tongues feel and caress, tasting one another. He deepens the kiss to sooth any numbness that you may be feeling, yet he nips your lips here and there. He can’t help but trail kisses to your chin, licking away the mess, your saliva, your drool. It’s not much but he needs it.

He’s greedy for it.

He licks, licks, and licks, gulping in between.

Even your sweat that beads your skin.

His brain engraining your soft noises—your moans, sighs, and groans.

He needs everything of you.

He’ll die if he doesn’t.

“You did so well. I’m so proud,” he whispers again and again. He needs you to understand him. “My good girl.”

“Oh, Jack,” you breathe.

When his hand curls into your inner thigh, fingers feeling your wet pussy, teasing your folds and pressing on your clit with his thumb, you sob. When his two of his fingers dip into your pussy, your eyes roll up, hips grinding to seek more pleasure. He gives it to you. His other hand is on your hips, securing you to him, not letting you escape.

He curses when your hand wraps around his cock, giving him the same attention, matching his tempo. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily for every tug. Fuck. So good. So fucking good.

It feels like eternity. Just you and him, bringing each other closer and closer to your undoing. Jack wants to keep you forever. He will keep you forever. He’ll make it happen. No matter what the cost. He can’t live without you anymore.

Can’t.

He fucking can’t.

You let out a squeal, hiding your face into his neck, your pussy quivers, clenching his fingers, as your orgasm consumes you. Your legs tremble, trapping his hand in between as if you’re scared that he’ll just leave you hanging. Jack will never. He rides your orgasm, teasing your clit over and over again until you are shaking your head, biting into his neck to stop him. He won’t stop.

The pain you’ve inflicted only sends him over the edge. He comes with his eyesight darkening. He fucking blacks out for a second, shuddering as you keep tugging and squeezing him. Your other hand grips his wrist as he brings you to another peak as he finally stops spurting cum on your thigh, your hips, your tummy, your breast. He made such a mess. On your fucking skin that he almost instantly goes hard again.

Both of you are a mess of sweat and cum.

It’s fucking perfect.

“I love you, baby,” he says, pulling out his hand from between your thighs.

“I love you too,” you respond, smiling against his skin.

Then you start to lick his fucking throat. Fucking hell.  Fuck. His. Life.

His sensitive cock is rock hard again.

“Say that I’m your good girl again, Jack,” you plead.

Shifting his head to the side so you can have more access on his skin, he nods, saying, “My good girl.”

Your satisfied moan seals your fate. He wraps his hand around your thigh and shifts you like you’re a weightless doll. He has your legs spread wide, your pussy leaking on his cock, dripping both arousal and your cum.

You pant as he pushes in the tip. Inch by inch. Until he’s seated inside you.

Until he starts fucking you while holding your hips to stop you from moving. Stop you from fucking him, when it’s his fucking time to do it to you.

You just need to take it.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You sigh, watching Jack settle on the floor beside the bed. He’s wearing nothing but sweatpants. He lays his head on your sweatpant-covered shin, pressing a kiss over the fabric. His hand carefully holds your foot before he starts massaging the underside of your foot. You relax even more. That feels good.

His hair is still wet from the shower—he took after your bath—while yours is already dried. He dried it. He did a lot. He gave you a whole-body massage, pressing kisses on your skin. He gave extra attention to your knees, clearly fussing over how long you’ve been on your knees without kneepads. They were sore before, but not too sore. The floor is carpeted for fuck’s sake, and he worried too much. Him fussing over you was cute, so you let him. Besides, he needs it. You saw how his worry ate at him, so you appeased him.

He may think that he’s the only one spoiling someone in this relationship. You are too. By letting him have his control. By letting him take and mark you. By letting him take care of you.

This is special for him.

And for you.

“Jack, come here,” you call, taking a towel you’ve prepared under the pillow. He peeks up at you, his blue eyes filled with satisfaction, before crawling up, wrapping himself over you. You start to dry his hair. “Sorry I went in the room.”

He sighs, nodding. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t do it again.”

“Yeah…maybe.” You smirk.

A spark burns in his eyes. “You won’t,” he growls, still surrendering to you drying his hair, head resting between your breasts now, taking a non-subtle inhale. He murmurs, “Smells so good.”

You ran a hand through his hair, nails grazing his scalp that has him humping your thighs. You taunt, “I’m not promising anything anymore.”

He’s so hard but he still glares at you for your non-promise.

“You can’t stop me—”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss. His kiss is rough and deep that he’s basically fucking your mouth. He’s telling you—without words, just the kiss—that you are walking on thin ice.

Fuck that.

He’ll just have to punish you again.

[kortac-sweetheart]

hi im thinking abt nikto but with the clumsiest darling ever bc it’s me im the clumsy silly guy that cant be left alone for 5 minutes lest he gets into trouble

he tries to see the silver lining in it, since he’s retired now he has you to keep him on his toes and alert but god he hates how you just hurt yourself so easily

(cough i was pretending to do tekken fighting moves alone in the kitchen yesterday and brought my hand down on a can of beans so hard the skin of my finger split, yes i am ok don’t worry)

and the worst part is, is that you’re not even in pain for more than a second before laughing it off and running off to do something else.

you accidentally sloshed some hot water on your hand and you didn’t even say ow, you just casually walked to the sink to rinse it under cool water and sauntered off like nothing happened.

(he’s terrified of your pain tolerance, you don’t even bruise at all despite how many times you bump your thigh into that table corner, it’s maddening to see)

he has to keep an eagle eye on you at all times lest you hurt yourself even more. grasping corners of any sort of table has become second nature to him when you have a nasty habit of bumping into them.

he can only sigh exasperated as you nearly trip over nothing before giggling and twirling as you walk on the sidewalk, coming up besides you to grasp your hand so you don’t trip over air again.

he’s highly considering baby proofing the whole house for his big clumsy baby (you).

(yes you are indefinitely banned from cooking at home, he’ll perk up immediately the moment you step foot into the kitchen don’t even try it.)

[lupiinist]

i like the idea that lily is one of the smartest people in hogwarts but she's also just like

very clumsy. she drops things, she trips on air, and she's very unlucky too, gum sticks randomly on her hair (mary or marlene always cuts the tips of her hair every month or so because of that), and everytime something like that happens, she makes an odd sound as she snorts and laughs.

because yes, she's clumsy and unlucky, but she's surprisingly positive about it, she finds everything to be very funny, and mary and marlene are so used to it by now that they're always ready to hold her before she falls, take her out of the way of something that's being thrown, or just hold something she dropped before it breaks.

i like lily being a bit of a mess, let her be a bit of a failgirl as a treat, she's adorable, and she's a genius!!!!

(also, mary can't help but look so, so fond and in love with her whenever lily laughs when she trips on the hem of her robes, like she makes the entire day brighter just by smiling)

[stikybug]

The polycule brainrot is so strong.

I need to put some of these ideas down but i don't like making things pretty so this is just a braindump . All under cut to not clog

Stealing clothes between them would be so so so common. Mc is a menace and has 6 oversized shirts she totally swears are hers. Only one is

Second biggest offender is Ayn when staying at home , Alkaid stares at him for 5 minutes straight when he sees his missing sweater matched with cat earphones

It's so cute a photo was sent to the gc, obviously

They start sleeping at the sameish time, it's such a perfect excuse to go over to their cute partners and be tender before bed how could they not?

Because of this, Mc, Lars, and Ayns' shitty sleep schedule gets fixed

Cael isn't around so much but you know they get weekly texts from him that says the sweetest things ever

Lars pampers his stunning partners so well when he's finally free, candlelit dinners, gifts in the droves for all of them, even arranging so the place is basically empty when they get there since most of them don't like crowds

All of them are banned from playing ludo. This is final after the incident

Since Cael was officially the last one to get in Clarence planned a whole thing that was a celebration of him getting out of denial phase. And the announcement he also had a plus of four boyfriends

Confusion did not even begin to describe the expression the man had

Sometimes if people are nosy Ayn would start talking about different partners in the same conversation

"Oh you know my boyfriend's really cute with those doe-eyes"

"BOYFRIEND?"

"Yes, anyway my girlfriend the other day gave me this-"

Chaos ensues.

He doesn't care about the rumors though. He's noticed how his playing changed ever so slightly when thinking about his partners. In the span of a week after this noticeable change he found himself writing 5 different pieces for them.

He gives them the pieces by the time of their anniversary, mentioning he'd even play it for them if they wanted.

A private concert happened that day, it didn't need to be recorded to be engraved into their memories.

A while after that, the little painter and Emerald both released pieces that felt like they were overflowing with love and other warm sentiments.

Alkaid sends photos of the sky every time an observation night comes up in the astronomy department. He makes notes about which constellations remind him of his partners the most.

Obviously if any of them point a photo out or say one is pretty it's going to be printed out in the universal imaging studio

The starry photos are all probably framed and hung on a wall somewhere. Ayn has them in his hideout, Lars has the images upsized and on full display in his home, Clarence has one particularly sentimental one on the desk of the student council office, Cael has it as his phone background so he could see it wherever he went, and MC has it in her studio, always up to give her a boost of inspiration when she needed it.

William almost has a heart-attack every morning since Clarence has been looking the giddiest he's ever been since he and MC started dating.

He figures it out since Clarence is just so obvious. He's had the same reaction to two students that he has with the little painter. The way that his eyes light up whenever Ayn 'just so happens' to need to go to the student council so many times? And their conversations meander and flow too slowly for this to even be about their original topic anymore.

Or how he manages to write up an excuse to 'supervise' the Astronomy Department's viewing nights most of the time when he felt no need to previously, always found near Alkaid most of the time.

If one were to sneak a peek at his diary, it would probably contain paragraphs upon paragraphs of how pretty his partners were and things they did or things he saw that reminded him of them.

Cael was the most cautious about this entire arrangement. While he cared about her he had no idea if it would even be possible for him to catch feelings for the rest of them.

Unfortunately, the little painter has exceptional taste.

It was different for each of them, but it ended back in the same giant mess he has been dealing with for the past few months: He's so very attached to all of these charming men that he's caught himself blushing at the thought of them.

And these feelings came with the problems of someone like him developing such deep fondness for someone. The danger and chance of discovery he would give not just to the little painter, but the paragons of this world.

When he brings this concern up he's very lovingly shown how stupid he is by the sheer willingness of his boyfriends to love him despite knowing all of this.

Maybe this would be alright. They have each other no matter what afterall.

[disasterbuck]

Hi!!! Ooooh There is so much to choose 🤪🥰💕❓️💻💖🤝🤖🌎🥵

omg just go ahead and make me write everything lol (affectionate) I couldn't keep myself to strictly 3 sentences for all of these, so they vary a bit 🥰

🤪 - clumsy

first time in MONTHS I've written anything for this wip 🥰

This lasted for approximately five minutes before the bell went off and he found himself piling into the truck next to Eddie. He'd tried to slip into another seat, but Chimney had gotten there first and shot him a curious glance. After that, Buck had resigned himself to his fate and sat down beside the love and torturer of his life.

🥰 - confession / surprise date

this one ran away with me a little, how exciting!!

Eddie's lips parted in surprise as Buck began ladling the stew into their bowls. Buck was nervous, accidentally moving a bit too quick and splashing some sauce out of the bowl onto Eddie's shirt.

"Shit! Sorry," he said, moving the dish back to the island bench and taking a step to go and fetch a wash cloth.

Before he could get far, Eddie grabbed his arm and gently reeled him in until he was standing right beside Eddie's chair, looking down at him.

"Relax," Eddie said softly.

"I just want it to be perfect," Buck said. "But now I've already gotten food on you and we haven't even eaten anything yet and–"

Pushing his chair back to stand up, Eddie silenced him with a kiss.

💕 - first kiss

Eddie wasn't sure what to say to that. The truth was he was scared, but he knew he needed to face this no matter what. If Buck had picked up on enough to think they were dancing around each other, that had to mean something.

❓ - is this a date?

It turned out that there was only one table left, which Buck accepted eagerly.

"Alright, up you get," Buck said once the booking was finalised and he'd hung up the phone. "There was only one slot left and it's for 6:45, so we've gotta hustle."

Eddie let out an exaggerated groan as he got to his feet.

💻 - eddie's online friend

this is a goldmine that I completely forgot about lol. I might have to share more snippets at some point.

Stranded: so?

Stranded: are you gonna ask him if he's into men?

GI: stop asking me that

💖 - sorry but I fell in love tonight

Buck watched in delight as the fear drained out of Eddie's face, replaced with wonder.

that's all I've got in me for this one atm

🤝 - touches

The next escalation comes one evening as they're curled up on Eddie's couch together. Eddie sits between Buck's legs, his back to Buck's chest, when Buck takes a risk and slides his hands up the man's thighs. Eddie hums, happy, and tips his head back.

After that, they kiss whenever they can.

🤖 - who's got a crush

a few extra lines for this one as well 🥰

Had Buck really just said what he thought he'd said? No, he couldn't have. Eddie must have misheard.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, giving his head a slight shake.

"Oh my god, Dad!" Chris exclaimed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "He wants to have your babies!"

"Christopher!" Buck wheezed.

🌎 - alternate universe

How could he be right about when Christopher was coming back, but wrong about so many other things? Why didn't he have any memory whatsoever of getting married to Eddie? It couldn't be amnesia, because he had too many other memories all packed into his brain.

🥵 - that's hot

A moment later he heard footsteps and turned to see Bobby and Eddie walking towards him. Bobby looked extremely proud, and Eddie looked…

"Marry me," Eddie said, eyes fixed on Buck's face.

Make Me Write ✨

taglist:

(I hope it's okay that I'm adding you all here! Just thought you might like to read some snippets, and figured this was a good post for it since there's such a variety. If you're interested in even MORE, go to my blog and search 'make me write'. I've tagged all of these asks with that tag.)

@dluoser @taketheplanspinitsideways @loudenthusiastic @wallywise @mxrcjqckspnchqsc

@i-am-married-to-my-fandom @therosesaredying @stillfuckingtired @classtrialguru @speggle

@awesome-igi @natnuszsstuff @olliesrants @crazyfangirlallert @delirium1995

@brah3280 @meanceclosetohell @anythingeverythingallofthetime @izzysbeans @sunflower-eddiediaz

@darkrose6578 @veronae-buddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @loveyouanyway @inell

@spicyrottingbrains @gnoeltop @idealuk @donationwayne @lemotmo

@smilingbuckley @realpersonwithrealfeelings @superlock-in-the-tardis @mjthe14thdoctor @strxwbereee

@idontknowwhatimdoing777 @ashleigh2658 @mari-lwyd-fannibal-blog @mineyneedsmoney @faithhopeandmisery

@spotsandsocks @unlifeira @tofanasmuse @pirrusstuff @buddiedaydreamer911

@littlevampireprincessuniverse @misshiss727 @i-put-the-star-in-bastard @hermioneindisguise @dangerpronebuddie

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💕

[smol-bean-of-the-smols]

kinda sucks that my current (imo) best and most in-character fic of kajii is one thats super specific to my self-insert at the start, so i cant post it as an x reader cuz i dont want to remove the context, PLUS theres an entire scene before this that's referenced that only happened in my head and never got written that i barely remember so i'd have to actually write that too

but trust me its pretty good. i sometimes open it and add a few more sentences to it. i like re-reading it

[doomedyuri]

spoilers for wyll's personal questline in act 3 because just got to a certain scene and i'm :/

i've enjoyed wyll's personal questline well enough so far (though it's felt a bit... lacking) but the scene with mizora in the elf song just does not make a lick of sense.

first off: his contract is already broken? he has 6 months left of it and then he's free? so she's actually offering him either a NEW contract or just to break it sooner. why? why can't we just tell her to fuck off and wait it out as was stated in act 2?

secondly: WHY are we/the player character the ones who have to make this decision for him? in just about all the other chara personal quests you can step back and let them handle it. why can't we do that here, when the choice has such a huge impact on his life/soul?? how is it our/the player character's responsibility to make such a huge personal choice for him?? it makes nooooo sense

thirdly: why do certain party members disapprove when you tell him to break the contract instead of condemning his soul for all eternity? it's not like the duke is killed right there on the spot anyway we haven't even had a chance to go looking for him yet??

[gobstoppr]

and btw im in my hater arc rn. as time goes on the more i find a lot of 'fandom' stuff insufferable (i like art n stuff. just the way that fandom refits every media to fit a single mold and set of boring archetypes is exhausting.)

i just get really easily annoyed lately. and have been unfollowing people on a whim a lot. its not personal i promise

[deathfavor]

There's a lot to unpack in this little section of Horo's interrogation so I'm going to break this into a few different sections because I want to dedicate time to a few big points that are right here.

No one in the mean streets could beat him.

I didn't really think too much on this the first time I read it. But sitting back and rereading it? We know how vicious Syndicate can be. There's lots of older people around who will attack younger groups. So Earl was probably fighting against lots of older people just as much as he was people around Horo's age or his own. And this is even AFTER a day of extremely labor intensive work.

Which means Earl was probably once a SERIOUS threat and fighter. He used to be on the frontlines, taking on anyone that was a threat. He was always a strategic fighter, he planned, but he could afford to be a bit more reckless and direct about it. More like Zoya and Horo's approach. Someone no one messed with.

And then he lost his leg.

It was psychologically BRUTAL for Earl to go from being someone who could take down anyone and everyone who tried to mess or tease Horo, to having to relearn something as simple as how to walk again. The physical pain was awful, but there was a lot of emotional and mental pain that he didn't want Horo to have to see him deal with while recovering because she was so young. It was a helplessness that he had never faced before but one he felt he had to hide because he also needed to be strong for Horo's sake in his mind. So he never let it show, yet it HURT. To go from a fearsome frontline fighter to now having to sit back in most of the fights. Sure, Earl awoke as a Sinner at that point and had powers now. But it was hard. Even now, Earl IS a capable fighter when he needs to, but he's very much aware of his limitations. He's not as mobile or fast as he once was. It IS a weak point in theory (less so in practice but that's a different post). Direct combat isn't his forte like it once was. It's a loss Earl took hard but never admitted to anyone. Instead he decided to become the best at strategy so he could crush people without having to need to fight or before anyone COULD fight - better for him and later for the Legion too. But sometimes? Sometimes he misses what he used to be. There's also the sad thought that Horo and Zoya also had to see that shift from the front to the shadows. To see Earl's fame as a fighter fade away, but at least he found a new way to be just as vital to the team

He was our breadwinner

Horo mentions he's the breadwinner, which is no surprise. He's the oldest, it's both expected and what he wants to do. Horo mentions he did the work of two people at LEAST while he was working. He pulled multiple shifts of labor intensive jobs because he wanted to provide for Horo the best he could. They only had each other. Sure, we know Jer was there to watch after them and help out when he could. But I'm sure Jer had his own family and his own needs. Earl didn't want to have to depend on people. He wanted Horo to be able to eat good food and have clothes and just...not have to struggle. He wanted her to be a KID that she was. If he had to work till he basically collapsed from it? So be it. Her smile was worth it, seeing her healthy and grow. Not that Earl ever turned down help, he didn't. But....he didn't want Horo to have to worry about going hungry.

And even dead tired, Earl always tried to make things better for Horo. Cook meals for them then (or some for in advance when he'd be gone) or play games or just listen to Horo tell her stories about the day (sometimes he fell asleep but he always tried!). Other times Earl would play guitar late at night just the two of them, or to help her fall asleep. Earl also learned how to do some basic stitching and mending for clothes.

He always thought that I was just a little kid who should hide behind him, and that he should shoulder everything himself.

After the loss of their parents, Earl wanted Horo to still try to be able to be a child because she WAS still a child. To not have to deal with the grueling reality of life and be able to laugh easily and play and dream of the stars. Which leads to this point. It has NEVER been about Earl doubting in Horo. He DOESN'T. He knows she's capable. But Earl never wanted her to HAVE to be. Her line of That day was when I realized I must grow up quickly to help him. is EXACTLY what Earl NEVER wanted Horo to have to feel. Before the incident with losing his leg, Horo probably WAS able to enjoy being a kid. Sure, a trouble maker most likely, playing rough versus kids in East Side, but she could be a kid. She didn't have to worry about food or money or her brother potentially dying. That's what Earl wanted for her. Not her being forced to grow up, not her seeing just how bad and dangerous Earl's jobs were or what could happen.

Earl to this day still harbors an immense amount of guilt for Horo having to see him like that on the couch after losing his leg, injured to such a degree and fighting a fever and god knows what else.. Medicine is hard to come by, Earl probably had to use it very sparingly which is WHY he was kept up day and night writhing in pain on the couch. He could see and hear Horo crying and it made him feel terrible through the pain. He still tried to soothe her when he could but it was so obvious Earl was suffering while trying to take care of her. But you can't take away witnessing that. No amount of soothing would take away the image of those people carrying Earl in, of Horo realizing Earl's lost a leg, the sheer helplessness of it all.

It's probably what cause some of the tension and disagreements between them later on that are mentioned once or twice. Earl has ALWAYS fiercely loved Horo as his little sister. But...he does very much feel he has to carry everything and doesn't want to give the burden to her. As the oldest sibling in my family, I've always felt the need to be strong in front of my siblings too. You feel like you HAVE to be strong for their sake. Earl did too. He always felt he had to be the pillar, to never falter. And he did for a long time. But losing his leg hurt that, because it forced Horo to see Earl is human, and made Horo think she had to grow up and forget that childhood freedom. Earl didn't want her to, tried to dissuade her NOT because he doubted her, but just...so she didn't HAVE to choose that path if she didn't want to.

It's something that Earl struggles with in his survival verse as well. Because it's like seeing that all over again but WORSE. He's helpless and weak and Horo's crying beside him and she can't do anything again. And the threat of death is SO, SO much closer this time in the hospital bed. He feels that guilt all over again and worse when he sees Horo sobbing because he's faltered again.

Really? All Earl wants is for Horo to be happy, to live HER life how she wants to. Not because of feeling she has to, or Legion, or anything. He just...wants the best for his little sister.

[goat-boy-sounds]

re-inventing the johnlock conspiracy but this time there's going to be a secret fifth season of succession (REAL)

[viscericorde]

enjoying the fantasy novel i picked up secondhand for ten dollar but at the same time i can’t decide if it’s banger or mid. v solid worldbuilding that draws from pre-islamic middle eastern folklore (as well as other stuff for sure but that’s the one i immediately picked up on) you can tell the author has done their research and is passionate as fuck abt it. but☝️the characters are comparatively a bit sauceless. i generally dislike it when non-human characters feel fundamentally indistinct from the humans and that’s lowkey the case here. your djinn do not feel djinn enough im sorry

[starry-sophrosyne]

Referring to this post:

@crashingstar69 - just for you XD /j -- I had this rotting my inbox for WEEKS and now i've come back to it, just for my own purposes.. XD

1st post of this little rabbithole of mine, which is a spin off of my wotc timeskip au (spun off of pen's wotc fic) and is a three-parter, the intial post about it is here ( ´﹀` )

(also this became so fucking long bc i tried adding a little more analysis from Crashing's pov and it spiraled WAY out of control to become an entire/in-depth view of Cherie's experience and development after Mon Cheroi's marriage from Crashing's pov, I plan to reblog this post with it like I did for my TTOS King Of Soph drabble but I genuinely HATE the way I have the second "part" worded so idk when ill post it-)

Despite being one of the queen's personal maids, Crash found themself seeking regular work whenever they had nothing to do, rather than standing idle. They had simply been going through the unused rooms, to clean them up and lighten up the castle, when they noticed something special. This crystal blue glass, in particular, had always caught their eye, even from their previous rounds of cleaning in the past months. It was one of the only gifts the King Of Skill had kept from Cherie's family's extensive dowry after they had married. It sat in a display case of an unused study, collecting dust but still glimmering in the far-away light of the window.

After opening the cabinet to clean the contents inside, they paused, before setting the feather duster aside, and taking the glass out the case. Rotating the glass by it's stem, they stared at their reflection in it's triangular basin. The faint layer of grey dust upon it coated their fingertips, peeling off of the crystal. It was.. just as mocking as ever.

Crash's hands shook as their grip on the glass tightened, squeezing its base; but the durable crystal held steady despite feeling so delicate, digging the circular bottom into their palms. It was something so beautiful, left forgotten, cast out of memory rather than admired, left to rot out of sight; It's true beauty was unable to be seen by anyone. It was a painful parallel, to the king and queen's relationship. How could the king, who had everything given to him on a silver platter, disregard his wife, the queen, the way he did? No, how could he disregard Cherie like that?

They became enraged thinking about it again; Gritting their teeth together, they settled for barely nipping the flesh of their inner lip with their own teeth. Calm and collected, composure was such of the title that needed to be upheld as one of the queen's personal maids, no matter the personal grievances.

"Interested in that piece, I see?"

"!!" Crashing jumped at the sudden voice with a startled yelp. The fright was enough to make the glass slip from Crashing's grasp, causing them to panic as they then made various cartoonish grabs at it, practically falling over in the process, before finally catching it with a desperate final swipe.

Crashing let out a sigh of relief, steadying themselves as the sudden adrenaline began to fade away, heart still pounding in their chest. They slowly turned around, only to see Cherie, standing what would've been right over their shoulder. Despite having been there the whole time, they had only just now noticed her presence, and the suddenness of said realization along with their unsettled nerves caused them to panic again. Crash let out another screech, but just as quickly, cut themself off, managing to compose themselves once they had realized who it was past the sudden shock. Erratic heartbeat hammering in their ears, as they stammered:

"Ah, m-my lady!- You scared me!-"

Cherie barely held back a giggle from Crashing's reaction, a soft exhale coming from her nose instead as she tried to suppress the involuntary smile that spread across her face, reaching forward to take the glass from their hands: "This glass was the work of an artisan from the TCNation. Supposedly she lives far into the snowy mountains, in a place almost entirely unaccessible. It's said those mountains are carved peaks of crystal themselves, although, I doubt that."

As she continued, she twirled the glass around by it's stem. She didn't look up at Crash while doing so, seemingly fixated on her a specific part of appearance in the glass, and yet, her gaze seemed vacant: "And they say the carver was a lady too! Could you imagine that? A woman all alone way up in the mountains, working away at timeless crystal?"

The idea seemed to amuse her, her grin curling upwards as she let out a soft laugh. It's litheness made Crash's heart flutter, but they forced out a hesitant laugh in return, trying to act natural despite knowing that Cherie had indeed seem them make a fool of themself.

"It's said she stays up there in order to view the stars, but still.. It's almost a shame, to be that alone and isolated, wouldn't you think?"

The pause made Crashing stiffen, as did the shift in Cherie's tone. It was extremely subtle, barely detectable, but the soft amusement had faded from her voice within the last remark. It's somber contents were telling, knew knowing what she was thinking of. Her troubles, her ailments; His returned apathy for her love, and the mistrust of her son whom she had neglected for her own disillusion. All of this had been a result of the king, and it made a sort of vengeance burn through their blood. They could only mask it outwardly as apology, bbut Cherie noticed this anyways, having known them for so long and understanding what they truly thought behind their outwards manifestations.

Cherie looked at them with an almost somber look, if only for a split second, before a small apologetic smile graced her lips. She rested her hands over Crashing's, cradling her hands and the glass, staring into it as if it were a crystal ball once again. Crashing was almost entranced by her, her gentle gaze, and flustered by how close she was; her rosey perfume was intoxicating despite her wearing it in smaller amounts through out the years as it wafted into her nose. Cherie looked back up, an intent swirling in her eyes as her smile softened at the edges.

"Keep it, Crashing."

".. Huh?!"

Cherie giggled once more, her lips splitting into another genuine grin as Crashing stumbled over their words, an evident panic in their voice.

"M-my lady, I couldn't possibly!-"

But Cherie stilled them, holding a finger up to their face, dangeorusly close to their lips. It was enough to quell them, as they went silent almost immediately out of shock. Cherie tried to limit the grin that stretched across her face, pressing her lips together. Crashing had always been the one who could easily make her laugh.

"Think of it as a gift, for taking care of me after all this time.."

She paused, her eyes dimming in brightness once again as they filled with remorse; it almost made Crashing want to say something, but they didn't, holding their voice in fear of disturbing their mistress, waiting in high held anticipation for the next words that would come out of her mouth. It was almost laughable, they thought, how every word that came out of Cherie's mouth managed to make their heart leap. Cherie cradled Crashing's hands again, rubbing her thumb over their hand in some sort of contemplative manner, trying to find the right words. Cherie had come to understand, to not let too much of her and Brent's rocky relationship meet the ears of the servants. But Crashing was an exception, and this hinderance was more like her struggle to put the ideas lightly versus deciding if it made sense to tell them.

"Besides, Brent won't realize it's missing anyways. It's just another one of my family's gifts, nothing too important to him."

Her voice trailed off in the end, turning into silence as she exhaled, her shoulders dropped, and Crashing's heart fell. They had long since mastered a poker face, despite their crestfallen. It made them almost angry, once again, but for Cherie, they would do anything. Raising Cherie's hands up with their own, holding the glass between the two, they gave her a soft smile.

"Thank you, my lady."

And, maybe it was a figment of their imagination, but they swore they saw Cherie's face flush ever so slightly at their honest and given softness. No, they were being delusional. Sincerity was nothing but a given, and Cherie had always been suffering since.. Since. Every reminder was another flare up of anger that they struggled to keep down. However, Cherie didn't respond, and for a moment, it brought Crashing panic, as their smile morphed into a sheepish grin, anxiety starting to pound in their chest. It wasn't until Cherie smiled back, her gaze was soft but pure, a passion in her eyes. She truly was always grateful for Crashing, who had been by her side since they were little children.

"Of course, Crashing."

honestly i think we all need weight of the crown self inserts

[piastappies]

would you maybe write an smau (oscar x norris or leclerc!reader) where the reader is just super clumsy and everyone makes fun of that?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUCH A KLUTZ ! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

summary. in which reader can’t walk straight to save her life and formula fans (as well as some of the drivers) find it extremely amusing, while her boyfriend is the greenest flag of all time.

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 89 623 others.

yourusername rumour has it that the best couple on grid is enjoying the summer break and the rumors are TRUE! though it is also said that the girl in third slide fell off the scooter and got a concussion so her boyfriend took her phone away for three days — this may or may not be true!

view all comments!

user1 oscar is so whipped the guy is the first like whenever she posts something 😭😭

user2 i know ehic isnt a thing in monaco unfortunately but my other european girlies please remember to get yourself an ehic card if you travel across europe it can save you a lot of nerves if you injury yourself on vacay 😭😭😭

priniya european girlies always remember to have a valid european health insurance card! <3

oscarpiastri she might say its not true but it is 👎👎 the girl almost gave me a heart attack

landonorris yourusername someone should lock you up because at this rate youre gonna hurt yourself by breathing

yourusername im having a brat summer ☹️

arthur_leclerc dont think its how it works lutin

francisca.cgomes rumour has it that she didn’t take her girlfriend with her to her trip

lilymhe rumour has it that she broke her other girlfriend’s heart

yourusername NOOOO IM SORRY 😭😭😭 LET ME MAKE IT UP WHEN THE BREAK ENDS

marverstappen1 girl how do you even function with that clumsy brain of yours?

yourusername kellypiquet please tell p that max is making fun of me because i got hurt

kellypiquet she’s making you a card rn

maxverstappen1 our house turned into a glitterlandia because of that card

yourusername I LOVE HER SO MUCH

user3 i honestly cant wait for the pyn reunion in zandvoort 🥹🥹🥹

yourusername same shes my true one 👊👊

charles_leclerc oscarpiastri take your aussie hands off my baby sister or ill crash into you in zandvoort 😁

charles_leclerc for legal purpose this may or may not be a joke

yourusername crash into him and i’ll do something worse than have his hands on me and make you watch

francisca.cgomes

liked by pierregasly, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and 432 621 others.

francisca.cgomes a girls night gone wrong…

— tagged alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername

view all comments!

user4 i bet my LIFE that yn had to go to the er 😭😭😭

pierregasly THIS is what you meant by a surprise??????

francisca.cgomes surprise . . . 😦

alexandrasaintmleux it was fun while it lasted . . .

user5 WHY DOES THE COMMENTS SEEM LIKE YN DIED WHERE IS HER COMMENT

user6 yn rn 💀🪦🪦

user7 you are not funny! hope that helps ❤️

charles_leclerc girl where is my sister 😭😭😭😭

yourusername WHY ARE YALL ACTING LIKE I DIED?????

user8 SHES ALIVE YOU GUYS

oscarpiastri kika you were supposed to bring her back in one piece?

francisca.cgomes sorry it was not my fault

francisca.cgomes literally not my fault this time a guy bumped into her shoulder and she fell 😭😭😭

yourusername i sprained my ankle :(

alexandrasaintmleux we still love you 🫶

user9 ngl i would give my leg to be a part of this friendship

user10 same

landonorris petition to keep yourusername locked in a cage

user11 😧😧😧

yourusername you gotta catch me first 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

pierregasly i second this

lilymhe i third

alexandrasaintmleux ily yn but i fourth ☹️

twitter !

user13 WHEN ITS GONNA BE MY TURN???

user14 i need an oscar in my life but idk if i wanna be yn 😭

user15 you r so real for that oomf

user16 ngl i wish i could be oscar to be with yn

user17 god just knew that if she made yn flawless she would be too much for mortals

user18 she ?

user17 god is a woman and her name is pascale leclerc 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

user19 LMAO

lando.jpg

liked by alex_albon, yourusername, logansargeant and 772 812 others.

lando.jpg never accept an invitation from yourusername for a dinner at her house because there’s a 100% chance she’s gonna burn herself while making you food

view all comments!

oscarpiastri shouldnt have invited YOU

lando.jpg ??? MEAN ???

oscarpiastri dont make fun of my clumsy girlfriend

yourusername when he’s protective ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

yourusername i burnt myself while YOU ALL WERE LAUGHING

user20 oscar was laughing too?😭

arthur_leclerc he was glaring at everyone laughing while looking after yn

user21 oscar is the bestest boyfriend possible i need an oscar in my life

user22 yourusername can you fight?

yourusername i have three older brothers, go figure it out

user22 (｡•́︿•̀｡)

charles_leclerc cant believe they didn’t invite ME and they invited YOU

arthur_leclerc she invited me and enzo LOL

user23 lando.jpg comeback to make fun of oscars gf 😭😭😭

charles_leclerc SHE WAS MY SISTER FIRST

user24 yn is a klutz first human second

oscarpiastri

liked by pascale_leclerc, nicolepiastri, yourusername and 921 728 others.

oscarpiasti a few things that summer break gave me: a dog (yes, i’m officially a dog dad), relaxing time with my friends n family, a fiancée and lots of headaches due to the clumsiness of my gorgeous fiancée.

view all comments!

yourusername i love youuuuuu

hattiepiastri THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT???

hattiepiastri yourusername YOURE MARRYING MY BROTHER????

hattiepiastri HOW DID THAT HAPPEN??

yourusername i flipped a coin

georgerussell63 it probably hit you in the face too, no?

user25 IMAGINE THE FAMILY GATHERINGS???

user26 hold on is oscar gonna go there as charles’ son or yn’s throphy husband??

user27 the family dynamics must be crazy??? because wdym his girlfriend’s brother ADOPTED him??

oscarpiasti fiancee’s*

user27 oh hes not playing

user28 this gon be soooo awkward at the family dinner

yourusername BURN THE PAPERS charles_leclerc HES MINE NOW

charles_leclerc HE WAS MINE FIRST

nicolepiastri i’m pretty sure he was mine first 🥰

pascale_leclerc now we have to share children nicolepiastri

landonorris love you guys but you shouldn’t have a wedding because with yns abilities she might turn the party into a funeral

mclaren so glad to have yn in the mclaren family! 🧡

user29 engagement this engagement that we KNEW you would tie the knot sooner or later WHAT IS THE DOGS NAME 🗣️🗣️🗣️

oscarpiastri pepper :)

user30 yn and lorenzo both engaged in 2024?? leclerc siblings are going STRONG

lewishamilton congratulations to you guys 💚💚

sebastianvettel lots of love and patience with that one, oscar :)

user31 not the girls not congratulating oscyn… fake friends?

user32 gtfo they prob knew abt it already and congratulated them IN PERSON and not in instagram photo comments

francocolapinto lost my chance 😞😔😭😭😢

user33 LMAOOO??? bro saw her at ONE (1) race and fell in love

user34 honestly cant blame him

user35 pls never media train him

yourusername pls franco never change 🫶

pierregasly pls dont elope i need that free food

yukitsunoda0511 dude youre a MILLIONAIRE?

pierregasly dude gtfo

yukitsunoda0511 if i were them i would elope just to spite you

oscarpiastri dont give yn any ideas pls

yourusername no eloping for us i need my brothers to walk me down the aisle 😁😁😁

georgerussell63 to make sure you don’t trip over the dress?

yourusername youre officially uninvited 👎

user36 SHE WANTS CHARLES ENZO AND ARTHUR WALKING HER DOWN THE AISLE??? OH IM GONNA KILL MYSELF

[threebea]

I need to write an AU where Obi-Wan works at Dex's diner maybe during the Imperial era and Clark Kenting it. Shaved his beard and wears glasses or some other low level cosmetic thing.

Patron: wow has anyone ever told you that you look like Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Obi-Wan: oh yes, after betraying the Republic I got hired at a diner in cocotown since it was the only job I could get after becoming an enemy of the state. I'm afraid I'll have to beg for your silence on the matter.

Patron: haha can you imagine? Anyway I'll have the shake and fries.

⭐

Clone Trooper: hey doesn't that guy look like General Kenobi?

Clone Trooper Buddy: no he looks completely different. He has no facial hair, he has glasses, he has tattoos. General didn't look like that.

Third Clone Troopers: it's so hard to tell them apart.

Clone Trooper Buddy: besides with the amount of businesses that legally are allowed not to serve us you think the one that had General Kenobi working for them would let us in?

Clone Trooper: ugh good point.

Regular: Ben is nice Dex, but he's kind of clumsy. (Winces as a bunch of plates shatter in background)

Stormtroopers on leave tense and look over at the middle aged man profusely apologising, they turn back to their nerfburgers.

Dex: Ben means well and he's got a kid to look after you know? Besides he's gotten way better than he was before!

CRASH

Stormtrooper: do you know how hard it is to get space mustard off armour!?

Ben: I am so sorry 😭 please let me help you.

Regular: you're a good guy Dex (shakes head)

Later:

Dex: pal you gotta bring it down with the clumsy act. I can't afford this many dishes.

'Ben': you're only mad you didn't see their faces.

Dex: well that's also true. Steal anything good?

Ben: copied a few passcodes. They were gossiping about their next station. I'll put it on a drive and you can sell it.

Dex: I'll send a copy to Organa too. Never know when it might come in handy.

Stormtrooper: I need to see your identification citizen.

'Ben' completely unconcerned: of course! Ben Kenobi (hands over very good fake id)

Stormtrooper: (stares at him) wow that's rough. Do you get hassled? You related or something?

'Ben': hassled? Oh! Perhaps a bit in the beginning, but not as much now. I thought about changing my name, but updating ID now is so complicated.

Stormtrooper: tell me about it. I got married and it was a whole thing.

'Ben': exactly! Who has the time for the line up at a Service Corscant? I find being straightforward is the best way to go about it. I'm not even related, just the same Stewjoni last name and similar build. The name is what really makes people think I look like him.

Stormtrooper: yeah I wouldn't have even thought about it. Anyway you're clear. Have a good day.

Ben: you too! 😊 (Smiles as he walks away with a bag of weapons the Stormtrooper didn't bother to check)

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart)

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 2: 1000 notes. ✔️ NEXT

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish), dry humping, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, creaming his pants, sexual content, explicit content, library smut, clothed getting off, breast play, grinding, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, size difference, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, protective jungkook, closet sexual activities, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at a Spidey!JK AU, where he somehow manages to be an even bigger mess than Peter Parker 😭. This story is very close to my heart because it dives into the dynamic between a confident noona and her adorably flustered freshman—who just so happens to be Seoul’s clumsy new superhero. To be honest, this Spiderkook oneshot was heavily inspired by Tangie, aka @rpwprpwprpwprw (love you bb!!!). I’d been lowkey daydreaming about Spiderkook for ages but thought, “Nah, that’s too silly.” Then I discovered there’s an entire community sharing the same brain cell as me??? Like, you’re welcome for my service, I guess?? Originally, this was supposed to be a short, smutty 5k romp. But do you think I can write smut without plot? I CAN’T. IT’S A MEDICAL CONDITION. Now it’s a 12k beast with feelings, webs, and chaos. Sorry (but not really). If you enjoy this, I might turn it into a mini-series because, let’s be honest, spider powers in… certain scenarios… sound very intriguing. Hihihi. Hope you enjoy this mess I’ve unleashed on the world! 🕸️

Edit: also, yeah. Tae is older than Jimin and Jungkook here because my sleep deprived brain slapped a ‘hyung’ on Jimin’s mouth and I’m not editing again. (≖͞_≖̥)

The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.

A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.

You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.

The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.

"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.

"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."

"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"

You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"

"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"

"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."

He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—

No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.

"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."

You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"

"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"

"That's not how spider-sense works."

"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."

"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"

"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"

"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."

You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"

"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."

You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...

No. Stop it. You're not doing this.

"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."

He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.

But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.

You really need to stop noticing these things.

You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.

And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.

It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.

Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"

"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.

You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."

There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.

"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't spit in them, did you?"

"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"

You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.

"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"

His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.

He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.

"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."

You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.

You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.

It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.

He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your hand freezes midair.

His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.

You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.

"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."

If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.

"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."

"Exactly."

He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."

You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."

"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"

And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.

You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.

Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."

Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."

Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."

Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"

Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."

"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"

Jimin gives him a look.

Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."

Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"

"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."

"But that was BEFORE—"

"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."

Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"

"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."

"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."

"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.

"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."

Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.

"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"

Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.

"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.

The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.

"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.

Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.

Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.

But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.

"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"

"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.

Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"

"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.

Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.

"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."

Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.

"Wait, why do I have to—"

"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.

Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.

"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.

"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"

"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.

"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."

Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.

"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.

"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."

Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.

"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."

"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"

Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.

"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"

"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"

"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."

Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."

"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."

"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"

Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."

"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.

"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.

Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.

"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."

Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."

"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.

But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"

Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.

Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.

But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?

And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?

You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.

Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.

"Noona!"

You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.

He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.

"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.

Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"

The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?

You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.

The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.

"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.

You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?

God, this kid.

"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.

"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"

You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.

"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"

That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"

His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.

"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"

Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"

"Jungkook."

He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"

"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"

Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.

"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"

"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.

"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"

The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.

"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"

You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.

Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"

You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.

Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.

You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.

"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"

You don't answer.

"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"

"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.

He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"

"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.

"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.

You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.

Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"

He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.

"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.

You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.

He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—

"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"

"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"

He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.

And that's when it hits you.

Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.

Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.

Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."

"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.

And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.

"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"

"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"

Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.

"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.

He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.

"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.

"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.

Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."

Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.

So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.

He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.

Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.

Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.

He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.

"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.

Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.

Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—

You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.

"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"

Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"

But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.

Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"

Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.

Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.

And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.

Totally not unhinged.

But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.

He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.

And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—

Yank.

Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."

Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?

"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.

"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."

"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"

Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.

"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.

But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.

"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"

"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.

"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"

"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"

"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?

"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"

The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."

And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—

"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."

Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"

"I—"

Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.

"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.

"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.

And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

Oh god.

This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.

"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.

His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.

"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"

Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—

You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.

"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"

Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—

"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."

"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"

You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"

"Since... right now?"

Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.

Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—

"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.

All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.

"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.

"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.

His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.

Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.

You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.

But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.

Oh no.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.

"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.

His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.

"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.

You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.

"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?

"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.

You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.

He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.

"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"

You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.

"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"

"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.

"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"

"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.

And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.

Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.

Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?

Or—

The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.

And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.

"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.

But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.

Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.

Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.

"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.

You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.

"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.

Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.

"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.

You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.

You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.

Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.

His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.

But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."

The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—

Oh god.

You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.

A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.

"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"

He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.

"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"

Fuck.

"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.

But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.

His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.

Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.

"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."

You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.

And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.

He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.

But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.

"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"

His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.

The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.

"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"

He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.

"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."

And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.

He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.

"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.

He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).

But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'

"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.

No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—

"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.

Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"

You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—

"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.

The dam breaks.

Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.

His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.

"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.

You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"

"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.

He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.

"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.

"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.

His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.

Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.

"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"

"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."

His breath catches. "But—"

"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."

Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—

"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.

"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"

And then the door clicks.

Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"

Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.

"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"

Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[karlachismylife]

Writing Russian-speaking characters

So I have once again been chuckling at some adorable clumsy Russian in Nikolai and Nikto fics, and thus I decided to make a little list that might be helpful for fellow COD writers here. And yes, please, feel free to reach out to me if you need any proofreading of your Russian phrases, I would be glad to assist since google translator can butcher it in ways non-speakers won't be able to notice.

I would really appreciate if you guys shared this post and helped it reach people that might need it, I put way more effort into it than I expected myself <3 Also, I might make a followup with some more words and/or phrases that can be useful, so please feel free to request some, since here I am mostly focusing on terms of endearment.

I will write down Russian words, their (approximate and wonky, sorry for that) transcription/transliteration and what part of speech they are (keep in mind that adjectives can be used as nouns when used to address someone) and provide according translation and use.

Keep in mind that in Russian the gender of the word is important!!! I'll write down them in following order: he/him (он/его) version/ she/her (она/её) version/ they/them (они/их) version. However! They/them is NOT traditionally used as gender-neutral pronouns, it's plural only. Some queer and younger folks do use they/them (myself included), but it does sound wonky as it's direct copy from English. Unfortunately, Russian is not very suitable for gender-neutral writing, but there are ways to go about it (I'll try to note some of that too).

*however, since Nikto is sometimes using plural they/them to describe himself, that would be okay with him since it's plural. I hope that makes sense, lol.

So if you're putting an adjective with a noun (example: милый котик) you have to use an adjective in the correct gender form FOR THE WORD! If the noun (котик here) is masculine, you use masculine adjective form EVEN if you're referring to a person with she/her pronouns.

What is love?

The main thing I noticed is that y'all use a direct translation of the word "love" - "любовь" [l'ubov'] (n) to refer to a person. As in "how are you doing, love?". However, that's wrong. "Любовь" is either a word to describe the feeling, or a name (short version would be Люба [Lyuba]). If you wanna use an affectionate pet name, consider one of the following!

дорогой/дорогая/дорогие [dorogoy/dorogaya/dorogiye] (adj) - means "darling". Often used between spouses. Mostly used to refer to person directly, sounds a little quirky if you use it to refer to them in third person (as in "my darling went out to buy some strawberries").

любимый/любимая/любимые [l'ubimiy/l'ubimaya/l'ubimiye] (adj) - means "beloved/loved/loved one" and is probably the closest to "love". You can use it to refer to person directly or to talk about them in third person (as in "can't wait to see любимую". Also yes, the endings are changing depending on the case and I'm not entirely sure how to explain this concisely without going deep into grammar lol).

милый/милая/милые [miliy/milaya/miliye] (adj) - the word means "cute/cutie", but is also used as a general terms of endearment, like "sweetheart". Mainly to refer to someone directly, using it in third person is a little old-fashioned I'd say. Also commonly used by people outside romantic partnership, a kind old lady can definitely call you over with this one asking to help her read expiration date on a milk bottle or something.

любовь моя [l'ubov' moya] (n + adj/pronoun) - okay, I kinda tricked you saying you can't use the word "love" to refer to a person. If you say this (means "my love"), you can! It's pretty romantic and I am actually the one person that uses this daily, otherwise it's either very romance-novel/old-fashioned sounding, but there are moments when it's perfectly suitable. Have that fairytale moment! Also please note, that while "моя любовь" [moya l'ubov'] (adj/pronoun + n) is grammatically correct, it sounds kinda weird if you use it to address the person directly (like in a phrase "my love, you shine brighter than the stars"). While Russian doesn't have particularly strict rules about word order, it does matter to some extent, and this is a prime example: people just use one order way more often that the other.

Pocket-sized

I've already told somewhere here my favourite Nikto fic moment: the sweetest, romantic moment, interrupted by him calling reader "детёныш", which means "cub" as in baby animal. And while my parents do use this word affectionately, I can assure you, most people don't, and it was clear that this was a result of a clumsy translation of "baby" or something like that. So here are some variants for words like baby, little one and such!

малыш/малышка [malysh/malyshka] (n) - I'd say this feels more "little one" than "baby" to me, it's a tad less sexually charged if you get what I mean. Also, you call "малыш" a person of any gender/pronouns, while "малышка" is strictly for she/her. Obviously can be used for kids too.

детка [d'etka] (n) - this one is definitely "baby" or "babe" as a term of endearment, calling a real kid this would be WEIRD if you're not a really old granny. I would also say that it's more commonly used to refer to female partners, but that might be just my perception and experience. It's still okay to use both ways. Also this word can be very much used if you need a little bit of sleazy/catcalling/bad pickup line energy, like someone shouting after a girl passing by on the street. Yuck.

маленький/маленькая [mal'en'kiy/mal'en'kaya] (adj) - this just means "little" or "small", I'd say it's used less commonly and usually in this form "маленький мой/маленькая моя" [mal'en'kiy moy/mal'en'kaya moya] (adj + adj/pronoun). I will expand on this a little later here! Can be used to refer to kids too.

All kinds of fauna

While poor детёныш is reserved for furry freaks like yours truly, there are some animal nicknames that are very widely spread! Here are some that I think would be most useful for y'all. Granted, some people think that these are a lil' bit cringey, but I think it really just depends on what you're used to hear around you. So if I think calling someone a cub is cute, and bunny is cringe, that probably says more about me :D

котик [kot'ik] (n) - this is a term of endearment for a cat. NOT same as kitten, mind you! Mostly used to refer to men (since the word is of masculine gender) - in my experience.

котёнок [kot'onok] (second o here is like ö in German) (n) - now THIS is "kitten". I would say this is more gender-neutral than the previous one, but the word is still masculine gender.

зайка [zayka] (n) - I believe this would be an equivalent to "bunny", although it's actually a cute word for a hare, not a rabbit. Definitely used for all genders (also the word can be both masculine and feminine gender), also is okay to use referring to kids (even teachers that are into endearing nicknames can call pupils this and it's not weird. well, in elementary school). You can also say "зайчонок" [zaych'onok] (n) which is a word for baby hare, even cuter.

рыбка [ribka] (n) - a term of endearment for a fish. I think it's viewed as a bit old-fashioned and thus only used jokingly nowadays, but you know what? Nikolai could pull this off 100%. Bonus points if it's "рыбка моя" [ribka moya] (n + adj/pronoun). Only used for women and the word itself is of feminine gender.

медвежонок [medv'ezhonok] (n) - now, I actually have never met someone who would call their partner this, but I myself would (and I definitely saw it in some media, but that's obv not too reliable). It's a word for a bear cub, so I think it's cute to call a huge ass bear of a military man this word. It's of masculine gender, but I would say it's okay to call a she/her person this too. ALTHOUGH there is a grammatically incorrect (but this only adds to cuteness as it often happens) word "медвежонка" [medv'ezhonka] (n) - this would be a female bear cub. My family uses this word, I use it, no, it won't be in a dictionary, but everyone will understand what you mean. Is okay to use for kids too.

щенок [sh'enok] (if it helps, щ is like German "schtsch", like in Borschtsch, like sh but soft) (n) - now, this actually is not used as a term of endearment, it's "puppy" and it's suitable for degradation. The word is of masculine gender, but you can call anyone this to be honest. You can tell Nikto he's "глупый щенок" [glupiy sh'enok] (adj + n) (silly puppy) and that man will either bark for you or gut you. If you say "тупой" [tupoy] (adj) (dumb) instead of "глупый" [glupiy] (adj) (silly), it will be downright offensive. You can say "щеночек" [sh'enochek] (n), which is an endearing term for a puppy, so it's a little bit sweete. OR you can use my personal favourite - "щен" [sh'en] (n), which is actually also incorrect, but if you've ever heard of a great poet and poetry innovator Mayakovskiy, he was called this word by Lilya Brik. I do NOT have the time to unpack that wild relationship (there was a throuple involved. Russian poetry scene of early XX century was WILD and it's my favourite poetry period hands down), but it's pretty famous. The word "щен" consists of the word "puppy" but with the end diminutive suffix cut off. The trick is, that while some words return to their non-diminutive form with such procedure, this one does not - so you're basically inventing a new word that now sounds quite degrading and harsh, but also sexy as hell (personal opinion). I would definitely call Nikto this word.

птичка [ptich'ka] (n) - that's just "birdie", but I actually wouldn't say many people use it to refer to each other. HOWEVER, Nikolai 100% calls his steel bird this. The word is of feminine gender and if you are calling a person this, it's probably more suitable for a woman.

цыпа [tsipa??] (n) or even цыпочка [tsipoch'ka] (n) - that's a chick, like a baby hen, used only to refer to women (feminine gender word). Honestly I only heard this in foreign films dubbed in Russian or like in jokes/sarcastic phrases. It's kinda rude/indecent/vulgar and the only man that can say that and stay attractive is Captain Jack Sparrow (he used this word in Russian dubbed Pirates like once maybe, talking to Elisabeth, and that was funny cuz he be crazy like that). But maybe you want this, idk.

And everything sweet

Unfortunately, I haven't seen anyone translate the word "honey" as "мёд" directly, that would be another brilliant laugh (cuz it's wrong to refer to a person like that), but there are some "sweet" words to use!

сладкий/сладкая [sladk'iy/sladkaya] (adj) - this just means "sweet", like the taste, and it can be sexy or sleazy or just cute. You can call a kid this word too, BUT for a child would be better сладенький/сладенькая [slad'en'kiy/slad'en'kaya], which is like one step further into diminutive-endearing department.

конфетка [konf'etka] (n) - this is a diminutive word for a candy, a sweet, like a caramel or chocolate or whatever. Not very common, but is cute. Also a way to describe a sexy/good-looking person (more likely a woman, the word is of feminine gender) or just something really good (a bit jokingly). The latter is usually used in a phrase build like "не ..., а просто конфетка", which is roughly translated "that's not ... that's just plain candy". Might have an actual English equivalent that I can't think of right now. Maybe "a total snack"? Probably that one, yeah. Can be said about anything, a car for example.

Shiny

I wanna stick in a few more words of endearment and they all are kinda shiny, lol, so here you go!

солнце [solntse] (n) - this means "sun", like that big glowing thingy in the sky, but it's very welcome as a term of endearment. This word is NEUTER gender (explained in the next section). Viktor Tsoy (a famous rock musician with an unfortunate fate and immortal cultural heritage) had a song ("Cuckoo" - "Кукушка") with the words "солнце моё, взгляни на меня" [solntse moyo, vzgl'yan'i na m'en'ya] (my sun, look at me), so "солнце моё" (n + adj/n) is a good one. You can also use "солнышко" [solnyshko] (n) which is an endearing version of "sun", so it's like "sunshine". Also of neuter gender! Can and should be used to address kids too.

золотце [zolottse] (n) - this literally means like... a little gold? A little golden piece? I don't think there's a proper equivalent in English. It's a word of neuter gender and it's very much used for kids too. Another version would be "золотой мой/золотая моя/золотые мои" [zolotoy moy/zolotaya moya/zolotiye moyi] (adj + adj/pronoun) - this is "my golden", it's a little less common and I feel like it's often used to be condescending, but it's not inherenrly bad, so you can use it for a loved one.

сокровище [sokrov'ish'e] (once again it's щ, look previously) (n) - this is a word of neuter gender and it means "treasure". I personally adore this one and it's pretty common. Can be used for any gender and for kids!

звёздочка [zv'yozdoch'ka] (n) - this is like a little star/starshine. Wouldn't say it's that common, but I use it a lot. The word itself is of feminine gender, but you can call anyone that! Or you can say "звезда моя" [zv'ezda moya] (n + adj/pronoun), which means "my star". Also feminine gender word, but can be used for anyone.

This dog belongs to...

I am not going to go too deep into sexy/sex-related words in this part, because I'll just get overwhelmed with the amount, but I want to go over some words of ownership quickly.

мой/моя/мои/моё [moy/moya/moyi/moyo] (adj/pronoun) - this means my/mine. It goes really well with many words in this list, especially the adjectives, like "мой дорогой" [moy dorogoy] (my darling) or "солнышко моё" [solnyshko moyo] (my sun/sunshine). The last version, "моё" [moyo] is neuter gender, it's NOT gender-neutral! It's the "it/its" I guess (not exactly, but let's just stick with this simplyfied explanation). Previously there were some words of that gender, so here you go. BTW I would say that in speech it's more common to put this word before adjectives and after nouns (like in my examples), just sounds better, but it's not wrong to do otherwsise. You can also just say "ты мой" [ti moy] (you're mine). Also can be used to refer in third person, like when you're discussing your man with your gossip girls, you can just go "а мой вчера..." [a moy vch'era] (and mine yesterday...) and everyone will understand that you mean your man. Unless you wee discussing pets, then they'll probably assume it's your cat.

хозяин/хозяйка [khoz'yain/khoz'yayka] (n) - saw this one too btw. This means "owner" or kiiiinda "master/mistress", and they are gendered, so it's actually wrong to call a woman "хозяин" unless there's some kinky genderfuckery going on (which I'm all for, but like. you get what I mean).

господин/госпожа [gospod'in/gospozha] (n) - okay, THAT is definitely master/mistress, also gendered. Standard BDSM terminology and yada yada.

And that's where I'd like to wrap up for today! However, if needed, I can write more - perhaps with curse words or with sex-related words, or some phrases? I dunno, you tell me! Once again, I kindly ask you to share since I think this will help people (and while I understand the struggle of writing in another language and especially using words from language you don't speak at all, I can't help but be a little thrown off every time I see a wrong use of words in text).

Also remember: while Siberia is bigger than USA or even Canada, there are still other regions in Russia that deserve to be mentioned <3 a lot of places with mindblowing nature, cultural heritage etc.