#there has to be something to make it click for them

[meowdei]

down the drain (literally) — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; established relationship (engaged even!) ; modern bf sukuna ; slightly dramatic reader (she’s in shambles okay??) ; soft sukuna ; fluff

Sukuna is going to kill you.

For one, you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty minutes and he is clearly sick of it—the door handle rattling is proof enough. For another…well…your engagement ring is down the drain.

(Literally.)

You’re technically supposed to take it off when you wash your face just to be safe, but you get tired, and you forget here and there—mornings are always rough as it is. Sometimes, because you’re human, you forget. And it’s generally okay. Until it’s not.

Because your engagement ring is down the drain. (Literally.)

“God fuckin’ dammit woman,” he hisses, knocking on the door, “what are you doing in there? Open the damn door it’s been ages.”

“Just a second,” you call, panicking as you try to pull the drain plug out, but it doesn’t budge. Your fingers aren’t doing you any favors either—it feels like they’re the perfect size to not fit around anything to help you out here.

Your engagement ring is down the drain (literally) and there’s nothing to do but slowly bite your lip as tears collect at your lash line. So you open the door—and before Sukuna’s angry face can scold you any further, you’ve collapsed against his chest, soaking his bare chest with your tears.

“Wha—” he’s stunned. Stiff and standing there for a moment before he’s stuttering, “h-hey—I didn’t even yell at you that bad, what the fuck? Why’re you bein’ so—”

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” you sob, “please don’t be mad!”

“I’m mad but not that mad,” he says, bewildered. You sob harder at that, and his hands quickly find your hips and squeeze in panic at a poor attempt to reassure you. “Okay, okay! Not mad. Just…mildly annoyed. You’re…mildly annoying, better?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wail.

“Okay! I got it! You’re havin’ a slow morning. Whatever, I waited. Can we just—”

“I didn’t think it’d slip off like that!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My ring,” you hiccup. He stills. You sniffle, pulling away and preparing yourself for his harsh, bitter anger as you whisper, “it fell down the drain.”

“What?” he looks at you, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I w-was washing my face and then…and then—” you take a shuddering breath to try and work through your sobs before you continue, “it fell off and went down the drain! Now it’s in the sewers!”

“The sewers?”

“Yeah the pipes are gonna take it to the sewers!”

“I don’t think it’s in the sewers just yet—”

“And then the sewers will take it to the ocean and then I’ll never find it again!”

“The ocean is a long way from here—”

“I’m so, so, so sorry—”

“Oh my god, woman,” he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them together to shut you up as you stare up at him with wet, miserable, teary eyes. And he softens. Lets his shoulders fall a little as he sighs before rough thumbs are swiping at your cheeks less than gently, but more than in love. “’S just a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring,” you gasp, “it’s my engagement ring!”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, “but we’re still engaged—”

“But now no one will know!”

“Then I’ll buy you a damn new one,” he groans, rubbing his temples as he clicks his teeth when a fresh new round of tears soak your cheeks. (He doesn’t like how it looks—wobbly lips and puffy eyes on you make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. He has enough mistakes to worry about as is.)

“But it’s expensive and—”

“And not your problem,” he grumbles, “I’ll buy you a ring. A nicer one, too, if you promise to quit your whining.”

“You’re not mad?” you sniffle, slumping against his chest as your arms circle his waist.

He melts. Because it’s you, and he always does when it’s you. His arms wrap tightly around you, and a large hand cups the back of your head as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

“You want me to be mad that bad?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Then ‘m not,” he snorts, chest vibrating under your cheek at his laugh, “so quit worryin’. You’ll get creases and everyone’ll think I married some old hag.”

You crack a small grin. He’s good at that—at pulling a soft smile onto your lips against your will as you let out a quiet giggle, gently swatting at his back with your hand as you huff. For a second, the ring is forgotten. For a second, it’s just you, it’s just Sukuna, and it’s just nothing else.

“Not a hag, you asshole,” you huff.

“You nag like one,” he mumbles.

“Do not,” you huff, “you just always piss me off.”

“You piss me off, too.”

“Are you pissed off about the ring?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he grunts. His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips kiss your head once more, and his body sways you side to side ever so slightly as he repeats, more seriously this time, “no. Forget the ring. I’ll get you a new one if I have to, so don’t cry.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hums.

He does. Ring or not, he does. And you can tell he does when he pulls away, gently pinches your nose and leans in to kiss the tears off your face as you can’t help but smile and giggle.

Your ring is down the drain (literally) and so is the hefty sum of money he spent on it, but everything else is still right here. Him and you and you and him and everything you’re ever built, nestled perfectly safe between the little space between your bodies.

“Done cryin’?” he asks gently.

You nod, kissing his jaw as he hums in content. “Yeah.”

“Great. Then get out—it’s my turn in the bathroom and I’ve waited long enough.”

—————— BONUS.

“Hand me the wrench.”

“Okay,” you hum. You hand him a tool, and he stares at you unimpressed as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s a screwdriver.”

“Oh. Which one’s the wrench?”

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” he groans, rubbing his temples.

Fifteen minutes later, and a good deal of bickering over what a wrench looks like and how his tools don’t all look the same, Sukuna has successfully retrieved your very shiny, and very pretty engagement ring. (It didn’t make it very far down the pipes—which is good. It didn’t make it to the sewers, and it most certainly didn’t make its way into the ocean.)

It’s no longer down the drain. (Literally.)

It’s now on your finger. (Literally.)

“Happy?” he raises a brow, watching as you grin at your finger, clearly pleased.

“Yeah,” you hum, sighing in relief. “Good thing you’re at least good at something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“I’m flushin’ that thing down the toilet next time! Sendin’ it straight into the ocean so you’ll never find it again!”

I’ll never forget when I was six years old and I dropped the small ring I got from a gumball machine down the drain when I was brushing my teeth and then I had such a severe meltdown my dad had to bust out his toolkit, open the damn bathroom sink pipes, and fish it out. Because six year old me could not FATHOM losing my 50 cent plastic ring no matter how many times he promised he’d buy me a new one 💀

Anyway. My dad and I were reminiscing about that on call and then I decided it would make a cute sukuna drabble so here you go.

Anyway peace ✌️

[cameronsprincess]

hi girl, i have a request: reader is pregnant and is insecure about her body due to pregnancy (weight gain, larger hips, stretch marks etc) and rafe eats her out and takes her from behind in front of a mirror to show her that she is beautiful🫶🏽

i love me some sweet, baby daddy rafe😭 also i didn’t do mirror sex bc i didn’t want this to be TOO long as my first fic after months and i wanna slowly work my way back into my writing, but i hope y’all enjoy and i’m happy to be back🩵

CW: smut and fluff! 18+ only! pregnancy, insecurities, sweet!rafe, lots of reassuring words, oral (fem receiving), soft ending with cuddling and sweet words!

masterlists.

getting pregnant was always in the cards for you and rafe. it was something both of you had wanted for as long as you could remember, and you were happy about it, you were…

but the changes in your body were enough to make you hate yourself a little more than before. your hips were wider, your stomach and thighs had stretch marks all over them, you’d gained a total of thirty pounds already, and it was all too much for you to take in and accept.

you were worried rafe would find you unattractive, afraid he’d want nothing to do with you now that you were fat and swollen with his child.

it’s a ridiculous thought, really, rafe isn’t that kind of person, at least, not with you he isn’t. but the thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘i’m not pretty anymore’ consumed your mind way more often than thoughts of how rafe would never turn his back on you, especially not when you’re literally carrying a part of him inside you.

you’re sitting on the side of your bed, hands splayed on your round stomach as you stare back at your new reflection in the mirror that’s sat against the wall in your room. you let out a loud sigh, tears welling in your eyes as you stand, turning to the side. your head cocks slightly to the side, taking in your swollen ankles, the stretch marks that span across your belly and thighs, and finally, your face and the puffiness of it from all the crying you’d done today alone.

“i’m creating life… i’m still beautiful.” you say to yourself, silently repeating the words over and over, hoping they’ll stick and you’ll believe them.

a tear slips down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away, anger and frustration beginning to take over your mind. you don’t want to feel this way, but you can’t help it, you just can’t seem to be okay with the changes in your body.

with a loud sigh, you turn away from the mirror, tossing yourself onto the bed and letting the tears fall. you’re a mess, your chest tight and face burning from how hard you’re crying. this probably isn’t good for the baby, but you can’t seem to stop the tears from falling, you can’t stop the heaving of your chest as you suck in sporadic breaths.

the sound of the front door opening and shutting, followed by rafe’s voice flowing up the stairs has you quickly wiping your tears, forcing yourself to close your eyes and take slow, deep breaths, calming yourself.

“baby? you up here?” rafe asks, his dress shoes clicking against the wood with each step he takes up the spiral staircase.

by the time he reaches your bedroom door, you’re calm, chest rising and falling slowly with even breaths as you pretend to be asleep. rafe slowly makes his way toward the bed, his hand reaching out and swiping a piece of hair out of your face. you very slightly and discreetly pop one eye open, seeing the look of concern etched on his face as he stares down at you.

sighing, rafe rubs a thumb across your cheek, “baby… you can open your eyes i know you’re faking,” he pauses to rake his fingers through your slightly knotted hair. “why have you been crying… c’mon, talk to me, because i’m not letting this go. you’ve been crying a lot more than normal lately, and i want to know why. let me help you.”

another tear slips down your cheek, and you exhale deeply, opening your eyes and meeting rafe’s bright blue gaze. his face falls even further when he notices the redness of your eyes and how puffy they are from crying.

rafe kicks off his shoes before he’s climbing into the bed with you, his strong arms wrapping around your body and pulling you into him. his hands rub softly at your swollen belly, his face buried into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses at the skin as he whispers sweet words against your skin.

“you’re beautiful, too beautiful to be doin’ all this crying… you know that right?”

you bite down on your bottom lip, closing your fingers around his. you sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut to let more tears fall down your cheeks.

rafe sucks his teeth, pushing himself off of you and sitting on the bed. you can feel his anger emitting from him. is he mad at you? or just at the fact that you can’t accept his compliment? that you can’t believe the words he’s saying.

you squeal loudly when rafe’s large hand is gripping your upper arm, pulling you off your side and onto your back. you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “raaaaafe, stop! i’m not in the mood.”

“i don’t give a fuck, look at me.”

you don’t listen, keeping your eyes closed and your arms crossed.

rafe huffs out a deep sigh, “baby, now. open your fucking eyes and look at me.”

you finally pop an eye open, finding rafe’s intense stare laser focused on you. his jaw is clenched, that muscle in his jaw ticking and his nostrils flaring. his lips thin as he rolls his neck side to side. “tell me, what’s the matter with you?”

“nothing…” you answer too quickly, the shake and uncertainty in your tone giving you away.

“you’re a bad liar, always have been,” he laughs, his eyes dropping to the ground before sliding back up to you. “now, be honest. what’s the matter?”

the words fly out of your mouth before you can even fully think them through, fresh tears welling up in your eyes as you speak the words aloud. “i can’t accept my new body, the weight gain, the stretch marks, the swelling… my hips are fucking wider than they’ve ever been, my tits have grown ten sizes, my feet and ankles and face is always swollen, and i just-”

“alright let me stop you there.” rafe says sternly, holding a hand up, effectively silencing you.

he stands from the bed, undoing his tie and pulling it free from his neck before he moves to unbutton his shirt. he slowly undoes every button on his shirt, finally popping the last one and letting his shirt fall open, exposing his tanned and toned stomach, the gold chain with your initial laying flat against his broad chest. you squeeze your thighs together, an arch forming between your legs. you’ll never tire of staring at him, he’s the most perfect fucking man you’d ever laid eyes on.

rafe slowly makes his way toward you, his eyes darkening over as he eyes your body from your head down to your freshly painted toes— you thought doing your toes would help you feel a little better, it didn’t.

he stops at the side of the bed, eyes blazing with fire as he slowly undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor once he pulls it through the loops of his khakis. you watch him intently as he pops the button on his khakis, pulling the zipper down slowly next. your heart ratchets up a notch in your chest when he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you, both his hands on either side of your head.

“please don’t tell me you truly think you’re any less fucking beautiful, perfect, whatever… because you’re pregnant? you’re carrying my baby, you’re creating life. part me… part you… and you’re, what? hating the body changes that come with it?”

your eyes find his, cheeks heating up as he stares down at you, that fire still burning in his beautiful blue pools. slowly, you nod your head, shame and guilt for feeling the way you do engulfing you.

rafe’s eyes turn a shade darker, his pupils dilating until nothing but black covers his eyes. he shakes his head, sucking his teeth, “now that… that’s a problem, baby.”

you open your mouth to speak, but rafe’s lips smashing against yours has the words dying on your tongue. he kisses you slowly at first, but the kiss quickly turns hot and brutal. you softly groan against his lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. he claims your mouth with his, only breaking the kiss to press kisses along your jaw and neck.

rafe situates himself on his knees, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it to the floor before he’s dropping onto his stomach. his hands grip your thighs tightly, burying his face between your thighs and inhaling your scent. he runs his hands up your legs, his fingers toying with the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs slowly.

a low rumble forms deep in his chest when he sees you’d decided to go commando today. “fuck.. you’re already so wet baby..” he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, his teeth lightly nipping at the tender flesh. “i’m going to show you just how fucking perfect you are, no matter what, you’re goddamn beautiful to me, understand?” he rasps, inhaling the scent of your arousal again, his hips pressing into the mattress as he does.

“y-yes… okay..”

he smiles up at you, “good girl, lay back, and let me show you how fucking perfect you are to me.”

your head falls back into your plush pillow, a moan slipping from your lips when his tongue slowly slides through your slit and up to your clit. his teeth lightly bite at your sensitive bud and your thighs tighten around his head. “oh god, rafe…”

he hums against your pussy, the vibrations making your hips involuntarily buck upward. rafe makes quick work of fucking you with his tongue, long, slow licks through your folds, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking harshly against it. you gasp, hands flying to his head and running your palms over his buzzed hair.

rafe lifts his head from between your legs, giving you a soft smile, “you taste so damn good, baby, wanna eat this pussy for the rest of my life.”

his lips wrap around your clit once more, two fingers slowly pushing into your soaked pussy. he curls his fingers, slowly pushing them in and out of you as he continues to suck on your clit. pressure builds low in your belly, that feeling of needing to relieve your bladder growing as rafe continues the movements with his fingers and mouth. you cry out his name, that pressure building and building until the pressure snaps and you’re squirting all over rafe’s face and hand.

you fall limp beneath rafe’s body, shaking and trying to calm your breathing as he pulls himself from between your thighs. he climbs up your body, kissing softly at your stomach and whispering sweet words to your baby before he plops on his back beside you.

he turns onto his side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into him, kissing at your face softly. “i never want to hear or see you hating on yourself again, do you understand me baby?”

you slowly nod your head, a tear falling down your cheek. rafe kisses the tears away, soft praises leaving his lips as he runs his hand softly up and down your back.

“and no more crying. at least not over this. you’re too beautiful to cry over things that aren’t true. i will never think you’re anything less than beautiful, i will never stop loving you. you’re mine forever, you’re creating life right now, our baby, remember that! you’re fucking perfect, y/n.”

you snuggle into rafe’s chest, letting his words sink in and fully believing everything he’s saying.

“i love you, rafe… thank you.”

he kisses the top of your head, breathing you in as he closes his eyes. “i love you too, baby.”

tagging some moots: @memoirofasparklemuff1n @matthewssweetheart @rafesthroatbaby @maybejj @dollyfiles @cherrygirlfriend @rowdydevs @rafesheaven @nemesyaaa @rafesbabygirlx @hauntedfawnn (i will be setting up a taglist form again and will post it later for those who want to fill it out and join, it’ll just be easier for me to do that again.)

[unreasonablerobin]

HI BARBIE

Damian Al Ghul x Girly!Reader

Summary: Damian and his... very girly girlfriend??

W.C: 4.3K

Tags: Fluff ♡

Something was different... everyone in the manor could tell that there was something different with Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

Considering he lived in a manor full of detectives, you really wouldn't think he'd have gotten away with his secret rendezvous.

7 months ago...

It all started with Alfred noticing new smells on his clothes as he did the laundry. At first, it seemed that Damian had simply switched to a new shampoo or maybe gotten a cologne. Then, the sharp scent of cologne started to come mixed with floral. Alfred did what any good butler would do. He ignored it. If his master wanted to indulge in wearing floral scents, he wouldn't shame him for it.

Alfred wasn't the only one who noticed the change in scent, though. Dick had been messing around with Damian in the training room. They always liked a good spar with each other. Everything was going as usual until... SNIFF

"Dude, are you wearing perfume?" Dick suddenly asked as he blocked a punch from his little brother. Damian's composure faltered for just a moment before he pulled himself together, grabbing Dick and tossing him over the shoulder. The poor vigilante was too distracted by his discovery to catch himself. He fell to the floor with a thud.

"Don't be ridiculous Grayson." The boy clicked his tongue as he began to walk out of the training room.

"It's one of those Britney Spears ones, Kori has a few," Dick said more to himself than Damian as the boy was choosing to ignore him the more words tumble out of his mouth. "Hold on don't tell, is it the pink one with the little green gems on it?"

Damian had to fight back the urge to inform him that the perfume he was thinking of was called Fantasy. He'd become quite the enthusiast simply from listening to you go on about all sorts of perfumes, and other products, sat at your vanity as he admired your reflection through the mirror.

"Why do you know so much about Britney Spears perfumes Grayson?" Damian retorted.

"Cause I have a very gorgeous girlfriend, Dams. I got her the perfume for her birthday, the bottle reminded me of her." He replied a lovesick grin already forming at the thought of his alien lover. The former assassin took the opportunity to sneak out of the training room as his older brother got lost in a train of hopeless romantic thoughts over his lover.

Once he made it back to his room he sharply inhaled. Yep, it smells like your perfume. Very clearly, like you'd jumped around spraying it before sneaking out this morning. He took a handful of his shirt and lifted it to his nose. Yep, also smells like your perfume and your setting spray. If he wanted to keep your relationship hidden from his lunatic families he'd need to do a better job of covering it, he thought to himself as he began to light any scented candles he could find. An attempt to cover your traces. One of them was a gift from you, so not entirely hiding your presence.

5 months ago...

The two of you were walking through the mall. Hands intertwined and a bundle of shopping bags in his other. He'd insisted on carrying them. No matter how ridiculous he looked. It was a funny sight. His cold hard expression paired with cute bags of clothes, makeup and a Sanrio plushie peeking out from one of them.

"Are you hungry, beloved?" Damian turned his head to face you. You pondered for a moment until your stomach decided for you by making a growling sound.

"Yes..." You said slightly embarrassed. A downturned smile spread on your face.

"Where would you like to go?" You were about to respond when your phone started ringing, a cheery pop song blared from your charm-adorned handbag.

"Sorry, one sec," you reached into the bag. Shoving all sorts of things around to get to your phone. "It's my mom, you pick I'll be back in a minute!" You stepped off to the side and answered the phone.

Damian huffed at the feeling of his empty hand as he began to scan the mall food court up ahead.

'Burger King, McDonalds, Stephanie and Cass, KFC...' He paused his train of thought. Oh shit, he didn't realise Stephanie and Cass would be here and walking towards you both, unaware of your presence.

"Mom, I promised I'd be back home for dinner. 6:30, I know," You laughed at her antics before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

You didn't get the chance to turn around as your hand was being grabbed and you were getting dragged away.

"Damian?" you looked at the boy as he swerved between the crowds. "Is everything alright?" You watched as he occasionally looked behind the two of you. Taking a small glance back you spotted two girls you recognised from a photo he'd shown you.

"Hold on, is that Damian?" Stephanie stopped Cass in her tracks and pointed ahead. Cass looked up from her milkshake and saw the head of her little brother.

"We should go say hi! Wonder what he's doing in the mall?" Stephanie had taken Cass' arm and was pulling her towards Damian, both unaware that he wasn't alone and trying to get away from them.

Damian noticed the two getting closer and took a sharp left turn into a random clothing store. He used the clothing racks to hide from the persistent girls following them.

"Why's he gone in here?" Stephanie wondered out loud. "It's a women's clothing store." Cass shrugged her shoulders as her mind went to Dick's theory on Damian trying out more feminine things, and being ashamed of it, after the perfume incident. She thought the theory was ridiculous.

Cass looked around quickly to see if the shop was even worth spending time in, but nothing was to her taste. As she scanned the store she spotted what looked to her brother... and a girl? Sneaking into the dressing rooms.

'No, it couldn't be,' Cass thought to herself watching the figure of a boy that looked exactly like her brother disappear into a dressing room with a really pretty girl. 'Could it?'

You and Damian crammed into a little dressing room with all your shopping bags.

"So..." You began, turning to the mirror to fix any out of place hairs.

"We'll have to wait a while, they are unfortunately persistent."

"How long?"

"I do not know, beloved," He shoved your shopping bags into the corner. "Longer than you'd like, I'd imagine."

You stood in silence for a moment.

"I can think of a couple ways to pass the time..." You turned away to prevent yourself from laughing at Damian's flushed face.

3 months ago...

Damian and Jason had been giving each other a hand during patrol that night. Damian was chasing some low-life thugs and they managed to slip out of his grasp and dash all the way to Crime Alley. Thankfully Jason was there and helped him catch the guys. After dealing with them Damian stood up, a vibration surged through his pocket. He reached in about to immediately hit decline. Why would he answer the phone on patrol? That's what he thought until your face graced his peripheral. He quickly turned his back towards his brother. It was a photo of you and your closets friends. (Obviously the contact picture was only focused on you). It was taken on your birthday. You were all dolled up in makeup and a gorgeous outfit you'd insisted you needed his opinion on before going out. He was about to answer when, "Who's that?" Jason called out from behind.

'Oh Shit.' Damian thought to himself. There are so many excuses to use when your brother smells your girlfriend's perfume on you, so many ways to hide from your sisters when out on a date. How does one convince Red Hood that 'Beloved <3' isn't what it looks like? That its no one special on the other end of the line?

"No one," Damian tried his luck with lying anyways. "Mind your business!" He possessively clutched the phone to his chest. Hiding the caller ID and contact photo. That was only for him to see.

Jason stared at him through his helmet, "Uh-huh, sure," Damian could feel the bullshit look on Jason's face behind the helmet. "No one at all."

"No one for you to concern yourself with Todd, mind your business." Damian stuttered out sharply before disappearing into the night. Away from prying eyes.

Jason couldn't help but grin as he watched his brother run off, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

"Idiot."

Damian had perched himself on top of an apartment building. He brought his phone in front of him and called his last missed call. You. He sat in the silence of dawn, only the buzz of his voice and the tires of some earlier commuters to be heard. Until he heard the sweet voice of his favourite person.

"Hello? Damian?" God, how did your voice sound so angelic this early in the morning, through a phone speaker?

"Good morning, beloved," He sighed contently, "Apologies for not picking up when you first called I was finishing up something." He felt at peace hearing your voice and the ruffle of your bedsheets. Even if it was only through a phone and not in person. It would do.

"Oh sorry!" You whisper yelled. The sun was only rising, your family were probably still asleep. "I didn't mean to bother, we can talk la-"

"Nonsense, you are certainly not bothering me, beloved. I'm more than happy to make time for you at any hour of the day or night." He cut you off. It was silent on your end of the line for a few moments. A couple of giggles and some sheet rustling could be heard. Damian could see it in his mind you going slightly rouge and hiding your face in the pastel duvet.

"It's just," you trailed off, "I had a stupid nightmare and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"If my presence is what you seek in order to feel safe than I will always be available." You smiled at that looking out the window by your bed.

"I will be there."

"What!?" You shot up in your bed, shrinking in on yourself when you realised how loud you were being.

"Damian, there's no need-"

"Yes there is very much need," You sighed at his persistence. "You require my comfort to fall back asleep, I know how much you enjoy your weekend sleep." You fell back k down into tour bed with a smile. He was so right. You loved your weekend lie ins.

"I am finished patrol so I will make my way to you."

"Okay, I'll see you in a few, my windows open," you bit your bottom lip for a moment, hesitation filling you, "I love you." There was silence on the other end of the line until the call ended. You looked at your phone in confusion worried you'd accidentally hit the red button or if Damian had decided he actually hated you. A shadow replacing the sunrise light that had been beaming onto you stopped your train of thought. You looked up to see Robin perched on your windowsill. Strategically, as to not damage your flower boxes.

"I love you too." He whispered before he crawled through the window, landing on your bed.

2 months ago...

Damian was sat in the back of the Batcave as Bruce and Tim discussed something about an ongoing case. He was cleaning one of his katanas. Deciding it was clean enough he picked it up and set it to the side. A small sound of metal hitting metal made the two detectives perk up. The sound came again as Damian picked up another blade to clean. Tim turned his head ever so slightly to glance at the boy and in the corner of his eyes, he spotted it. A small ring on his left hand. He gave a small glance to Bruce, who was still staring at the screen before him, but he could tell the scrunch of his face wasn't from the confusion of the case. Damian completely unaware of his brother's and father's change in demeanour continued to clean his blades. The metal ring subtly caught the light as he carefully rubbed the cloth against the sharp edge of the blade. A gentle smile graced his face as he stared at the ring. His mind wandered back to the day he gave you the promise ring. He knew you'd love it but he was still so nervous. He would rather die than let anyone know that though. Little whispers snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking up he spotted Tim leaning in towards Bruce muttering something.

"Can I say something?" Tim questioned in a hushed teasing tone.

"No, you can not." Bruce sternly replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh come on," Tim looked from him to his brother out of the corner of his peripheral. "You can't not be curious about what's up with him?"

Bruce gave the young detective a quick glance before returning to the screen with CCTV footage playing.

"Of course I am, but it is none of our business." He said curtly. "Damian is very capable and I trust that he is independent and mature enough to do as he pleases."

Tim sighed in response to that. He'd have to lay off on the teasing for now, but just know that when he gets a moment alone with his little brother he will become the biggest pain in the ass.

Damian couldn't help but let his smile grow back after hearing his father's words. He spun the ring around his finger for a brief moment before setting his blades aside and exiting the cave.

1 month ago...

Another rare day where you manage to spend the day in Wayne Manor. Today was much easier than all the others. Dick was in his apartment with Kori'ander, Bruce and Tim were away on company business, the girls were all out, and Jason was god knows where. You didn't really care if they were in the Manor or on the other side of the world at this moment. You were sprawled on top of your boyfriend in his bed. Nothing could possibly ruin this day for you. Your head was rested on his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat. His hand held yours and the other played with the ends of your hair. You both layed in the silence of the day as you quite literally watched paint dry. Over on his desk, which was supposed to be used for homework and not art or makeup, like it you had previously been using it for. Two small paintings lay drying; one of batcow and the other of a sunset. A huff of laughter from the chest beneath you made you look up.

"What?"

"There is paint on your face, beloved."

You shot up from his body and where about to run into the bathroom. Damian gently grabbed into your face. The red paint streaks where mostly dry now so he was easily able to rub them off. Even when your face was paint free, you both sat there, your face in his hands and his thumb caressing your skin.

"You are so beautiful, Habibti." You stared with a lovestruck look right back at his lovesick one. He leaned in a little closer.

"May I?" He asked, ever the gentleman. You nodded.

He brought his lips to yours not caring about the sticky sensation of your lip gloss. You sighed into the kiss and brought your hands up to rest of his. They slid down and held onto his wrists. Neither of you would get Iver this feeling. The butterflies, your lips on eachother, the fear that enters your body when you hear a knock of the door. Oh my god. You immediately pulled away.

"Master Damian," Alfred's muffled voice came through the door. "Would like some cookies? They are freshly baked."

"No thanks, Pennyworth." Damian quickly replied. There was an uncomfortable silence for a second before-

"Would your friend like some?" Both of your eyes bulged out and your jaws dropped.

"I won't tell, no need to fret!"

You looked to Damian nervously, who nodded his head, telling you that Alfred really meant what he said.

"Yes please!" You piped up. You could smell those cookies and my god, you wanted them so bad.

"Very well, I'll prepare them and some tea." Alfred laughed before heading back to the kitchen.

Present...

Yesterday had been another one of those rare days where nobody was in the manor, so you had come over and Damian persuaded you to stay the night.

You sleepy made your way into the bathroom attached to his room. Deciding it was time to get ready for the day. Your eyes scanned the counter top covered in skincare and makeup products left here overtime by you. You couldn't help but smile thinking of all the smalls ways you two had been intertwining your life's. You had things in his place, he had things in yours, he carried hair ties for you and you carried bandages for him. It was simple and sweet. It got you thinking about why he didn't want you to meet his family as you did your skincare. He'd met yours, plenty of time at that. He'd spent the night, he'd had dinner with them, hell you're mom bought him an Easter egg! You swore up and down to yourself he didn't have any problem with you or his family. Now picking up your primer you couldn't help but be confused. Why is he so desperate to hide you and your relationship? You shook the thoughts away when you spotted your frown in the mirror, now just focusing on getting ready.

An hour had passed and Damian was awake. He could hear you in the bathroom as he rolled over in the now cold bed.

"Babe, can you help me?" You softly called out as you nudged the bathroom door open. "I can't get my earing in." You informed with you hands at your ear.

He got up from his bed a maneuvered you back into the bathroom, where the lighting was good, shutting the door behind him.

"I can't get it through, it shouldn't be closed up though!" You handed him the earing and stood beside him under the ceiling light.

He tilted your head and began what would be an annoyingly long process of trying to perform the simple task of getting a piece of metal through a hole.

Alfred was in the middle of cooking breakfast and asked Dick to go wake his brother up. Unaware that you were still here. You usually snuck out earlier but you're phone was dead when you woke up so you never checked the time.

Dick trecked up the stairs, past Jason leaving his room and towards Damian's. He softly knocked on the door before swinging it open.

"Uh, Jason?"

"What?" Jason grumbled at the end of the hallway.

"Who's phone is that?" Dick asked pointing towards a phone that definitely wasn't his brother's. Unless he'd taken a sudden liking to charms and bows.

Jason sleepy stared at Dick until the image of Damian's phone with a picture of a girl and suspicious caller ID appeared in his head. Now he was sprinting towards his brother's room.

Jason and Dick stood in the doorway examining the unknown phone plugged in and rested on the nightstand. Jason gasped and pointed at a woman's bag, say on the floor, leaning against the desk leg. Dick dramatically took hold of Jason and put a finger to his lips. He then pointed to the bathroom door.

"Damian it's fine!"

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"It's not going to hurt, babe I promise!"

A girl? Babe!?

This had Dick and Jason turning to eachother, shock written all over their faces as they sprinted to the stairs.

Bruce, Tim, Stephanie and Cass were all sat at the dining table. Bruce was reading the newspaper, Tim was chugging a coffee, Stephanie was talking to Cass while they waited for the other three boys. Same as every morning. At least it was, until-

"Damian has a girlfriend!" Dick shouted like he was the final girl just after discovering who the killer was.

"She's upstairs!" Jason skidded into the kitchen behind him.

Alfred froze, as he watched Tim and Stephanie sprint faster than he'd ever seen before. Dick and Jason following right behind them. Cass subtly followed. She didn't want to be nosy but... she needed to know! Her suspicions were driving her crazy ever since the mall. Bruce sighed, folding up the newspaper and setting it down before heading up to Damian's room as he heard screaming.

You were mortified. Six people just barged into the room and saw you in your pyjamas; your underwear and one of Damian's shirts. You screamed and immediately bolted back into the bathroom. You were panicking. Damian didn't want you to meet his family and you just did it in the worst way possible. Half naked and screaming. What a way to meet the future in-laws. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you slid to the floor. Atleast your hair and makeup look good.

"Drake, what the fuck!?" Damian yelled.

"Hold on, why am I the only one getting yelled at?" Tim retorted.

Stephanie nudged his shoulder. "You scared her stupid!"

"We barged in at the same time!"

"You're a guy!"

Damian stood there with a frustrated expression watching Tim and Stephanie bicker and the rest of his family pile in. Cass's small smile at him help him relax a little, but only a little. And just for a moment, cause then Dick and Jason piped up.

"So..." Dick began. "Who is she?"

"None of your business."

"That's what you told me when someone named 'beloved' called you on patrol." Jason chimed in with a teasing tone. Damian could only stare at more frustration than before. His cheeks began to flush and that just passed him off more. Stephanie wasn't helping with her "awww's in the background. Damian was about to scream for them to all get out, get physical with Tim if he needed to.

“Damian.”

Everyone turned towards the stern, deep voice in the doorway. Bruce stepped forward to his youngest son.

"Father," Damian started a tangent before Bruce even had a chance to say anything more. "Her name is Y/n. We have been dating for 8 months, and I love her. No matter your approval or disapproval I will continue to see her." Damian informed his father in a stern and determined tone.

“If it’s alright with you I would like to meet her. Properly.” He requested. “I believe the rest would also like to meet her.” Damian didn’t know how to respond. He thought his father would have a bigger reaction to lying and sneaking around with a girl. Especially considering the occupations of everyone present.

“Of course only if she’s alright with it as well.” Bruce added with a light smile.

"Allow me to check." Bruce ushered all of his children out of the young boy's room.

Once they’d all left he slid into the bathroom where you were still sat on the floor.

“Habitat,” he called out softly. “We don’t have to go down there if you don’t want to.” He knelt in front of you.

“No! I want to, I’d love to meet your family.” You countered quickly. “Only if that’s okay with you, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Whatever you want, beloved.” He said with a smile identical to his father’s.

You were now dressed and sat beside Damian at the Wayne dining table. All of the Wayne's were staring at you. It wasn't daggers or disgust. You'd figured it was curiosity.

"How the hell did you even meet?" Jason asked the first question.

"School." Damian answered coldly.

"No offence, but I didn't expect you to end up with someone so..." Dick trailed off as he swung is fork around as if it would conjure up the words he wad looking for.

"Girly?" You suggested. "I get it, you probably thought he'd end up with someone like yourselves."

Everyone at the table felt a bead of sweat drop from their foreheads.

"What?" Stephanie asked with a nervous laugh.

"She knows." They all snapped their necks to look at Damian and then their father at the head of the table.

He sighed, "Damian I trust that you thought about all this before giving us away?"

"Of course I did. Do not suggest that they are not trustworthy." Bruce and Damian had a bit of a stare off. While that was happening Stepahine had kicked Tim out of his chair beside you.

"You're hair is so gorgeous! What do you use?" She asked as she held a strand in her palm.

"Oh, I cannot think of the name! But there's some up in Damian's bathroom, I'll show it to you."

Dick leaned over the table, "I thought I was going crazy when I started smelling perfumes off him!" You laughed at his comment.

"What do you use? It smells similar to the one Kori uses."

You began to chat with the vigilantes about all sorts of things. Telling Cass and Stephanie about the products you use and where you shop, listening to stories about Dick and Kori. Jason chimed in with a few book recommendations and reviews after learning you like to read. Quickly you found yourself having conversations with all the Waynes like it was as easy as breathing. As you were laughing at some Internet joke you and Tim were discussing, you spotted a poute on your boyfriend's face. And it finally clicked.

Damian Al Ghul was jealous of his own family.

He kept your relationship a secret and avoided introducing you for so long because he didn't want them to steal your attention.

You couldn't help but smile at that.

A/N: First piece published!! I welcome back feedback with open arms. Please just don't take this opportunity to be rude. I'd love to know if I write ooc or if my grammars incorrect, ect.

Shout out to Damian Al Ghul my gatekeeping king🙏

[cherrygirlfriend]

Nerd!rafe starts noticing that he has a choking kink(being choked) but afraid to tell reader, until she realises herself and starts having fun with it until she actually does it

Girlll I love your blog

choke me

thank you for the request!! i hope you like this <3 nerd!rafe wants perv!reader to choke him. +18

rafe couldn’t stop thinking about it.

his head had just been in between your legs, your hands tugging on rafe’s hair hair pulling rafe closer to your cunt as his fingers were curling inside of you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you.

“yesyesyesyesyes-“ you moaned, pulling tighter on his hair as your gummy walls clenched and squeezed rafe’s fingers. but once your orgasm finally started subsiding, you let go of rafe’s hair and he climbed up your body, only for you to grab his neck and squeeze slightly, pleasure unexpectedly shooting up his spine and his cock basically jumping in the confines of his boxer shorts as you squeezed harder, making it even harder for him to breathe as you brought his lips to yours. “did so good for me baby…” you mumbled in between blissed out kisses. but the moment you let go of his throat, he couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of disappointment.

rafe couldn’t stop thinking about it, how good it felt to have you control of if he could breathe, if he deserved to breathe, but rafe had no idea how to even bring it up in conversation. he had always been awkward when it came to any sort of physical affection, and most of his friends weren’t too… experienced when it came to sex, so he knew he couldn’t ask them.

you were on top of him, your hand squeezing his throat as you rode him, mumbles of his name leaving your lips as you threw your head back, rafe’s hands holding onto your hips. “doing so good baby, doing real good for me…” you moaned, squeezing tighter.

rafe woke up with a startle, his skin flushed with sweat, his breaths coming out in a pant. the boy sat up in bed, running a hand through his sandy-colored hair as he took off his sweat-covered t-shirt, only to feel something wet in his boxer shorts. throwing off the blanket, rafe saw a wet spot at the front of the blue fabric, further confirming his suspicions as he lifted the waistband of his underwear. fuck.

later that afternoon, rafe was sitting at his computer, his glasses reflecting r/askmenadvice on reddit, open on a post he had made about an hour ago titled ‘how to tell your girlfriend you like to be choked?’

he was biting on the nail on his thumb as he read over the replies, taking a chug from the diet coke on his desk, a sigh leaving his lips.

u/softelectricity9

just say it to her lol

u/falseboldness

is she into choking you? if so, just try and show her that you’re into it as she’s doing it.

u/SnottyPotty15

Maybe try to ask her what she’s into and then mention what you like.

rafe was startled shitless by the sound of his door opening and banging closed. “hi baby!” a familiar voice called out at the door, causing rafe to abruptly turn off his computer monitor and turn in his chair, “hey, hi, baby…” rafe stood up and cleared his throat, smiling tightly at you as he scratched the back of his neck, “you, uh, you didn’t tell me you’d be coming by…”

“do i have to tell you every time before i come by? i was thinking we could go out to eat.” you grin, cupping his cheeks and pressing a quick kiss on his lips, “what were you looking at?”

“nothing.” rafe chuckled softly before clearing his throat, “i’ll, uh, i gotta return somethin’ to walter. i’ll be right back and we can go out somewhere. how about pizza?”

“mmm… ramen? i’m craving it.”

rafe let out a chuckle and nodded, “alright. be right back.” he said, grabbing a usb stick off his desk before heading out the door, the minute it clicked to a close, you were turning on his computer monitor. honestly, he should know you better by now. of course you were going to snoop. and once you saw what he’d been trying to hide, you couldn’t suppress your grin.

after the two of you got back from the restaurant, rafe was holding you in his arms as netflix was open on rafe’s laptop, only for you to not be paying any attention to it, more focused on looking up at your boyfriend, the screen reflected in his glasses.

“what are you staring at?” he mumbled, his eyes not straying from the screen. “you.” you replied, stroking the bare skin right above the waistband of his sweatpants, rafe’s shirt having ridden up. “and why is that?” the boy asked, his tone slightly amused.

“because.” you moved to straddle him, rafe’s eyes widening in surprise, no longer paying any attention to the show that was playing, “i want you.”

“you- uh-“

you pressed your lips against his to quiet him down before he could even say anything. rafe’s hands went to your hips almost automatically, drawing small patterns with his thumbs.

as your lips moved against rafe’s, your tongue teasing his, letting out a whine into your mouth as your hand went to his throat, gently squeezing. when you applied more pressure, you felt rafe getting hard under you. pulling your lips away from his, rafe looked up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“you know…” you lean close to his ear and whisper, “if you want me to choke you, you can just ask, baby.”

ty for reading! feel free to send reqs and check out my masterlist!

[thegreatyin]

What, precisely, is fallen London, and how can I play it? Ive been told it's a browser game, will it work on my phones browser or only my computer's?

SWEEPS EVERYTHING OFF MY DESK. SLAMS MY HANDS ON THE COUNTER. you're in luck because advertising this game is apparently my specialty.

fallen london is a free browser game that works on anything with an internet connection!! laptops, phones, tablets, the decade old 3ds you have stashed in the back of your closet- if you can open a web browser, you can run fallen london. the UI obviously differs between desktop and mobile, and desktop has the benefit of extensions that can make your life marginally easier, but that's all a strictly optional affair.

as for the game's actual contents; fallen london is a text-based horror game closely reminiscent of classic "choose your own adventure" books. you play as a new arrival to an alternate history version of victorian london that now flourishes in a deep, dark, marvelous (and more than slightly eldritch!) cavern known as "the neath", with the goal of making your name and ultimately pursuing one of the four possible ambitions that brought you here to begin with. along the way you encounter a wide variety of strange and inexplicable things, including but not limited to;

men with the faces of squid (who are not truly men)

actual real soul-stealing devils (who originate from Actual Real Hell, which is also london's next door neighbor)

snakes that are eternally bound to the realm beyond mirrors (who have an infamous feud with sapient talking cats)

treacheries of time, law, and all that which the gods hold dear (including the ability to bypass death itself)

sirens who are convinced they're dead (in a place where, as stated, death is easily bypassed)

sentient landmasses that get REALLY annoyed if you don't pay your taxes on time (and are also single and ready to mingle)

fabric that is not fabric (which is held in quite high value by certain giant bat monsters)

spiders that eat eyeballs (but are, fortunately, easily distracted by shakespeare)

genres of colors you didn't think possible (in seven fantastical flavors!)

batkissing (not canonically, but in our hearts)

batfucking (this is, somehow, marginally more canon than the above thing)

batmarriage (no.)

batdivorce (in comically large spades)

The Hat Man (who's in love with and yearns to become like a sentient island)

gay people (a lot of them)

trans people (also a lot of them)

doomed love, in all possible forms (as well as those who try and collect it)

this thing (this thing)

and last- but certainly not least-

a pitiful hope that perhaps, just perhaps, all shall one day be well. (even when you know it won't be.)

it's a game with lore as deep as the ocean, and a staggering wordcount (4.5 million!) to boot. it's not perfect, but it's something i've grown to love deeply, and in my experience? if it doesn't click for you, that's understandable. but if it clicks for you, it really does click for you. i recommend it to anyone and everyone who so much as looks its way. who knows! it may just surprise you 🦇☀️🦀🌃

as a further incentive, here are some out-of-context items and excerpts:

as stated, you can play it right now for free at fallen london dot com. there is a subscription and a small bounty of microtransactions on offer if you want to support the development team, but at no point is this ever required, and you will be playing for years before you reach the end of stuff to accomplish. all major content updates are free and available to all players, and FOMO to this day remains virtually non-existent. as once again stated, the browser specs are non-existent. if you can run google, you can run fallen london.

so head on down!! give the neath a try!! follow admiralty orders and dump a bunch of bombs directly into the zee (underground sea) whilst accidentally waking up a giant grieving sea urchin that screams fire and violently pursues your demise!! (that's what we're all doing right now, anyway.)

if the browser game isn't for you, there's also other outlets with which to explore the universe. you can find the spinoff games Sunless Seas, Sunless Skies, and Mask of The Rose available to purchase right now on steam, and there's recently been a very successful kickstarter to adapt the game into a TTRPG. it looks very cool so far. im very very very excited for it :)

in lieu of having to come up with a conclusion for this ask, im instead going to direct you to the MoTR stupendium song (which you'll find linked below). it says far more and advertises far better than i could ever dream of. also, it's a straight bop, and "all ends/swords pens" has lived rent-free in my brain for months.

welcome to the neath, delicious friend. we hope you enjoy your stay ❤️

[cameronsbabydoll]

— GET TO KNOW MY !READERS ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

SPOILED!KOOK!READER

(the brat in kitten heels.)

she was raised by billionaire parents who bought her everything the second she so much as glanced at it. she’s never heard the word "no" unless it was followed by "—but we can find something better."

she still keeps all her old barbie and bratz dolls lined up perfectly on glass shelves in her pink childhood bedroom. sometimes she talks to them like they’re real friends.

her whole wardrobe is pink, glittery, sparkly — it’s literally an explosion of color. she has hot pink satin dresses, light pink fluffy coats, and bright pink purses with rhinestones.

her nails are always long, acrylic, and decked out in sparkles or little charms. she changes them every two weeks and throws a fit if her nail tech cancels.

very much “paris hilton meets summer roberts meets elle woods.”

she speaks in a very high-pitched, sweet voice — she’s super animated when she talks, always playing with her hair or clicking her acrylics together.

she loves tiny little purses that can’t actually hold anything useful. her bag essentials are lip gloss, mini perfume, emergency $100 bills, and her pink bedazzled phone.

she’s obsessed with luxury brands — new chanel bags, vintage juicy couture sets, louboutins, cartier bracelets stacked on her wrists like candy.

owns a tiny baby pink convertible with rhinestone-studded seat covers.

wears little kitten heels everywhere — brunch, shopping, even walking through the sand at a bonfire (and gets mad if anyone tells her it’s impractical.)

she’s extremely ditzy — she’ll ask the dumbest questions with 100% sincerity (“wait... is alaska a country?”) but she's also sneaky-smart when it comes to getting what she wants.

constantly says things like “i’m literally a princess” and “that’s hot” without a hint of irony.

thinks starbucks orders are a form of personality ("i’m a venti pink drink with extra vanilla sweet cream and extra ice!")

drinks fruity cocktails with names like "strawberry kiss" or "barbie breeze" — anything pink and filled with sugar.

always smells like a mix of bubblegum, vanilla, and expensive designer perfume (think baccarat rouge layered over body spray).

cries when she breaks a nail. screams when she sees a cute puppy. throws tantrums when things don't go her way but somehow makes it look cute.

rafe has to literally carry her sometimes because she’ll refuse to walk if her heels hurt. ("i’m not walking another step. carry me.")

she loves photo ops and making rafe take 500 pictures of her in front of a sunset, a yacht, a boutique, whatever. (he complains but always does it.)

lowkey is a daddy’s girl and drops "my daddy’s lawyer will sue you" at least once a week even though she’s never actually sued anyone.

dreams of marrying rich and being a stay-at-home wife with a teacup poodle in a designer bag.

if she ever argues with rafe, it’s always followed by her sulking dramatically on a satin bedspread in her tiny matching pj set until he buys her something to apologize.

calls rafe things like "my big scary bodyguard" and "my mean mean man" whenever he tries to put her in check (but she loves it.)

BABYDOLL!READER

(the crybaby in a pastel bow.)

she's soft. like really soft — her heart is big, her emotions even bigger. she cries when she sees puppies, when she hears an old love song, when rafe brushes her hair without being asked.

she’s very baby pink, powder blue, butter yellow — all her clothes look like easter eggs in the best way. her entire wardrobe is pastel vintage pieces, old babydoll dresses with tiny embroidered flowers, peter pan collars, ruffles, little gloves she finds at estate sales.

she collects trinkets like a magpie — porcelain figurines, pressed flowers, postcards from the 1950s, ticket stubs, little heart-shaped lockets she’ll never wear but keeps anyway. every shelf, every drawer in her room has something sentimental tucked inside.

when she talks about her favorite things, her whole face lights up — she glows when she tells rafe about finding a new 60s vinyl at the thrift store or a dress that reminds her of audrey hepburn.

she plays her vinyls constantly. her room is always filled with the crackly sound of lana del rey, nancy sinatra, or elvis. (if she's sad, it's exclusively sad lana songs while she cries into a satin pillow.)

she absolutely forces rafe to take her to this 50s-themed diner at least once a week. she’ll dress up in a pastel swing dress and saddle shoes just for the aesthetic, dragging him inside while he grumbles but secretly thinks she’s adorable.

she’s obsessed with old hollywood — posters of marilyn monroe and audrey hepburn cover her walls. framed black and white photos of james dean, frank sinatra, and john f kennedy are proudly displayed in her closet. (rafe gets a little jealous when she gushes over how "handsome" james dean was.)

her closet smells like vintage perfume — powdery, floral, a little bit like old lace and sweet soap. she still has her grandmother’s pearl necklace tucked inside a little velvet box.

she’s so sensitive it’s almost comical — rafe so much as raises his voice and she’s sniffling and looking at him with glassy eyes like he kicked her puppy.

she's a hopeless romantic. she dreams about slow dancing in the rain, kissing in a convertible at a drive-in movie, getting love letters sealed with a kiss.

she’s ditzy sometimes — she’ll burn cookies because she got distracted dancing around the kitchen, or she’ll forget where she put her purse because she set it down to pick flowers.

rafe ends up carrying her home from the diner more often than not because she insists on wearing tiny vintage heels that always give her blisters. she clutches his neck and cries about her "poor poor toes" while he rolls his eyes but kisses her forehead anyway.

she loves baking sweets — cupcakes, sugar cookies shaped like hearts, strawberry shortcake. she wears a little frilly apron and gets flour all over herself every single time.

she’s very clingy — she loves curling up against rafe’s side while they watch old movies, always playing with the buttons on his shirt or tracing patterns on his skin.

she says “i love you” way too much and way too easily. ("i love you," she says while holding up a pretty leaf she found. "i love you," she says when rafe opens a soda for her. "i love you," she says when he looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world.)

favorite outfit? a powder pink vintage babydoll dress with white lace socks and mary janes. a big pastel bow in her hair. always lip gloss.

favorite drink? a strawberry milkshake or a root beer float at the diner.

if she’s ever upset, the only cure is laying in bed wrapped in a dozen fluffy blankets, a black and white movie playing softly, and rafe feeding her bites of ice cream while she sniffles dramatically.

BUNNY!READER

(the soft, sweet crybaby who thinks the world is still made of fairy tales.)

bunny!reader is pure sugar and softness — like the inside of a strawberry cream candy. everything about her is gentle and soft-hearted, from the way she speaks to the way she hugs people (she clings for dear life like she thinks you might disappear).

she’s the kind of girl who gasps when she sees a butterfly and cries over commercials if they’re even remotely emotional.

she’s hopelessly gullible — if you told her the moon was made of marshmallows she would believe you and ask if she could try some. rafe constantly has to pull her away from scams ("no, bunny, you can't really buy a star and name it after me.")

she’s extremely clingy without realizing it — always grabbing onto rafe’s arm, slipping her hand into his back pocket, or snuggling up to his chest when they’re standing in line somewhere. if he moves an inch away, she's immediately following like a lost little bunny.

scent? always something sweet and light — strawberries, whipped cream, vanilla sugar.

she’s a candle hoarder — every corner of her room has some girly, pastel candle that smells like cupcakes or fresh laundry. (she lights them all at once and the room smells like a candy shop.)

she loves strawberry shortcake — the doll, the cartoon, the dessert. she has little stickers of strawberry shortcake characters on her phone case and folders.

she’s super sheltered — grew up under tight rules, very religious and innocent upbringing. she still wears a little cross necklace every day and goes to church every sunday without fail, carrying her tiny pastel bible with her name engraved in cursive on the cover.

fashion? lots of frilly white socks, pastel cardigans, soft baby pink skirts, lace-trimmed camisoles, mary janes, hair ribbons, little pearl earrings. she always looks like she stepped out of a 90s barbie dreamhouse ad.

she can't lie to save her life. if she even tries she turns red immediately, her voice goes all squeaky, and her eyes start watering because she feels guilty.

when she's upset she straight up sobs — giant watery eyes, trembling bottom lip, sniffles and hiccups, crying so hard she can't even get the words out. (rafe usually just scoops her up and shushes her, rubbing her back and letting her bury her face in his chest.)

she's obsessed with rom-coms — she thinks love should be exactly like the movies, complete with running through airports and standing outside windows with boomboxes. she genuinely believes every fight should end with dramatic declarations of love.

favorite things? baking cupcakes (and always licking the batter off the spoon), picking wildflowers, writing in her glittery pink diary, making little collages with stickers and magazine clippings, swinging on playground swings like a little kid.

bedroom aesthetic? stuffed animals everywhere (most with names), floral bedsheets, walls covered in polaroids, a basket full of bath bombs and lip glosses, a pink bible sitting neatly on her nightstand next to a strawberry-scented candle.

texting style? way too many exclamation marks, hearts everywhere, sends pictures of cute animals she finds on pinterest and captions them "us!!!!"

she genuinely thinks the best of everyone. like, painfully trusting. (rafe lowkey gets mad sometimes because she’s too nice to random people.)

she can be clueless in the cutest way — like not realizing when someone’s flirting with her or not understanding dirty jokes right away. ("wait... why is everyone laughing??")

she’s the type to ask rafe shyly if he thinks she’s “pretty enough” or “good enough” and when he teases her, she’ll get all teary-eyed thinking he means it seriously. (and then he feels terrible and kisses all over her face while she hiccups.)

she smells like strawberries, sugar cookies, and pink frosting.

BAMBI!READER

(the bookish sweetheart who smells like pumpkin candles and rain.)

she's the definition of cozy — her whole life is like an eternal fall afternoon. she drinks tea out of chipped mugs, wears oversized cardigans that swallow her whole, and leaves a trail of leaves wherever she goes.

gilmore girls is basically her personality. she quotes it without realizing, she always insists jess was the best option (she will give you an hour-long lecture about why rory messed up), and her dream is to live in a little house in a tiny town like stars hollow.

she loves her books more than most people. her bookshelf is overflowing — the bell jar (with notes scribbled all inside), crime and punishment, little women, wuthering heights, pride and prejudice.

she’s a total margin writer — hearts, underlines, little doodles and quotes she loves written in tiny handwriting. sometimes she writes "this made me think of you" next to passages and gives the book to rafe, blushing furiously the whole time. (he tries to read them... but usually falls asleep halfway and just listens to her explain them instead.)

she's obsessed with old bookstores. the smell of old paper and dust makes her giddy. she swears used books have more "soul." she’ll drag rafe along and spend hours picking through shelves, coming out with a stack of battered paperbacks and a starry-eyed smile.

she’s outdoorsy but not like sporty — more like picnic baskets, laying in fields, collecting wildflowers, saving earthworms off the sidewalk after it rains.

she has an entire tote bag dedicated to "book picnics" where she brings a blanket, her latest read, a notebook, and like three types of tea.

if she sees a stray cat or dog, it's over — she's crying and trying to coax it into her car with snacks. (rafe had to ban her from bringing home "every critter you find, bambi.")

she wears mary janes, loafers, pleated skirts, cozy sweaters layered over collared shirts. always with a messy bun, or her hair pinned back with little clips she picked up from thrift stores.

favorite activities? walking through trails when the leaves change color, baking pumpkin bread, annotating books late at night while a record spins in the background, yelling about fictional characters to rafe who pretends to listen but is really just admiring how cute she looks when she’s mad.

she’s a history nerd — if you get her started on ancient rome, world war ii, or victorian england, you’ll be there for hours. she thinks museums are romantic dates.

her dream gift is a rare edition of her favorite book. she would absolutely cry if rafe ever found her a first edition of anything.

she smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and fresh paper.

when she’s sad, she’ll wrap herself in three blankets, put on you've got mail or little women, and cry quietly while rereading her favorite comfort books.

her flirting is so accidental — she'll get all passionate about some character in a book and then realize she's been playing with rafe's sleeve or leaning too close into his space. (and rafe eats it up, pretending he doesn't notice but secretly loving it.)

she always thinks about little poetic things — like "this breeze feels like something from an emily dickinson poem" or "this sunset looks like the color of my favorite chapter in little women."

PUPPY!READER

(the bubbly, hyper little thing who just wants to be loved and played with all day.)

puppy!reader is all energy and excitement — always bouncing on the balls of her feet, twirling her hair around her finger, or playing with the sleeve of rafe’s hoodie because she just can’t sit still.

she’s so giggly — like, everything is funny to her. she’s the kind of girl who laughs so hard at her own jokes that she can’t even finish telling them.

she’s extremely affectionate — literal touch-starved puppy behavior. she clings to rafe's arm, wraps herself around him like a koala, nuzzles into his chest and makes tiny happy noises like she's purring when he plays with her hair.

she talks a lot, fast and breathless, sometimes changing subjects mid-sentence because her brain is moving a mile a minute. rafe just listens with a little smirk, letting her ramble about everything under the sun.

cat valentine coded — super sweet voice, a little high-pitched, always saying things that don't totally make sense ("rafe, do you think clouds get sad when it rains??")

she gets overwhelmed easily — too many people or too much noise makes her cling tighter to rafe’s shirt and go all wide-eyed, like a scared puppy at a firework show.

scent? cotton candy, lemon sugar, and those fruity body sprays you can only get from a tween store at the mall.

she loves snacks — always carrying gummy bears, lollipops, or little bags of chips in her purse like a kid at a sleepover.

she needs praise constantly — if rafe tells her she did a good job or that she looks pretty, she literally beams so hard it could light up the whole room.

crying style? full-on sniffles, watery eyes, little whimpering noises — and she hates when rafe sees her cry because she thinks it’ll make him mad. (he never is, he just scoops her up and rocks her gently until she calms down.)

she’s incredibly loyal — once she loves someone, that's it, forever and ever. she’ll defend rafe like a rabid little chihuahua if anyone dares talk bad about him.

texting style? voice memos (because she’s too excited to type), a million emojis (especially hearts and stars), dramatic “RAFFFFE BABY LOOK!!!” texts with random screenshots or memes she thinks are funny.

she pouts when she doesn’t get her way — big watery puppy eyes, bottom lip sticking out, tugging at the sleeve of rafe’s jacket until he caves in.

she’s a human golden retriever — ridiculously trusting, eager to please, always wagging her metaphorical tail.

she loves anything cozy — fuzzy socks, giant sweatshirts (especially stealing rafe’s), snuggling under huge piles of blankets and peeking out like a little creature.

she names everything — her plants, her car, her favorite lip gloss. she even named the stray cat she feeds every afternoon (even though it's technically not hers).

she’s the type to squeal and jump into rafe's arms the second she sees him, even if they were just apart for like, ten minutes.

naivety level? she genuinely believes rafe when he jokingly tells her she needs a license to eat cotton candy because it's “too powerful for civilians.”

she always smells like fresh laundry, cotton candy, and sunshine.

[batfam-is-a-feeling]

So I've seen a lot of Bruce fics noting how his kids aren't kids anymore and are growing up, but I want to offer you another point of view...

The batkids star noticed how they dad is getting old...

Like, everyone usually makes jokes about how Bruce is practically an old man, and all that, but sometimes they're just doing something and suddenly their dad looks so tired.

Tim always jokes about how everyone will leave Bruce with gray hair at an early age, but that week when he stopped to discuss a case, he noticed for the first time how Bruce's hair had many gray strands.

Bruce puts on some reading glasses because you can't spend all night looking at screens in the dark and expect your eyes to work the same. When Jason sees him, he's about to make a comment until his brain clicks. Suddenly, Bruce looks very old, and Jason feels his breath hitch.

Dick just did a risky stunt and Bruce catches him (because obviously he catches him. His dad always catches him) but Dick notices how when he gets up Bruce has to hide how he needs to stretch because of how his bones crunched when he caught him.

It's all these little things. The kids notice, and suddenly Batman isn't just an endlessly distant symbol. Batman transforms into Bruce, their father, who at some point won't be young enough to keep up with them...

(Anyway, sorry. If this is a mess, I can't speak English properly because I'm tired)

[rosierin]

tastes like sadness | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna have a heartfelt chat about her complicated relationship with atsumu

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It’s past midnight, and the apartment is quiet.

Suna hears the faint click of the balcony door behind him but doesn’t turn. From the soft shuffle of her steps, the faint scent of her shampoo, to the barely-there way she moves when the world is asleep—he knows it's her.

(Y/n) joins him without a word, settling into the chair beside his. A moment later, a warm mug is nudged into his hand.

“Chamomile,” she says lightly. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Her voice is soft, sweet, and as gentle as the night breeze that sweeps through the air. It’s silly, really—she’s barely said a word, and yet Suna finds himself fighting the urge to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear, just to give her a reason to say it again.

Part of him wonders what she'd think if she ever found out. If she knew about what she did to him—if she knew that the sound of her alone could knock the air right out of his chest.

He pushes down the thought and instead glances at the mug, then at her, but she’s already curled into her blanket like some sleepy little burrito. Her hair’s a bit messy. Her eyes still carry remnants of a dream she hasn’t quite left behind. He takes a sip, lets the bitterness settle on his tongue.

“Chamomile is such a sad flavour,” he murmurs.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “You think chamomile tastes like sadness?”

“A bit.”

She doesn’t argue. Just sips hers in silence, the steam curling up toward the stars. Somewhere below them, the city glimmers—wet streets, red tail lights, a puddle reflecting the glow of a corner store sign.

The silence between them stretches. It isn’t awkward, per se—it never is with her. Their quiets speak fluently.

It’s usually so peaceful, so familiar. But tonight, it feels... a little melancholic.

Suna tries not to think about why.

“You’re up late,” she says.

“So are you.”

He doesn’t try and read her expression—not that he needs to. He knows she didn’t come out here for tea or small talk.

He's known her for so long, has had so many years to read her—learn her. By now, he knows the shape of her silences like they're his favourite song, has memorised the weight behind her all her pauses.

There’s something on her mind tonight. Something—someone—she’s been holding in all day.

And she chose him to talk to.

Not because it’ll be easy, but because she knows he’ll listen.

That knowledge settles heavily in his chest, dull and quiet. He should go inside, finish that true crime video he was watching. Make some excuse. Pretend he's tired. Walk away before it hurts.

But he doesn’t.

Because Suna never takes more than she’s willing to give.

And if this moment, this conversation, this ache—is all she’s offering, then he’ll take it. Even if it bruises something tender inside him.

She breaks the silence first.

“Do you think he likes me?”

Her voice is still quiet, still gentle. But it cleaves through him like a blade anyway.

The question is more painful for him to hear than it is for her to say, though he'd never be bold enough to say that out loud.

He stares out at the buildings, eyes unfocused, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

“Who?” he asks, though he already knows. Of course he knows. It's a stupid reflex—deflecting.

Nonchalance, silence—they’re the greatest weapons in his arsenal. A double-edged sword, really—because when it came to her, maybe they had always been his downfall.

“You know who.”

And there it is.

He wonders for a second what it would be like to lie. To say no. To protect himself for once. But he’s never been that kind of selfish.

So he swallows and asks—the bitterness in his throat no longer from the tea—“Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and her voice is so unsure it makes something twist in his chest for so many different reasons. “Sometimes it feels like yes. Other times... I think I’m imagining it. Or maybe he’s just playing around. I can’t tell.”

This time, he finally looks at her. The blanket has slipped a little, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the way she’s curled in on herself like she’s afraid of the answer. Steam from her tea curls up and around her like magic. A streetlamp glows behind her, casting its light through the strands of her hair that cascade down her shoulders like a river of gold.

Angelic, he thinks. So sad, so afraid—and still, somehow, so unbearably beautiful.

He turns his gaze back to the skyline. Tries to steady his pulse.

He’s aware the second she goes back inside, she’ll keep wondering about Atsumu.

She’ll laugh at something he says. Maybe fall for him a little more.

But right now?

Right now, she’s here.

And god, it hurts.

“You shouldn’t have to guess,” he says.

That makes her pause. Her eyes flick to him, searching for something, but he doesn’t give it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“...You think I’m reading into things?”

“I think if someone wants you,” he says slowly, carefully, “they should make it obvious. Especially with you.”

Her brows furrow slightly. “Why especially me?”

He exhales through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. The words come out before he can stop them.

“Because you overthink everything. You feel everything. You’ll blame yourself if you get hurt.”

It hangs there between them—heavy, raw, too close to the truth.

She doesn’t speak. Just holds her mug a little tighter. He hates the way their silence feels different tonight—thicker. Like maybe she’s hearing something underneath what he’s saying, has somehow managed to pick apart his brain and see through his act.

She doesn't, he realises. And he doesn't know what stings more.

“You always know what to say,” she murmurs.

Relief? Is that what he should be feeling?

He's already said so much, let words he'd only ever thought about fall from his mouth.

And still, still she doesn't know. Doesn't see it. Doesn't read between the lines of his own self-deprecating script.

Sometimes he wishes he had Atsumu's nerve. Just so he could stomp down his ugly feelings and deflect them with loud words and flirty one-liners.

But he's not that kind of person.

He's not Atsumu.

He's Suna.

And Suna... loves her so much he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes.

So he forces it down, locks away his thoughts and feelings, and tosses away the key.

She's not his.

Might not ever be.

And he refuses to become someone else's problem.

It takes him a lot more effort than usual to play it off, forcing the smallest, faintest smirk before saying, “Yeah. I’m annoying like that.”

She smiles at that—soft, sleepy, affectionate—and rests her head against his shoulder without asking. She never does. And what makes him tense when others try, what makes him pull away without thinking, only makes him crumble when it’s her.

The thought tugs unpleasantly at his heartstrings.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just lets her stay there, warm and oblivious, while his heart folds in on itself quietly. Gently. Like paper.

Because if he shifts even a little, if he opens his mouth again—

It’ll all come pouring out.

So he takes another sip of the tea. Lets the steam blur his vision, just for a moment.

“Still tastes like sadness,” he says, voice low.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she murmurs against him.

He huffs a quiet breath that doesn’t quite qualify as a laugh.

Their shoulders bump slightly, then settle again.

And somewhere inside, where no one can see, Suna’s heart breaks—quietly, completely, and without a sound.

[kpoplustzone]

Game of Nine - Twice smut

Jihyo x OC

voyeur, smut, breeding, multiple series, sneaky

My name is CHOI HYUK. I am a 26-year-old Korean who was lucky enough to become the manager of one of the most sexy and successful girl groups in Korea. Twice has been popular since its debut and has exploded in popularity later.

Especially their members who were sexy and charming and millions of people around the world fapped to their pictures and fan cams.

I was not an exception to this, and seeing all nine of them smiling at us, the newly hired manager, was a dream come true. I remember Kiho, another newly hired manager, standing beside me and gulping in a daze, seeing the amount of sexiness in front of us.

All nine of them brought out different kinds of charm for the fans, and seeing them perform for the fans, teasing them, showing just enough so that the men can only dream about their thick bodies.

When Choi Hyuk first joined the team as an assistant for TWICE, he thought he’d landed the dream job. Backstage access, travel, and a chance to work alongside the most admired women in the industry. For the first few weeks, things felt surreal. The members were warm, friendly — Jihyo especially. She had smiled at him often, even remembered his coffee order after the second day. He’d catch her humming during rehearsals, sometimes glancing his way with a nod or playful wink. For a quiet guy like him, it felt like more than just professional kindness. It felt personal.

But then Kiho arrived.

Short, round, always laughing too loud — Kiho had a way of making people feel instantly at ease. The girls loved him. At first, Hyuk didn’t mind. It was harmless. But within weeks, things shifted. He noticed the change in the air. They started calling Kiho cute, playfully teasing him, grabbing his arm, fixing his collar. The same smiles Hyuk once got were now all for Kiho. Even Jihyo — especially Jihyo.

She barely noticed Hyuk anymore. Some days, she wouldn’t even greet him.

He’d watch from the corner of the room as she whispered in Kiho’s ear, giggling, brushing against him like it meant nothing. And Kiho… Kiho lapped it up. He didn’t even try to hide it.

Hyuk never said a word. What would be the point? He was just the quiet one now. The background. The one who blended into walls and got forgotten during group dinners. Still, something inside him simmered — not quite anger, not quite heartbreak, but a slow, twisting burn of being invisible.

Which is why, when he woke up in the back of Jihyo’s RV that afternoon, groggy from a midday nap he hadn’t meant to take, he stayed quiet.

He heard the door shut.

Then footsteps.

Then her voice — that soft, teasing voice she used when she was in the mood to play.

And then he heard Kiho.

Hyuk didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He stayed hidden behind the thin curtain, barely peeking through, heart thudding in his chest. What he saw made his throat go dry.

Jihyo — pressed up against Kiho. Smiling. Whispering.

And touching him.

Not him. Never him.

But Hyuk couldn’t look away

Jihyo stepped into the RV, the soft click of the door locking behind her. The dim, amber lighting wrapped around her curves like a spotlight, catching the shine on her skin where her crop top clung tight across her chest. Her jeans, stretched smooth over her hips and thighs, made every step a show. She stretched her arms over her head, back arching, giving her assistant a full view — and she saw the way his eyes dropped, slowly, drinking her in like he was starving.

She smirked.

"You’ve been staring all day," she said, voice low, teasing. Her heels clicked softly as she crossed the small space between them, hips swaying just enough to drive a man crazy. "Why don’t you just admit it?" She stopped in front of him, so close her breath warmed his cheek. Her fingers brushed lightly over his collar, dragging down his chest, slow and playful. "You think about me when I’m not around, don’t you?"

He swallowed hard, too stunned to speak.

Jihyo’s eyes flicked down, then up again, watching his reactions with a wicked satisfaction. Her hands slid to his waist, fingers curling around his belt loop, tugging him closer until they were almost touching. "You're easy to read," she whispered. "And honestly… I kinda like it."

What neither of them noticed was the slight shift behind the curtain at the back of the RV. Hidden in the shadows, Choihyuk had woken the second the door opened. At first, he stayed still, groggy and annoyed, but now his eyes were wide, locked on the scene unfolding just feet away. He didn’t dare move. His breath caught in his throat as he peeked through a small gap in the curtain, heart thudding.

Jihyo leaned in again, her lips just barely brushing the assistant’s jaw. "I wonder how long you can hold back," she whispered. "Should we find out?"

She didn’t notice the way Choihyuk’s hand clutched the edge of the couch, or how hard it was for him to stay still. The tension inside the RV was thick, hot, and humming — one assistant frozen under her touch, the other hidden and burning with a mix of jealousy, longing, and something deeper he’d never dared admit out loud.

Jihyo turned to walk away, but before she could even take a full step, Kiho reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not rough — just enough to stop her. She turned back to face him, her heart racing in a way that startled her. There was something about the way Kiho looked at her now — something that was no longer just shy admiration, but something much bolder, darker.

"You really think I'm going to let you walk away like that?" Kiho’s voice was low, his words lingering in the air. There was no mistaking the challenge in his tone now. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, pulling her toward him with a confidence that made Jihyo’s breath catch in her throat. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her shirt, and the soft pressure of his touch made her pulse race.

Jihyo blinked, her body suddenly responding in ways she didn’t expect. Her skin felt alive, every nerve ignited by the simple, bold touch of his hand. She glanced down at him, her heart hammering in her chest. "Kiho…" she whispered, her voice a little shaky, a little breathless.

Kiho’s hand slid further, just grazing the curve of her hip before sliding around her back. His fingers flexed, pressing her body even closer to his. The warmth of him, the way his chest brushed against hers, made Jihyo tremble, a soft shiver running through her as he leaned in, his lips barely a breath away from her ear. "You don’t have to go anywhere, Jihyo," he whispered, his voice soft, yet filled with an unmistakable hunger.

Jihyo’s heart skipped. She should have pulled away. She knew she should, but every inch of her body was begging her to stay. Kiho’s touch, the way he was looking at her now, with that mix of confidence and desire… It was like a switch had flipped in him. He was no longer the shy assistant. He was a man who wanted her, and he was no longer afraid to show it.

Kiho’s other hand came up, brushing against her cheek, his fingers trailing slowly down her jaw, caressing her skin. She gasped, her body going taut under his touch, the sensation making her whole body tremble. His hand slid lower, ghosting over her neck before landing on her shoulder, his thumb drawing small circles over her skin. The simple, tender touch made Jihyo shudder again, her breath coming faster, deeper.

"You look so perfect," Kiho murmured, his voice rougher now. His hand slid lower, reaching the small of her back, pulling her in even closer. His lips were just a hair’s breadth away from hers now. "I can’t stop thinking about you," he confessed, his breath warm against her skin.

Jihyo's heart raced. Her body responded without thinking, pressing closer into him, her hands clutching at his shirt as if pulling him even closer. She wanted this. She needed this…”

Before she could finish, Kiho’s lips brushed over hers, just a featherlight kiss that made her stomach twist with desire. His lips were soft, teasing, as if waiting for her to respond. She gasped, her body instinctively leaning into the kiss, her lips parting just enough for him to deepen the kiss.

Her hands found their way up to his neck, pulling him closer, desperate for more. The heat between them intensified with each passing second, every touch, every kiss, making her tremble harder under him. Kiho wasn’t holding back anymore. His hands roamed down her body, one sliding to her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss.

Jihyo’s breath was ragged, her body alive with sensations she couldn’t control. Every touch from him sent electric jolts through her, making her skin burn with need. She trembled again, this time more violently, and Kiho noticed. He smiled against her lips, feeling the way her body responded to him. His hands roamed lower, sliding over the curves of her waist, the smoothness of her thighs, exploring with purpose.

In the back of the RV, Choihyuk watched, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were wide, glued to the scene before him. He had always admired Jihyo, but seeing her like this — vulnerable, trembling, desired — made his heart pound in his chest. He watched as Kiho’s hands traced the curve of her body, feeling like an intruder, but unable to look away. His goddess, the one he had always looked up to, was here, right in front of him, being touched in a way he had never imagined.

Jihyo, completely unaware of Choihyuk's presence, was lost in the heat of the moment, her body pressed tightly against Kiho’s. His hands moved with confidence, each touch pushing her closer to the edge of control. She gasped as he pulled her even closer, his lips trailing down her neck, his hands exploring her body with growing boldness.

Kiho’s lips met hers again, this time with a fierce passion, as if he couldn’t wait any longer. He pushed her against the table, the movement so sudden that Jihyo’s breath caught in her throat. Her body felt like it was on fire, every inch of her trembling with need. And as she clung to him, she couldn’t stop herself from pulling him closer, her body responding to his touch without a single thought.

In the back, Choihyuk could only watch in stunned silence, his eyes wide as he watched the woman he admired more than anyone being kissed, touched, and desired in ways he could never have imagined.

The air in the RV was thick with heat, the moment between Kiho and Jihyo crackling with an electricity neither of them could deny. Kiho, his breath still ragged from the kiss, pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. Jihyo's lips were swollen, her breathing uneven, and it made him smile. He could feel the pulse of desire radiating off her, and it thrilled him.

"Earlier," Kiho said, his voice lower now, each word deliberate as he gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. "When you were performing… in front of that crowd… You were incredible." He paused, his eyes darkening with something more primal. "You made them all watch. You had them all in the palm of your hand, just… lusting after you."

Jihyo shivered at the words, her body reacting to his touch, her breath quickening. "I didn't think you were watching that closely," she teased, her voice a little shaky, trying to act casual, but she could feel the heat of his gaze seeping into her skin.

Kiho leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "I was watching every move you made. And they were all just there, watching you, wanting you… But only I get to touch you like this." His words were almost a growl, filled with possessiveness, yet there was something softer in his tone. Something that made Jihyo's heart race even faster.

Jihyo's breath hitched, and she closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling a mix of heat and anticipation run through her veins. She had always known the effect she had on people, but hearing it from Kiho made her feel something deeper, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit.

Her body responded instinctively to him. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. "And what makes you think you’re the only one who can touch me?" she asked, her voice a challenge, though it was laced with desire.

Kiho’s eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, the sound rich with a mix of amusement and hunger. "Because, Jihyo," he said, trailing his fingers down the length of her arm until they found the curve of her waist, pulling her against him with a firm but gentle hand. "I can see how badly you want it. I can feel how much you need it." His voice was low and silky, each word sending a wave of heat through her. "And I can see how you’re trembling under my touch. No one else will get to see you like this."

Jihyo gasped, the feeling of his hand on her waist sending a ripple of warmth through her entire body. The intimacy of his words, the way he saw her, truly saw her, was almost too much to handle. She tried to resist, but it was clear that Kiho had found a way to make her lose control.

"You're not just teasing me," Kiho whispered, his lips brushing over her neck as he continued, his voice like honey, "You’re letting me see all of you. And I promise, you won't regret this."

Jihyo’s hands roamed to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she tilted her head back, giving him more access to her skin. "You think you have me figured out?" she asked breathlessly, her voice a mix of confidence and desire. "You think you're the only one who knows what I want?"

Kiho’s lips found the sweet spot on her neck, his kiss gentle, then more urgent, as though he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. "I know exactly what you want," he murmured against her skin, his hands moving slowly, possessively, up her back, inching toward the curve of her shoulder. "And it’s only a matter of time before you stop pretending you don’t want me too."

Jihyo’s body quivered under his touch, her mind swirling with desire. She could feel the pull, the growing need between them, and the way Kiho’s words — his actions — were slowly unravelling her resolve. She wanted him. She could feel it deep inside, but she wasn’t ready to fully surrender, not yet.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But Kiho was quick to respond, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her even closer as the kiss deepened. He tasted like fire, his hands roaming her body with an urgency that sent sparks of desire through her entire being.

And all the while, Choi hyuk remained hidden in the back, watching, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw Jihyo, the woman he had quietly adored from afar, completely consumed by Kiho. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the way Jihyo’s body responded to Kiho’s touch, the way her face flushed with desire. It was like watching his goddess being claimed, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The air inside the RV was thick, almost suffocating, with the weight of unspoken desires. Jihyo stood in front of Kiho, her body electric with anticipation, yet her mind still conflicted, unsure of where this was headed. She could feel the heat radiating between them, a pull she couldn’t seem to escape. Her body responded to him — she could feel the way her pulse quickened with every glance, every touch.

Kiho stepped closer, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. Jihyo's skin flushed under his gaze, her body instinctively shifting, her shoulders back, subtly arching in the way she knew was most seductive. She could feel the fabric of her shirt clinging to her curves, outlining the smooth shape of her chest, her waist, and the gentle curve of her hips.

“You know,” Kiho said, his voice low, almost a whisper, “every time you move… you make it impossible for me to look away.”

Jihyo swallowed, her breath shallow, as Kiho reached out to trace the edge of her shirt, his fingers just grazing the fabric, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The touch was light, teasing, but it felt as though every nerve in her body was awakening. She could feel his eyes on her, sensing the way he was drinking in every inch of her body, as though she was something both forbidden and irresistible.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, wanting to move, but unsure of how. She was playing a game now, a dance that she both feared and craved. The way Kiho looked at her made her feel seen — truly seen — for the first time, as though every part of her body, every curve, was something worth admiring.

“You’re so beautiful, Jihyo,” Kiho murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something deeper. “I’ve seen you on stage… but standing here, with me, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time.”

His words wrapped around her like a silken thread, tightening, pulling her closer to him. She bit her lip, feeling both exposed and powerful. Her legs felt weak as she took a small step back, almost imperceptibly, but Kiho was quick to follow, closing the space between them once again. His breath was warm on her skin as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Let me show you just how beautiful you are,” he whispered, his hands sliding up to the small of her back, pulling her toward him so that she could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers.

Jihyo’s breath caught. She could feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt, his body strong and solid against hers, and it made her heart race. The tension between them was palpable — thick, electric. Her skin tingled under his touch, every inch of her body becoming acutely aware of the way he was holding her, the way he was gazing at her as if she was the only thing that mattered.

Kiho’s hands slid slowly, deliberately, to the hem of her shirt. He didn’t rush; his touch was slow, gentle, yet there was an undeniable hunger in the way he moved. Jihyo’s heart pounded in her chest as he lifted the fabric, exposing the soft curve of her midriff. She trembled, unsure whether to pull away or lean into him. Every instinct in her told her to stay, to let the tension between them build even further.

Her body responded to him, even when her mind was hesitant. She could feel the pull of gravity between them, each inch closer, each brush of his hands against her skin, only serving to make her more desperate for the next moment, the next touch. Kiho’s gaze never left hers, his eyes dark with desire, and yet there was something tender, almost reverent, in the way he looked at her.

“I know you want this,” Kiho said softly, as if reading her thoughts. “I can feel it. Don’t fight it.”

Jihyo shuddered under his words. She wanted him. She couldn’t deny it. The way he made her feel — the way he saw her — it was too much to ignore. Slowly, hesitantly, she allowed her hands to drift upward, undoing the buttons of her shirt. Each movement was slow, deliberate, and as the fabric began to fall from her shoulders, she could feel Kiho’s gaze burning into her skin.

She wasn’t sure when it happened — when she stopped being afraid and started giving into the attraction, the magnetism between them. But once the shirt had slipped off, leaving her in a simple tank top that clung to her curves, Jihyo didn’t feel exposed; she felt empowered. She felt desired, in a way that was both intoxicating and thrilling.

Kiho’s eyes darkened further, his breath catching as he looked at her body, taking in every inch of her, every curve that made her uniquely her. The way her waist curved down to her hips, the soft roundness of her thighs, the way her skin glowed under the dim light. He couldn’t look away.

"You’re perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. "Every part of you is a masterpiece."

Jihyo could feel the heat rising between them. She was trembling, not just from desire, but from something deeper, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

But in that moment, with Kiho’s hands hovering just inches away from her body, she felt something stir inside her — a desire to be seen, to be touched, to be wanted in a way that was undeniable.

ihyo’s pulse quickened with every small movement he made, every slight shift in the way he touched her. His hand rested just above her waist, fingertips lightly grazing the smooth skin of her lower back. His touch was tender, yet there was a quiet confidence in the way he caressed her, as though he already knew exactly how to make her tremble without trying too hard.

She caught her breath as Kiho’s eyes slowly traced the curves of her body. Her chest rose and fell as she fought the urge to pull away, to resist, but something deeper inside of her told her to lean in, to explore the feeling between them, to see where it might lead. She could feel the heat radiating between them, his presence so strong it was almost overwhelming.

“Kiho,” she whispered, her voice low, unsure of what she wanted but needing something. His name escaped her lips like a breath, a question and a command all in one.

Kiho didn’t answer with words. Instead, he let his hands glide down her side, his touch gentle and purposeful. He paused just below her ribs, letting his fingers lightly trace the outline of her body, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his touch. There was no rush, no need to hurry. He wanted to savor this moment, every second, every inch of her. The curve of her waist, the way her body responded to his touch, it was all so intoxicating.

Jihyo’s breath caught as he leaned closer, his lips brushing just above her navel, sending a shiver through her body. She could feel his warmth, his breath hot against her skin, but it wasn’t until his lips made contact that she finally let herself relax into the sensation. His kiss was soft, almost reverent, as though he was cherishing every part of her.

He pulled back slightly, looking up at her with those dark, intense eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. But all he saw was the spark of desire in her gaze, the same desire that burned in his chest. Without a word, his lips found her skin once again, this time lower, pressing delicate kisses just above her waistband.

Her body responded, her muscles trembling at the sensation of his lips on her. She had never felt so exposed, yet at the same time, so alive. The air around them felt thick, the tension between them palpable

Kiho slowly grazed his fingers along the surface of her tank top, and his thick fingers circled around the thick buds that were hard like a rock, and he could feel her body trembling as her back arched, giving him the full view of her huge breasts that were renowned in the K-pop industry. He could not wait to suck on those pink buds that every south Korean men wished to.

Choi Hyuk could barely breathe as he watched from the shadows, his body tensed with raw, burning jealousy. Jihyo—gorgeous, untouchable Jihyo—was trembling under Kiho’s stubby but commanding hands, her breath hitching in her throat, her curves pressed close to him like a dream slipping out of control. She was a vision of pure temptation: her tight tank top straining over her full, perfect breasts, her toned thighs shifting restlessly, as if begging for more. Hyuk's hand instinctively moved lower, trying in vain to soothe the painful bulge growing with every second of the shameless show before him. He grit his teeth, helpless, as Kiho, emboldened by her reaction, slid his hand along her waist, looking seconds away from tearing the thin fabric away and burying his face between those irresistible mountains.

Just as Kiho’s fingers curled under the edge of her top, a thunderous knock rattled the door, making Jihyo yelp in panic. She hurriedly tugged her clothes back into place, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, and threw herself onto the seat beside Kiho, trying to look innocent even as the air around her crackled with unspent heat. The RV door creaked open slowly, and Hyuk’s heart nearly stopped.

There, silhouetted in the doorway like a goddess descending to earth, stood Momo—the only other idol who could rival Jihyo’s lethal allure. Dressed in a short skirt and a tight crop top that left little to the imagination, she stepped inside with a smile that could melt steel, her eyes sweeping over the room before settling on the guilty-looking pair. With a playful glint in her gaze, she closed the door behind her, trapping all that smoldering tension inside the RV.

That is it for part 1. Part 2 continues with sneaky actions inside the RV with Momo and Jihyo at the same time. Kiho, you lucky bastard

[star-suh]

Lights, Camera, Action !

Park Jisung x Male Reader

cw: camboy park jisung his nickname is song, big dick jisung (11”), established relationship

—

park jisung or song – how is he known in the av world – is a famous content creator, he’s always on the top of users on the platform. many people would ask why that is. it only takes some clicks to realize why – an 11 inch dick hanging in between his legs – is massive, girthy and veiny. it’s like a dream for the people out there, they want it inside them claiming they can take it all.

-”please let me ride it, i promise i’ll take it balls deep” he read in one of the comments on his livestream.

-“hahaha guys i’m not planning to do collabs, just solo things for now”.

crying emojis flooded the chat, why is he forbidding everyone the pleasure of touching and feeling such massive meat. it’s a question that every subscriber and fan asked themselves, if he did collabs he would escalate spots and be the number one on there. would be a lie to think he hasn’t thought about it but he doesn’t wanna do it with anyone he has just one person in mind, his boyfriend.

they met back when they were living in the university dorms, as a way to pay his fees jisung took advantage of his little friend down there an opened an account on the website, the first video was of him just jerking off, ‘first video’ was the title of it and it quickly gain recognition in between the platform users. ‘so big’, ‘i need him so bad’, ‘until the room stinks’ were some of the comments he received.

the next video was of him squeezing an entire little bottle of lube, coating his shaft in beads of the liquid that rolled down towards his balls and made it glisten in the light. moans and little whispered fucks can be heard in the recording, once again the video was a hit for him, making subscribers eager to know when the next video is gonna be reuploaded. in one of his recordings he made loud noises that disturbed the student next door, yn, who angrily storm his way out towards his neighbour. he opened the door without knocking catching jisung spurting ropes of cum all over his body, he has a ski mask on – to have at least a bit of animosity – after he rode his high he turn his head to the side to see yn standing there, mouth agape and in shock. he just saw jisung orgasming but not only that, he saw that big ass dick hard as a rock. 

“what the hell jisung?” he said surprisingly, a whispered shout, closing the door immediately.

“why do you think i’m jisung?” the man questioned, trying to act fool. “these aren’t shared dorms dumbass” yn turned around breaking eye contact, face flushed and his dick threatening to get rock hard, “cover that monster please” he says as he leaves the room leaving a dumbfounded jisung lying on the floor, tired, “ahh shit i feel so tired to get up and clean myself” he uttered while staring at the ceiling.

next day was awkward between the two jisung apologized for the situation and yn did the same because at the end of the day it was his fault for not knocking first. “ok then but you have to accept my invitation to go eat something”, “i would accept but to be honest i don’t have enough money right now” yn muttered lowly, ashamed. “don’t worry, it’s on me”.

days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the dates became something regular in between them, in one of them jisung confessed to yn how he gets all that money and the av job he had now. “are you disappointed in me?” jisung asked –pouting.

“uhmm… i’m not. it’s your life man do whatever you want as long as it doesn’t affect your well being” jisung looked at him surprised, “besides… you umm… have a really nice thing down there” yn look everywhere around but jisung, his cheeks turning into a pinkish hue, the same happening to jisung, “thanks i guess”. next thing they knew was them on jisung’s bed letting all the steam and sexual tension go.

soon jisung asked yn to be his boyfriend and he accepted, jisung’s content creator side job wasn’t a problem at all for yn because after all is just videos of him stroking his dick. they can fantasize all they want about it but would never have it.

“come on baby, let's do it”, jisung tried to convince yn, “i'll put a ski mask on you too, no one would know it's you”. “i know jisungie but i don't know, you're fine doing it as a solo. what if they stop supporting you because they're seeimg you fucking someone else” he sighs, “their fantasy would fall down” he adds.

“i don't really care prince, plus, this is what they want” jisung walked closed towards yn, handps gripping and kneading yn's ass, “they'll go crazy seeing this slutty ass engulfing 11 inches. such a hungry pussy, almost ☆☆☆☆ if you ask me”. he kissed yn's neck then went up towards his lips brushing them with his tongue. yn opened them up letting him go inside and explore it with it. yn uttered a little "okay” agreeing to do it.

jisung was setting his camera ready while yn got ready when a notification popped up, someone just subbed to his page. happy he opened the app cheering a bit, he opened the camera of the app to record a thank you video for his followers. “are you ready?” yn came into picture, with the black ski mask on him and wearing only a thong, the piece of clothe was so little that the backside was barely covered, it was just a finger-thick string that sat pretty right in the middle of yn’s hole.

“fuck, look at this” jisung smacked his ass, “are you so eager that you are already eating the thong?” he said pulled the string to then let it go smacking yn's hole, drawing a moan out of him”. jisung didn't remember that he was on the platform's camera, he was ready to press the record button when yn sat on top of him, making him slide his finger setting to the live button. he then pressed the red button thinking he was recording.

*SONG IS LIVE* 

song and his boyfriend were making out not noticing the live chat, in their minds they haven’t started recording yet so why bother checking out?. 

-”damn he decided to do collabs”.

-”me next”.

-”finally an ass is bouncing on that pole, we cheered”.

-”so hot, i’m gonna nut so hard!”.

his followers were going crazy, jisung’s heavy dick staying still in between yn’s cheeks, a fat drop of precum forming on the tip. while they were kissing jisung applied oil on both yn’s ass and his dick making them shine. yn pulls the string on the thong up so there’s nothing in between the warm, throbbing dick of his boyfriend and his pulsating, eager hole. then he releases the string for it to fall and stays taut on jisung’s dick, securing it. the string working overtime trying to hold in place such a thick piece of meat.

the precum started to roll down his shaft, landing on yn’s hole. coating it with the clear substance, mixed with the lube poured before. “ufff” yn sighed, eagerly to take the first inch inside him. their fucking is always tortuos for them, not because of the pain but because they have to restrain themselves –yn wanted all of it inside at once while jisung wanted to fuck his brains out. the tip is already inside, loads of precum coating yn’s walls. the head making its way inside in charge of stretching so the rest of the dick could enter with no problem.

yn’s insides stretched to the max, every inch that entered hurt like hell but iit was delicious, a pain that yn loved, soon it will turn into pleasure anyway. sinful noises coming out of his hole, engulfing his partner’s cock, the viewers going crazy in the live chat.

-”woah look at that, he could take it all”.

-”craving that boypussy”.

“you’re taking it like a champ” jisung praises, kissing the pain away –his lips covering the other’s collarbones with kisses and some hickeys here and there. finally jisung bottomed out, his dick bulging the other’s tummy. “tell me when to move” jisung reassured, smacking both his hands on each oiled cheek leaving his handprints on there, then grabbing a fistful to jiggle them around his cock, yn whimpering thanks to the sensation.

-“he definitely trespassed his second hole”.

-”the perfect fleshlight”.

some viewers said on the live chat. “you’re being so good for me” jisung mutters, “a good cocksleeve”. “your good cocksleeve” yn corrected him and kisses him, his tongue licking jisung’s lips. he then moved his hips, rocking them in a circle motion, squeezing his hole around jisung’s throbbing cock. “fuck prince keep doing that” jisung expressed, his hands on yn’s hips to guide him. the bulge on his stomach moving along with each movement. jisung locked his arms around yn’s torso to keep him steady and he started to thrust upwards slowly at first but the pace started to accelerate little by little. his thrust went from slow almost sensual to fast, brutal ones. 

-”is he a bottomless pit? how is he able to take all that?”.

-”I’M CUMMING FUCK!!”.

jisung withdraws his dick leaving just his swollen head still inside, then gripping yn’s hips with force he sank him down his rock hard meat. a guttural moan came from yn’s mouth, every viewer excited about the show their looking at. “fuck, love this greedy boypussy” jisung grunts, “so eager. starving for my big thick cock”. “whose this pussy belongs to?” jisung jiggled his globes with his veiny hands, nails being buried on the skin, “belongs to you baby” yn whimpered. once again jisung pulled out leaving only the tip inside and made another brutal thrust, yn’s body jerked due to the overstimulation. thankfully yn could handle jisung’s dick if it was another person they would surely be broken already. 

yn’s hole clenches on it, with all the strength left in his body. the lube turning creamy white for all the friction created by the merciless thrusts given by the top. “milk me dry baby. swallow it all with your whore boypussy”. yn kissed him while putting his hands on jisung’s shoulders –to gain leverage. then he plops himself on top of jisung leaving him the rest of the job, using yn like a toy to pursue his orgasm.

jisung used yn’s hole like his cocksleeve, giving him gently thrusts that signaled he was close, “cum with me”, jisung uttered latching his lips on yn’s nipples while one of his hands coated in spit jerked him off. yn’s body trembled, being stimulated on both sides was overwhelming him but he loved it, especially if it’s jisung doing it. the top pulled out, giving his cock a few strokes that made him spurt his sperm, ropes of it were expelled like a fountain, covering yn’s back and glutes. meanwhile in the front yn’s sperm was being scooped by jisung who then smeared it on his softening cock to put it inside the bottom, “cockwarm me baby” he demanded and yn nodded.

“we got carried away that i forgot to record” jisung laughs and stares at his phone, his smile fading immediately when he saw the live sign on red, “oh fuck” he uttered quietly. “umm guys, i hope y’all liked it, it’s a teaser of what is coming next on my page so stay tuned” he managed to disguise his concern as if everything was planned. it worked tho, his followers were loving his content even more, now they can see that 11 inch cock in action, drilling on poor asses that are brave enough to take it.

[ghstyles]

Safe | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 3.4k

Summary: Your turn to get drunk and make confessions that only the alcohol can pull out

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

It's been two weeks since Harry's uncharacteristic drunken confessions, and true to Y/N's prediction, he remembered almost nothing the next morning beyond the fact that he'd called her and she'd come over. She's kept his vulnerable admissions to herself, treasuring them privately while watching him return to his usual controlled demeanor as if nothing had happened.

Tonight, however, the roles are reversed. Y/N has been out celebrating the end of finals with her college friends, the relief of completing her semester meriting more drinks than she typically allows herself. By midnight, when her friends suggest moving to another bar, Y/N decides she's had enough and opts to head home instead.

But once in the taxi, sitting alone with her thoughts swimming pleasantly through a haze of tequila shots and fruity cocktails, she finds herself giving the driver Harry's address instead of her own. It's late, nearly 1 AM, but the pull to see him is stronger than her better judgment.

In the elevator up to Harry's penthouse, Y/N checks her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her hair is slightly tousled, her eyes bright with intoxication, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She's wearing a form-fitting black dress that hits mid-thigh, with a neckline just low enough to be enticing without being overtly revealing. It’s a balance she's learned to strike since dating someone who gets territorial when other men look at her too long.

Using her key, Y/N lets herself into Harry's penthouse quietly, not sure if he's still awake. The main living area is dimly lit, but she can see the familiar sight of light spilling from his office. Harry rarely sleeps before 2 or 3 AM, always working, always planning, always one step ahead of potential threats.

She makes her way toward the office, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floors. At the door, she pauses, suddenly struck by an uncharacteristic wave of self-consciousness. What if he's busy? What if he's annoyed by her dropping by unannounced? What if—

Before she can finish the thought, the door swings open, revealing Harry standing there in black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, his forearms marked with the intricate tattoos she's come to know by heart. His expression shifts from alertness to surprise, then to something warmer as he takes in the sight of her.

"Angel," he says, his voice that familiar low rumble that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "This is unexpected."

Y/N sways slightly on her feet, steadying herself against the doorframe with a smile that's a little looser, a little more uninhibited than usual.

"Hi," she says, then giggles—actually giggles—at how inadequate the greeting sounds. "Surprise."

Harry's eyes narrow slightly as he studies her, immediately assessing her state. "You're drunk," he observes, no judgment in his tone, just that characteristic directness.

"Mmhmm," Y/N confirms, nodding perhaps a bit too emphatically. "Finals are over. We were celebrating. I wanted to see you."

Without further comment, Harry steps back, making space for her to enter his office. It's a familiar room to her now with its the massive desk of dark wood, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and the leather furniture that manages to be both imposing and comfortable. There are papers spread across the desk, alongside a laptop and a single glass containing what looks like whiskey.

"Working late?" Y/N asks, moving past him into the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of his desk as she passes.

"Always," Harry replies simply, closing the door behind her. He leans against it, arms crossed, watching her with that intense focus that makes her feel like she's the only person in the world. "Did you need something?"

Y/N turns to face him, her inhibitions lowered enough that she doesn't second-guess herself as she saunters toward him, a playful smile on her lips.

"Do I have to need something?" she asks, stopping just in front of him, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "What if I wanted to call to hear your sexy voice?"

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of Harry's mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You didn't call. You showed up at my door at one in the morning, drunk and looking like that."

"Like what?" Y/N challenges, placing her hands on his crossed arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Harry uncrosses his arms, placing his hands on her waist instead, his touch firm but gentle as he steadies her slight swaying.

"Like trouble," he replies, his voice dropping lower. "The kind of trouble I'm particularly fond of."

Y/N laughs, the sound light and uninhibited as she leans into him, resting her forehead against his chest.

"I missed you," she admits, the alcohol making her more forthcoming with her feelings than usual. "We've both been so busy lately. You with your... business things, me with finals. I just wanted to see your face."

Harry's hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair in that possessive yet tender way that's become so familiar.

"You could have called," he points out reasonably. "I would have sent a car."

Y/N tilts her head back to look up at him, her lips quirking into a mischievous smile. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm a strong, independent woman. I can get myself to my boyfriend's place without assistance."

"Strong, independent, and drunk off her ass," Harry adds dryly, but there's affection in his tone.

"Only a little drunk," Y/N protests, then immediately undermines her argument by losing her balance slightly as she steps back, saved from stumbling only by Harry's quick reflexes, his hands tightening on her waist.

"A little," he agrees sarcastically, guiding her toward the leather couch against the wall. "Sit before you fall, angel."

Y/N allows herself to be led to the couch, sinking into the soft leather with a contented sigh. "You're so bossy," she complains without heat, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet up beside her.

"Someone has to be the responsible one tonight," Harry replies, moving to his desk and closing his laptop, then picking up his whiskey glass. "Clearly it's not going to be you."

He returns to the couch, sitting beside her close enough that their thighs touch, and offers her the glass. "Water would be smarter, but if you're already drunk, one sip won't hurt. And this is better than whatever cheap shots you were doing with your friends."

Y/N accepts the glass, taking a small sip and wincing slightly at the burn. "Tequila, mostly," she admits. "And something blue in a fishbowl glass that tasted like candy but was definitely stronger than it seemed."

Harry shakes his head, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Amateur move, falling for the sweet drinks. Those will fuck you up faster than anything."

"Well, I'm not a professional drinker like some people," Y/N teases, nudging him with her elbow before taking another small sip of his whiskey and handing the glass back.

Harry accepts it, setting it on the side table before turning his attention fully to her. "So, finals are over," he says, his hand coming to rest on her bare knee, thumb tracing small circles on her skin. "How did they go?"

The simple question, the genuine interest in her academic life, makes Y/N's heart swell with affection. This is the side of Harry that few people get to see. The attentive listener, the man who remembers details about her courses and professors despite his own chaotic and dangerous world.

"Good, I think," she says, leaning into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "The literature analysis was challenging, but I felt prepared. The photography portfolio review went really well. My professor said my urban decay series was 'evocative and haunting.'"

"It is," Harry agrees, his arm sliding around her shoulders, pulling her closer against his side. "You have an eye for finding beauty in broken things."

The casual compliment, delivered in that matter-of-fact tone he uses when stating what he considers obvious truths, warms Y/N more than the alcohol in her system.

"Is that why you like me?" she asks, the question slipping out before she can censor it, the tequila loosening her tongue. "Because I find beauty in broken things?"

Harry goes still beside her for a moment, then shifts to look down at her face, his expression suddenly serious.

"Is that what you think? That you're with me because I'm broken and you're trying to find something beautiful in it?"

Y/N blinks up at him, realizing belatedly how her question might have sounded. "No, that's not what I meant," she says quickly, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You're not broken, Harry. Complex, yes. Dangerous, definitely. But not broken."

His expression remains guarded, those eyes that miss nothing studying her intently. "Then what did you mean?"

Y/N sighs, struggling to articulate her thoughts through the pleasant haze of alcohol. "I just meant... you're scary sometimes, you know that?"

Something flickers in Harry's eyes. Was it surprise, perhaps, or concern?. "How?" he asks, the single word carrying weight, a demand for honesty.

Y/N shifts, sitting up straighter to look at him directly, her hand still resting against his face.

"Not in the way you think," she clarifies. "Not because of what you do, or who you are to other people. You're scary because... because of how you make me feel. How much I care about you. How much it would hurt if—" She cuts herself off, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable.

Harry's hand comes up to cover hers, pressing her palm more firmly against his cheek. "If what, angel?" he prompts, his voice gentler now, coaxing.

Y/N feels unexpected tears spring to her eyes, the alcohol amplifying her emotions, breaking down the careful walls she usually maintains around her deepest insecurities.

"If you left," she whispers, the tears spilling over despite her attempt to blink them back. "I'm just scared that one day you'll realize I'm too boring for you and then you'll leave. Please don't leave."

The naked vulnerability in her voice, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, transforms Harry's expression completely. The guardedness vanishes, replaced by a fierce tenderness that few people have ever witnessed.

"Come here," he says roughly, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion, cradling her against his chest as if she's something infinitely precious. "Look at me, Y/N."

She raises her tear-streaked face to his, sniffling slightly, feeling both foolish and relieved to have voiced the fear that's been lurking in the back of her mind for months.

"First of all," Harry says, his voice low and intense as he wipes her tears away with his thumbs, "you are many things, but boring has never been and will never be one of them. You challenge me, surprise me, fascinate me every fucking day."

He presses a kiss to her forehead, then continues:

"Second, I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand? What we have isn't temporary for me. It's not a phase or a passing interest or a convenient arrangement. It's everything."

The conviction in his voice, the rare directness about his feelings, makes fresh tears well in Y/N's eyes.

"You're just saying that because I'm crying," she mumbles, burying her face against his neck. "You hate when I cry."

Harry's chest rumbles with a low chuckle. "I do hate when you cry," he agrees, his hand stroking soothingly up and down her back. "But I'm not just saying it. I'm telling you the truth. You think I give keys to my place to just anyone? You think I let just anyone see me like this, no guards, no pretenses?"

Y/N shakes her head against his neck, her tears dampening the collar of his shirt.

"I have never let anyone as close as I've let you," Harry continues, his voice taking on that edge of intensity that indicates absolute seriousness. "Not in business, not in my personal life. Never. You're not something temporary to me, Y/N. You're it."

She pulls back slightly to look at him, her eyes still shining with tears but a small, hopeful smile beginning to form on her lips.

"I am?" she asks, sounding so young, so vulnerable that Harry feels something in his chest constrict painfully.

"You are," he confirms, cupping her face in his hands. "And I'm not leaving. If anything, I'm the one who should be worried about you coming to your senses and realizing you could do better than a man like me."

Y/N's expression shifts to one of indignation, the alcohol making her emotions swing rapidly.

"Better than you? There's no one better than you," she insists with drunken conviction, poking him in the chest for emphasis. "You're perfect."

Harry can't help the laugh that escapes him. Its a genuine, unguarded sound rarely heard by anyone outside this room.

"I'm many things, angel, but perfect is definitely not one of them," he says, catching her finger before she can poke him again. "I'm possessive, controlling, dangerous, and involved in things that would terrify you if you knew the full extent."

"I know exactly who you are," Y/N counters, echoing the words she spoke to him during his own drunken vulnerability two weeks ago, though she doesn't realize the parallel. "And I love who you are. All of it."

The declaration, spoken so plainly, so without calculation, makes Harry go still again, his eyes searching hers. 

"Even the parts that scare you?" he asks quietly.

Y/N nods, reaching up to push a strand of hair back from his forehead in a tender gesture.

"Especially those parts," she confirms. "Because they're what make you, you. The man who would do anything to protect what's his. The man who never backs down, never shows weakness to anyone but me."

Harry studies her face for a long moment, as if memorizing every detail, before leaning in to kiss her. It's a gentle kiss, almost reverent, lacking the usual hunger and possession that characterize most of their physical interactions.

When he pulls back, there's something in his eyes Y/N can't quite name. A vulnerability that mirrors her own, perhaps, or a decision being made.

"Stay tonight," he says, not a question but not quite a command either.

"I was planning to," Y/N admits with a small smile, her tears forgotten now. "I didn't bring a change of clothes, though."

"You won't need clothes," Harry replies, that familiar smirk returning to his lips as his hands tighten possessively on her waist.

Y/N laughs, the sound light and happy, her earlier insecurities soothed by his reassurances and the physical comfort of being in his arms.

"So confident," she teases, shifting in his lap to straddle him, her dress riding up her thighs.

"With good reason," Harry counters, his hands sliding up her bare thighs to the edge of her dress, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But first, water. And food, if you've haven't eaten. I'm not taking advantage of you while you're drunk off your ass."

Y/N pouts playfully, draping her arms around his neck. "It's not taking advantage if I'm begging for it."

"Even so," Harry says firmly, though his eyes darken at her words. "Water first. Then we'll see about the begging."

With surprising gentleness, he lifts her off his lap and stands, extending a hand to help her up.

"Fine," Y/N concedes with an exaggerated sigh, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. "Water, food, then you can have your wicked way with me."

"My wicked way," Harry repeats, amusement coloring his tone as he leads her toward the door. "You've been reading those romance novels again, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Y/N admits with a grin, leaning into him as they walk, his arm secure around her waist. "They give me ideas."

Harry glances down at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and heat. "We don't need books for ideas, angel. I have plenty of my own."

As they make their way to the kitchen, Y/N feels a profound sense of contentment settle over her. The insecurities that had bubbled to the surface with the alcohol haven't disappeared completely, they rarely do, but they've been soothed by Harry's reassurances, by the steady strength of his presence beside her.

In the kitchen, Harry fills a glass with water and hands it to her, watching with satisfaction as she drinks it all. Then he moves to the refrigerator, pulling out cold pasta from a restaurant they'd ordered from the night before.

"Eat," he instructs, setting the container in front of her with a fork. "You'll thank me in the morning when you're not praying for death."

Y/N takes a bite obediently, suddenly realizing she is hungry after all. "So bossy," she says again, but her tone is affectionate.

"You like when I'm bossy," Harry points out, leaning against the counter across from her, arms crossed as he watches her eat.

"I like everything about you," Y/N admits, the alcohol still making her more forthcoming than usual. "Even when you're being a controlling asshole."

"Especially then," Harry corrects her with a knowing smirk.

Y/N blushes but doesn't deny it, focusing on her pasta instead. After a few more bites, she looks up at him, her expression turning serious again.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"For the pasta?" Harry asks, though his eyes indicate he knows that's not what she means.

"For making me feel safe," Y/N clarifies. "For letting me be vulnerable without making me feel weak for it."

Something flickers in Harry's eyes, a rare glimpse of that same vulnerability he allows no one else to see.

"You're the strongest person I know," he says simply. "Nothing could make you weak in my eyes."

The statement, delivered with such matter-of-fact conviction, warms Y/N from the inside out. She sets down her fork, suddenly no longer interested in food.

"I think I've had enough water and pasta," she says, pushing the container away and standing, moving around the counter to where Harry stands. "Take me to bed now."

Harry's eyes darken as she approaches, but he remains still, letting her come to him.

"Bossy," he says, echoing her earlier accusation, but there's heat in his voice now.

"You like when I'm bossy," Y/N counters, using his own words against him as she reaches him, pressing her body against his.

Harry's hands come to her waist automatically, holding her against him as he looks down at her with that intensity that never fails to make her breath catch.

"I like everything about you," he admits, his voice low and rough. "Even when you show up at my door drunk in the middle of the night, crying about fears that have no basis in reality."

Y/N smiles up at him, her earlier insecurities feeling distant now in the face of his steady presence.

"Good," she says simply, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw. "Because I'm not going anywhere either."

Without warning, Harry bends and scoops her up into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Y/N lets out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carries her toward the bedroom.

"I can walk, you know," she points out, though she makes no move to get down.

"I know," Harry says, pushing open the bedroom door with his shoulder. "But this way is faster. And I've waited long enough."

As he lays her gently on the bed, looking down at her with a mixture of possessiveness and something deeper, more profound, Y/N feels the last of her drunken insecurities fade away. In their place is only certainty that this man, with all his complexities and dangers and fierce protectiveness, is exactly where she belongs.

And as Harry joins her on the bed, his movements deliberate and focused entirely on her, Y/N knows with absolute clarity that her earlier fears were unfounded. Harry Styles isn't going anywhere. And neither is she.

Taglist:@silastylesswiftb@babegoalsn@harryssunflower17n@puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009

[bunnyclawzz]

Can you do more hyperfem reader x Mohawk mark??

Yesyesyes!! I lovee mohawk Mark so much, I might make this a little series😋

Opposites!

Mohawk Mark x Hyperfem!reader

Going shopping with you would be a full-time job to anyone who wasn't him. He never got bothered when you would ask to go. Yeah, he had those snarky little comments, but her never actually meant any of them

"Maarrkk? Can you come to the mall wi-" he didn't even let you finish asking for his company before he cut you off in a rude yet affectionate way. "Stop asking me like I'm ever gonna let you go alone. The hell do you even need from there anyways?" he questioned without even looking up from his phone. His response had a warm grin blossoms onto your face, the kind of smile that he could tell was there without needing to turn to check. A soft hum leaves your glossed lips before you reply. "Wanna get new clothes for spring. Maybe early summer shoppin' too. Maybe we can get some for you too!' you'd offer all enthusiastically as if you were the one paying for any items. He turns his head to face you, raising an eyebrow at you with a slanted head "..Sure. Whatever you pick, princess" he spoke, purposely using the nickname that always made you feel all warm inside and out.

Just like clockwork, each and every time you were shopping with him he would follow you around like a stray dog. He'd carry whichever drink you had chosen for the warm afternoon-weather it's a iced soda, a boba tea, or an overly sugared iced coffee, it's in his hand while you wander around whichever shop caught your attention first. "Hmm.." you buzz softly, eyes scanning around for just a moment. Your soft hand takes his rough and hard-skinned one to lead him into a store that makes him look like an action figure stuck into a dollhouse.

"Mark," you began as you lifted a lacy pink baby doll top up into his view "do you like this?" you questioned as your free hand ran along the pastel fabric. He had no time to respond before you continued on with the questions. "Or do you like the yellow one better? Oh-they have blue! You like blue, right?" He couldn't hold back the big smile that plastered across his face as you trailed on and on about the colors of the tops that had your attention. "I do like blue, yeah, but you shouldn't just get something 'cause it's a color I like" You're silent for a few seconds, clearly up in your head thinking about something. After just another second you click your tongue and shake your head, you voice coming out like the curb of a morning bird. "Nope!" You said, popping the 'p' in the word as you set the pink top down and reached for the French blue colored one instead, "Already got an outfit for it planned in my head." He chuckles at your words. His hand reaches out to take the top, holding it up to your body in attempt to get a visual. "Yeah? Can't wait to see it on" He said in a low murmur as he eyed you up.

Just around an hour into the trip you had your own drink in hand, sipping contently as your boyfriend followed you around whilst carrying all your shopping bags, all full of items purchased by him. Store after store, changing room after changing room and giving endless input and compliments and watching you swatch an endless amount of lippies only to buy you one new lipstick and a new mascara tube-how could he not spoil you? You're the one thing in his life that is absolutely perfect in and out, he has to treat you as what you are. "Princess," he began with a soft sigh, "Come on, we're sitting at the food court for a minute. Just the sound of those shoes tells me they're uncomfortable" he said as he gestured to the open-toed kitten heels on your feet. He barely let your brain process the words, just quick to take you by the wrist and tug you to the first open seats he could find.

"Alright," he spoke again, "I"m getting you a burger and fries. Do you want a new drink?" You didn't respond for a few seconds. Your eyes got glued to him, admiring him and all he does for you for just a few seconds before you answered. "...get me a lemonade?" "Got it" he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "I'll be right back, just sit and rest your feet for a few minutes."

Upon meeting Mark, the weirdo-punk with the spiky mohawk and short temper, you never thought you'd like him, let alone date him. You would've never dreamt that being paired with said weirdo would lead to you being treated like royalty and being absolutely spoiled rotten whenever he could. Can’t help but adore his very unlikely girlfriend

[fuddsgf]

victim to her busy schedule- paige bueckers

summary𞠬: long distance relationships are always hard especially when paige and autumn have extremely busy schedules.

warnings:slight cursing, feeling ignored, breakups.

pairing: x oc

tags: @patscorner @cherryswisherz @kmoneymartini @authentic-girl03 @bueckersverse

“you’re on in five” said justin, autumns manger, “okay” she sighs looking at her phone the imessage app opened on her and paige’s messages constantly refreshing, it’s been 5 hours since she last sent paige a message, being left on seen sent a pang through her. she shut her phone and made her way through the hallway onto the stairs that lead to the stage, she put a smile on her face as she heard her name be called. she started waving at everyone as she made her way to her seat greeting the host.

“so autum, we’ve heard you’re releasing an album and doing a tour soon care to fill us in on what’s going through that head of yours?” asked the host as she leaned closer to get all the details.

“well yes, my album comes out next month it’s called ‘vintage’ can’t say much but it’s certainly one of my favorite albums so far and as for the tour i don’t have dates but im definitely working with my team to figure things out” autumn said with a smile as she looked at the host, as the interview went on the blonde slipped away from her head.

in storrs

“two more laps” coach auriemma yelled at his players before he looked down at his board with his plays.

“have you replied to her yet?” asked azzi as she appeared next to paige, “no, i haven’t had time especially with all these practices coach has been making us do, plus i know she has a bunch of interviews lately” she said, its not that the blonde didn’t want to talk to her girlfriend but both having extremely hectic schedules was definitely becoming an issue. “that doesn’t matter paige, if you think about it she always makes time for you, she would drop everything if you asked her to, when do you do that for her?” said azzi as she took a drink of water, the blonde sighed knowing her friend was right.

this love was taking a toll on her, mentally, physically and emotionally. she knew what she had to do, what she had to say but she couldn’t bring herself to it.

back in vegas

autumn was in her hotel room sitting on her bed staring at the ceiling. she wanted to text paige but she felt like she was a bother, always texting or calling. autumn felt like she was always reaching out, trying to grasp the little bit of hope she had of this relationship working out.

“fuck it” she whispered to herself as she grabbed her phone and quickly sent a text message.

-

paige’s breath hitched as she saw the message, ‘we need to talk.’ those four words were enough to make her smile fade and her pulse quicken, without hesitating she clicked the call button.

paige’s heart pounded as each ring was louder than the last. she braced herself for whatever autumn had to say, the tension in her chest growing with every passing second.

finally, the phone clicked, and autumn’s familiar voice came through, but it was distant, more strained than usual.

“paige,” autumn said softly, her tone laced with something that made paige’s stomach churn. “it’s time we finally talk about it.”

paige felt the knot in her throat tighten, the words almost feeling too heavy to breathe out. “i know. it’s been tough lately, but we can figure it out. i mean we always do.”

a heavy silence filled the space between them, and paige could almost hear autumn take a deep breath. "i’m not sure anymore, paige. the distance, the schedule… everything is just pulling us further apart. i don’t feel like your prioritize this relationship anymore.”

paige’s chest tightened, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. “autumn, i swear, it’s not that. you mean everything to me, but i’ve been so busy with practice, school—”

“i understand that,” autumn interrupted, her voice shaking slightly. “but i need to feel like i matter to you too. i can’t keep doing this. i can't keep being the last thing on your mind, the one who’s always waiting for your call while you’re out there living your life. i can’t always be the first one to reach out when we’ve gone days without contact.”

paige felt the sting of guilt wash over her. it wasn’t that she didn’t care—it was that the demands of her own life had made her neglect the one person who had always been there for her. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel like that. i swear, i’ll do better. i’ll try make more time. i—”

“it’s not just about time, paige,” autumn cut in again, this time her voice more frustrated. “it’s about effort. i can’t be the only one trying. i can’t keep asking for your attention just to be ignored. i need someone who’s all in, not someone who only shows up when it’s convenient for them.”

paige felt her throat tighten, the words she wanted to say stuck inside her. the idea of losing autumn was unbearable, but the last thing she wanted was for their relationship to feel forced, to become something neither of them truly wanted anymore.

“are you breaking up with me?” paige’s voice cracked as the reality of it all sank in.

there was a long pause before autumn finally answered, and when she did, her words were soft but final. “i think we need a break. i don’t know if this is working anymore.”

the conversation ended with an aching silence, leaving paige staring at her phone screen, heart racing and mind overwhelmed by the weight of what was said. she wanted to call back, to fix it, but a part of her knew the damage had already been done.

[kde-plasma-official]

Hey guys, quick PSA on Meta and them using your data for AI training:

Since April 7 this year they have a new privacy policy in place that, if you don't opt-out, will use your:

name

user name, profile picture, description

avatar

reels

photos and their descriptions

comments

from Instagram, your

name

user name, profile picture

avatar

posts

activity in public groups, channels, on public pages

comments

reviews and posts on Facebook marketplace

from Facebook, and your

profile picture, status

avatar

descriptions of groups / channels you created and joined

any conversations you held with Meta AI

any group chats you added Meta AI to

in WhatsApp to train their Meta AI models.

This change will start on May 27th, setting the deadline to the 26th to decline to their use of data.

How do you opt out? Meta provided two opt-out forms for that:

For Facebook, fill out this form,

For Instagram there is this one,

For WhatsApp, use this link and then pick the "Data Subject Rights Form" (translation may vary). Then pick the third option. Read through the links they gave you (or don't) and at the bottom select "I want to make an objection". Then fill out with your Email address and Phone number used for WhatsApp. Pick a real E-Mail address, they get back to you. You will have to explain yourself to them. If you are from the EU and need a template try the following:

I am exercising my rights under Article 21 of the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) to object to the processing of my personal data on the basis of legitimate interests.

I also object to the use of any of my data for AI training purposes. This includes, but is not limited to, the collection, storage, analysis, profiling, sharing, and any other form of processing of my personal data as stated in your privacy policy.

The processing under "legitimate interests" affects my fundamental rights to privacy and data protection as guaranteed under the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union (Articles 7 and 8). Specifically, it impacts my right to control how and when my personal data is used, shared, and profiled without my explicit consent.

I request that you immediately cease all processing activities related to my personal data where "legitimate interests" is the basis. I request any of this data to be deleted. Furthermore, I request that you confirm in writing that these activities have been ceased and data has been deleted.

This is just thrown together in hopes that it sounds like I know my stuff. If you are not from the EU, try reading through it anyways, compare the articles stated in my template with something from your country. Usually there's always a loophole if you look hard enough.

For Facebook and Instagram you have to be logged in with an account to use these forms, but once you are logged in, you can enter any email you want to. If you have multiple accounts, click the link multiple times, one for each email address.

You just need to log in to one account, not all of them.

You don't need to provide a reason.

They should auto-accept your request and send you an Email with confirmation.

Edit: WhatsApp Link Edit edit: WhatsApp Link (again) and template I used

[magicalrocketships]

Rivers of Light || part 8 ||

(reminder that this in its entirety contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents.)

All previous parts can be found in the masterpost here.

Daniel is gone for over an hour, which is a long time to just be buying baby wipes.

Part 8

Daniel is gone for over an hour, which is a long time to just be buying baby wipes.

In the meantime, Max moves the pillows into a nice little stack so that Bastiaan can sit propped up against them. He lists to one side if given half a chance, but he likes being in the hotel room with his daddy, and out of his baby seat. He likes the soft baby lamb rattle and holding on to his giraffe by the neck. He also likes the jangle of Max's keys out of his pocket.

Max grimaces as he puts the compression top back on. It chafes and has little damp patches on the inside where he's leaked milk earlier in the day. He really hadn't anticipated the leaking. He hadn't known that was a thing that happened. He doesn't know what other parents do to stop it. He's not got anyone to ask. He puts his t-shirt back on over the top and sits back on the bed with Bastiaan all propped up next to him. His little baby.

He doesn't text Daniel asking him where he is. It's a lot asking someone to be in the same space as a baby all day long. Max likes spending time with Bastiaan. They're only just learning about each other, but Bastiaan is his favourite person. And he really is becoming a little person now, with his little frowny face and his little smile just for Max. It's okay that Daniel isn't here. Max has been fine for a long time now. He's got used to being alone. He got used to not having Daniel for a friend a long time ago.

"It'll be nice to go home, won't it?" He tells Bastiaan, leaning in to kiss his little downy head. "Where our things are."

Bastiaan is focused on his rattle instead. He's managed to half-lose a sock even just sitting here. Max pulls it back up. He isn't sure where Bastiaan is going to sleep. He'd planned on holding him in the airport, so he didn't have to spend all night in the car seat, but he doesn't know here. Daniel had said something about sorting that out when he'd left to go to the shop, so maybe they have cribs in the hotel. Bastiaan's never slept in a crib. He has a Moses basket at home, and Max has it next to him on the bed. They're always very near each other.

When the hotel door opens, Max almost jumps half out of his skin, and so does Bastiaan. He makes a startled little cry of surprise and drops his giraffe.

"It's just us," Daniel says, half-kicking open the door. He's carrying a big shopping bag and behind him a hotel porter is pushing a very large cardboard box in on a cart. "I got you baby wipes."

Max picks up Bastiaan, kissing the top of his head. "Did you buy a lot of them?" He indicates the giant box, but Daniel is too busy sliding the box off the cart and tipping the guy pushing it to reply. "What is it?"

Daniel lets the hotel room door close after the porter and his cart. "Ta-da," he says. "I got you a carrycot."

Max turns his head to one side to look at the picture on the side of the box. It says Bugaboo. "Daniel," he says, while trying to soothe Bastiaan who's two seconds from bursting into tears.

"The baby needed somewhere to sleep," Daniel says. "So I got him somewhere to sleep."

"For one night?" Max asks stupidly. He doesn't understand.

Daniel is already opening the boxes. It's a black pushchair frame and a black carrycot. He's taking it out of the plastic and clicking it all together. "The carrycot can sit on here or you can have it next to you overnight. I don't know how you and Bastiaan sleep, but it's better than having to use one of the hotel cribs."

"What will you do with it in the morning?" Max asks. He jiggles Bastiaan up and down, because Bastiaan isn't used to other people and big noises. It's sad that Bastiaan only really knows Max. Other people would love him very much if they knew him.

"Well, you can take it, obviously," Daniel says, upending his shopping bag of things onto the little table. There's a new baby sleeping bag with little giraffes on. A three-pack of baby wipes. Other things.

"I can't take it on the plane," Max says. He's too tired to understand why Daniel's bought him a new pushchair. He has one. The car seat clips into it. He only has one baby.

"Well, about that," Daniel says. "Half the reason I flew up here was because I needed to pick the car up. So I'm actually driving back? Tomorrow? And I thought maybe I could drive you and Bastiaan? We can stop as much as you like then, take it easy. Give Bastiaan a nice trip back and me and you can catch up."

"I have plane tickets," Max says, because he does. They're non-refundable. He's paid for them.

"Door to door comfort," Daniel says, waving his hand at the pushchair. He bends down to get something from the table, and when he comes up, he's holding a small pink cuddly rabbit. "Hey Bastiaan, I got you a present. I'm sorry you've had to wait until now to have it, but I didn't know about you before today." He grins his lovely big smile. He leans in and touches the pink rabbit to Bastiaan's little pink nose. For a moment Bastiaan looks like he's going to sneeze, but he's just confused. He reaches out, his little hand touching the pink fur. "There we go," Daniel says. "A little rabbit just for you. I hope you like it."

"He does," Max says. Bastiaan has three toys now. He's a lucky little boy. Max still doesn't understand about the pushchair. Or about anything. He feels very stupid and confused.

"You don't mind pink, do you?" Daniel asks, still showing the rabbit to Max's baby, but he's talking to Max. "They didn't have a blue one."

"It's just a colour," Max says, because it is. He likes pink. His dad never let him have anything pink when he was growing up.

"Okay," Daniel says. "Good."

He's still making faces at Max's bemused baby, but despite his frown, Bastiaan's attention is fixed. Max knows how he feels. He's been focused on Daniel since he was seventeen years old. Having Daniel not contact him after the accident was one of the worst things, outside of losing racing. His mum hadn't contacted him either, but Max understands that. His dad explained it. She only wanted a winner, and Max had lost everything. His dad had only wanted a winner too, but he'd been saddled with looking after him after his accident. Max was sorry for that, but he wasn't sorry for getting pregnant with Bastiaan. His baby is lovely. He's not sorry for leaving his dad behind. He's never, ever coming close to Bastiaan. Bastiaan won't ever know him or be scared of him. Max has promised. It was the first promise he ever made him.

"Well then," Daniel says. "Are you up for it? Road trip with me tomorrow? Door to door service with as many on the way stops as either of you could want or need?"

Max is so, so, so confused. He feels like he's been wading through mud for months. Daniel bought his baby somewhere to sleep. He bought him a baby sleeping bag and a soft pink rabbit. He might not have been nice to Max after his crash but he's being nice to Max's baby now, and Bastiaan barely has anyone. Bastiaan deserves people, and Max doesn't have anyone to give him.

"Max?" Daniel asks. For a second, his smile slips. "Please. I want to drive you home. I've missed you."

Max has to look away. He blinks away tears. He's not a crier. He doesn't understand why this is happening to him, now of all times. The idea of not having to get Bastiaan through an airport and onto and off a flight by himself. Of spending the night in a bed instead of sitting up in an airport. Of Daniel missing him, when Max wasn't the one who walked away.

"Max?"

Max doesn't look at him. He doesn't want to cry again. Doesn't want Daniel to know that he's close to it. "Okay," he says. "Yes. Okay." He doesn't think about the money he's wasting on the plane ticket. The second pushchair he doesn't need. Eight hours in a car with Daniel.

Daniel lets out a breath. "Okay," he says softly. "Good."

Max kisses Bastiaan, and keeps holding on.

[jakescapes]

𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙚𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

synopsis: One night, Spider-Man saves you and you can’t stop thinking about him. His presence haunts your thoughts, and soon he becomes more than just a hero in a mask. But what you don’t know is that Spider-Man has been watching you all along. As the lines between hero and ordinary guy blur, you find yourself drawn to him, unaware of the truth he’s hiding and the complications that come with falling for someone living a double life.

genre: fluff, smut, strangers (not rlly) to lovers

warnings: pretty much none other than brief fight scene, wounding + blood, lying, explicit smut, technically inferred mutual virginity loss but it’s not rlly mentioned, mdni!!

author's note: this one is pretty chill and not as heavy as storyline goes as much as my other fics but i think it's still pretty cute :3 i know i wasn't gonna post this one until my other fic is out but i changed my mind lol anyways enjoyyy

wc: 11.8k

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

You’ve always been the kind of girl people liked. Not the most popular, not the type who threw huge parties or walked around with a whole parade of people behind you, but people knew you. They smiled when you walked down the halls. Teachers liked you because you were smart and funny, good but not a try hard. You had your group of close friends and stuck by them. You weren’t loud, but you weren’t invisible either.

You were...just right.

And to Jake, you were everything.

You didn’t know that, of course. To you, Jake was just the sweet, quiet guy who sat a few rows back in your English class, always scribbling in the margins of his notebook, sometimes flashing you a shy smile if you caught his eye.

"Hey, Jake," you said once, a few weeks ago, when you held the door open for him after history class.

He’d blinked, startled that you even knew his name. "Uh—hi. Thanks," he mumbled, clutching his battered backpack like it might float away.

You thought he was nice. Sweet. Maybe a little awkward. You didn’t know that he spent half the class staring at the back of your head, memorizing the way you doodled in your notes when you were bored, the way you twirled your pen when you were thinking.

You didn’t know that every time you laughed with your friends, he wished he could be part of that world, yours, even just for a second.

You definitely didn’t know that Jake Sim, quiet, nerdy Jake, was Spider-Man.

Nobody knew.

And even with the whole city to protect, somehow, you were the thing he couldn’t stop watching.

-

You’ve always liked New York at night. It’s noisy, chaotic, but when you’re walking alone, sometimes it feels like the whole city softens just for you.

Your boots click along the sidewalk as you make your way home from your friend’s house. Your phone is tucked safely into your jacket, your bag slung across your shoulder. You hum quietly to yourself, thinking about the sleepover plans you already started setting up for next weekend.

You don’t notice the figure perched high above you, crouched at the edge of a building. From the shadowed rooftops, Jake watches you with sharp eyes behind his mask.

He should be three neighborhoods over. He knows there’s trouble brewing near the docks.

But he can’t help himself. You're walking home alone, and the idea of something happening to you when he could stop it—

Yeah. Not a chance

He could watch you laugh with your friends for hours. He knows the exact way your nose crinkles when you’re confused in class, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re concentrating, the easy way you smile at people when you pass them in the halls.

He trails you silently, heart thudding harder than it ever does when he’s fighting criminals.

Then, a sudden noise jolts him out of his thoughts. You’re about two blocks from your apartment when it happens.

Two men step out of a shadowy alley up ahead, blocking your path.

"Hey, pretty girl," one of them says with a greasy smile.

You jerk back instinctively. "Get away from me," you snap, fear spiking in your chest.

They don’t listen. One grabs your bag. The other lunges for you, trying to trap you between them.

"Let go of me!" you shout, struggling, but they’re stronger than they look. Panic flashes through you. You twist, trying to kick, and manage to knock one of them off balance, but there’s two of them and only one of you.

Jake doesn’t even think.

He dives.

Thwip! A web zips through the air, snagging the thief by the chest and yanking him backward so fast he crashes into a lamppost. You spin around, gasping, just in time to see a blur of red and blue land hard between you and the second man.

You stumble back, wide eyed, heart hammering.

It’s him. Spider-Man.

He doesn’t even hesitate, just moves. A punch. A sweep of his legs. Another thwip! and the second man is webbed to the sidewalk, groaning.

You stand frozen, staring.

You’ve heard the stories. You’ve seen the news reports. People talking about Spider-Man like he’s some kind of legend. Some of your friends even joked about what they’d do if they ever met him.

You watch, breathless, as he webs the two men up in a neat, dangling package. It’s almost...easy for him. Strong, fast, confident. You can’t tear your eyes away.

And now here he is. In front of you. Saving you.

He turns toward you, breathing a little harder than usual.

"You okay?" His voice is warm, low.

You nod, still stunned. "Y-yeah. I—thank you. Thank you so much."

He hesitates for a second, then says, "Where do you live? I'll get you home."

You stammer out your address, your voice shaking.

"Okay. Hold on tight."

Before you can react, he scoops you up by the waist. You yelp, clutching desperately onto his shoulders as he swings up into the sky.

You’ve seen Spider-Man swoop around the city before, on TV, from your window sometimes, but being in it, flying through the air, the wind whipping around you, the lights blurring below, it’s a whole different world. You tighten your arms around his neck, your face pressed close to the smooth fabric of his suit.

You squeak, clutching at him.

"I’ve got you," he says quickly, as you both rise high above the ground.

You cling tighter, feeling the muscles shifting under his suit, the heat radiating from him.

"This is insane," you breathe out. "You’re insane. You’re amazing."

He laughs under his breath, and it’s a sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever.

When he finally lands lightly on your balcony, your knees are trembling. He sets you down gently.

You stare up at him, breathless.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice small.

He shifts awkwardly, like he’s about to leave, but then he winces slightly, a hand ghosting over his side.

"You’re hurt," you notice immediately. "Wait—don’t go. Let me help."

He tries to protest. "I'm fine—really—"

“No, I owe you.” And you’re already pulling him inside your room. 

You tug the door open, leading him into your bedroom. It’s cozy, filled with little things that make it you. Posters on the wall, a stack of books on your nightstand, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. He turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, his heart racing for a completely different reason now.

He’s in your room.

Jake Sim. Spider-Man. Nerdy kid who sits three rows behind you in English.

Inside. With you.

You dart into the bathroom and come back with a first aid kit.

"Sit," you command gently, patting the edge of your bed.

He obeys, sitting stiffly, still a little stunned himself.

Carefully, you peel back a section of his torn suit at his ribs, revealing a spreading bruise and a shallow gash.

You suck in a breath. "Oh my God. You’re actually hurt."

"I've had worse," he mumbles, watching you nervously.

Your hands are gentle as you clean the wound, your touch light. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath.

You’re so close. Close enough that he can see every tiny detail, the little gold flecks in your eyes, the freckles dusting your nose, the worried way you bite your lip.

And for a second, he forgets about the blood, about the bruises, about everything except you.

He wishes, more than anything, that it could be Jake sitting here like this. Just Jake. No mask. No secret.

Just you, patching him up, caring for him, because you wanted to.

But he knows better.

He knows this life he chose is too dangerous. Too complicated.

Still, he can dream.

…

After he swung away into the night, you just stood there for a second, your bedroom door still half open, the first aid kit forgotten on your bed.

Your heart was racing.

You pressed your hand to your chest like that might calm it down, but it didn’t. You felt like you were still flying, like you could still feel the pressure of his arms around your waist, the rush of the wind in your hair, the firm, careful way he held you like you were something precious.

Slowly, you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. You stared at the ceiling, wide eyed.

You never really thought about Spider-Man before. Sure, he was cool. People at school were always gossiping about him — "Did you hear he stopped that robbery last night?" or "My cousin swears she saw him swing over Times Square!" But you never paid that much attention.

Until now.

Now, you couldn’t get him out of your head.

The way he moved. The easy strength in his shoulders. The way he didn’t hesitate to jump in and protect you. The way his voice sounded low and a little worried when he asked if you were okay.

You buried your face in your pillow, cheeks burning.

You were crushing. Hard.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Jake swung clumsily back toward his tiny apartment, the night air cold against his scraped skin.

He practically stumbled through his window, ripping off his mask as he collapsed onto his bed, still breathing hard.

He covered his face with his hands.

What just happened? he thought to himself.

Of all the people in New York, of all the random twists of fate, it had been you.You, walking alone. You, getting cornered. You, needing him.

And as bad as it sounded. As wrong as it was, he was grateful. Grateful you’d needed saving. Grateful he’d gotten to touch you, to hear you laugh breathlessly into his shoulder, to see the way you looked at him like he was someone incredible.

Not Jake Sim, the quiet nerd in the back of the class. But Spider-Man. A hero.

...

The next morning at school, Jake tried to act normal.

Tried to sit at his desk like his entire soul wasn’t buzzing.

You walked into class with your best friend, Maya, giggling about something. You looked a little tired, but in that soft, pretty way. Jake kept his head down, scribbling nonsense in his notebook, but his ears were straining, tuned to every word.

"You are lying," Maya hissed under her breath, eyes wide.

"I'm not!" you insisted, grinning. "I'm telling you! Spider-Man saved me last night."

Maya gawked. "You're serious?!"

You nodded, leaning in closer so no one else could hear.

Jake’s hand stilled on the page, his heart hammering.

"He was..." you trailed off for a second, your voice going soft. "He was amazing. Like, really amazing."

Maya snorted. "Amazing how?"

You bit your lip, cheeks turning pink. "I don’t know. Just, the way he fought those guys? And the way he held me? He was so...manly. And confident. It was like..." You shook your head, laughing a little at yourself. "I don’t know, Maya. I think I might have a little crush on him now."

Jake gripped his pen tighter, something inside him flipping over.

You had a crush. On him.

Well...on Spider-Man.

He should’ve been thrilled. And he was. Kind of.

But mostly, he just felt this aching sadness swell up inside him.

Because the person you met last night wasn’t Jake Sim.

It was someone stronger. Braver. Someone you could look up to. Not the awkward kid who tripped over his own feet and fumbled his words when you smiled at him.

Jake stared blankly at his notebook, a hollow pit forming in his chest.

If you ever found out the truth, if you ever realized that Spider-Man was just Jake, the kid who barely managed to survive high school without embarrassing himself — Would you be disappointed?

Would you stop looking at him like he was something special?

Jake swallowed hard, forcing himself to smile as the teacher called for attention.

He had to be okay with it. You were safe. That was what mattered.

Even if the closest he ever got to you was behind a mask.

...

After class, the hallways were packed, loud with chatter and the slam of locker doors.

Jake stood by his locker, spinning the dial lazily with one hand, half listening to his friend Mark rant about something that happened in gym.

"I’m just saying," Mark said, waving his arms dramatically, "if Coach expects me to run a mile in under seven minutes, he can —"

Wham.

You bumped into Jake's side by accident, your bag swinging wide as you tried to squeeze past the crowd.

"Oh my god, sorry!" you blurted, reaching down to grab the little notebook that had fallen out of your hands.

But Jake was already crouching down to pick it up, and the second he moved, he winced, the sharp pull of his bruised ribs making him suck in a breath.

He quickly masked it with a cough and stood up, handing you the notebook.

"Here," he said, voice a little tight.

"Thanks," you smiled, but your eyes narrowed slightly. "... Are you okay?"

Jake froze for a split second. His hand was instinctively pressed against his side, over the exact spot you had patched up last night.

He jerked it away, shoving both hands into his jean pockets like nothing happened. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine," he said, way too fast.

But when he moved, you caught it, just for a second. His shirt had ridden up slightly, and you spotted a white bandage taped carefully over his ribs. You blinked, heart skipping. It looked exactly like the one you’d used last night... the same pattern of gauze and tape.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake was already rushing to explain.

"It’s just, uh, some bruising," Jake added, trying to sound casual. "From... y'know. Soccer.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Soccer?"

"Yeah." Jake coughed again, fake, awkward. "Picked the wrong guy to guard, I guess."

You smiled politely, not totally convinced, but decided not to press. "Well, be careful," you said, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder.

"Will do," Jake mumbled, watching as you disappeared down the hall.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Mark grabbed Jake by the shoulders.

"Dude. Dude. What was that?"

Jake shrugged, trying (and failing) to act cool. "Nothing."

"Nothing?! Bro, she was worried about you! That’s not nothing!"

Mark paused, squinting at him. "Wait... why are you even bruised? What happened?"

Jake hesitated. His fingers drummed anxiously against the locker.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, "I saved her last night."

Mark’s jaw dropped. "What?!"

Jake winced. "Keep your voice down, man!"

“You saved her?" Mark repeated, quieter but no less intense. "Like, Spider-Man, you saved her?"

Jake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly. "Yeah. Some guys tried to mug her. I took them out. She... she helped patch me up after."

Mark looked like he was about to explode. "Dude, you have an opening. After years of crushing on her, you can finally make a move!"

Jake just shook his head, a sad little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t that easy. 

If he wanted to be with you, it had to be as Jake. Not as the hero you thought you knew.

-

It was late. Way past midnight. Your desk lamp buzzed quietly as you sat cross legged on your bed, hunched over your textbook, fighting to stay awake. You had a big exam coming up and your brain was practically melting.

That’s when you heard it.

Tap, tap.

Your head snapped up, heart lurching in your chest. The tapping came again, but it wasn’t from your door. It was your window.

You grabbed the nearest thing, a hairbrush, and crept cautiously toward the sound. And when you peeled back the curtain, you nearly dropped it.

Spider-Man was outside your window. Again.

His mask was on, but he looked... bad. One arm was clutching his side tightly, and even through the dim streetlight you could see the dark smudges of blood soaking through the red and blue suit.

You fumbled the lock open without thinking. He stumbled inside the second you lifted the window, bracing himself against your wall to stay upright.

"Are you okay?!" you gasped, rushing to steady him.

He just gave a shaky little laugh. "Sorry," he rasped. "Didn’t mean to scare you. I just—" He winced sharply. "I didn’t know where else to go."

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him. The city’s strongest protector, barely able to stand up straight.

"It’s okay," you said quickly. "You’re fine. I won’t tell anyone, I swear."

You helped him over to your bed, your mind already racing. Grabbing the first aid kit from your bathroom once again, you knelt in front of him, hands shaking only slightly.

You peeled back the torn fabric of his suit, biting your lip hard at the sight underneath. His side was an ugly mess of deep gashes and bruises.

It felt... different this time. More intimate. Last time, you were too caught up in the shock to notice. But now, alone in your bedroom in the middle of the night, with Spider-Man so close, it was impossible not to feel it. The air between you felt thick. Your fingers lingered a little too long against his abdomen as you cleaned the wound, brushing over the planes of muscle stretched tight under his bloodied skin. You were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath when you pressed a little too hard, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

It was crazy. He was sneaking into your room in the dead of night, bleeding and broken... and yet, your heart wouldn’t stop hammering in your chest.

"God," you muttered, forcing yourself to focus. "What happened to you?"

"Ran into some bad people tonight," he mumbled, head leaning back against your wall. "Really bad."

You nodded, trying to stay calm.

"You should rest here for the night," you said softly as you worked, wrapping fresh gauze carefully around his ribs. "No one would know. You could leave in the morning."

He just shook his head immediately, voice hoarse. "No, I couldn’t possibly. I’ll... just stay for a little while. Then I’ll go."

You frowned but didn’t argue. His body was tense, muscles trembling slightly under your touch. Still, he let you take care of him. He trusted you to.

"You really should be more careful," you muttered under your breath, taping the last bandage into place. "Your job’s so dangerous. You’re not invincible, you know."

You meant it seriously, but Jake couldn't help it.

Even through the pounding pain in his body, even through the blood loss, he thought you looked adorable trying to lecture him. Your brows were all scrunched up, your voice low and worried. Like you really cared.

He smiled behind the mask, even though you couldn’t see it. “Thanks, I will.”

The room fell into a heavy silence after that.

The soft hum of your desk lamp, the faint city noise from outside, it all faded into the background.

You were fidgeting without realizing it, your fingers nervously picking at the strings of your shorts. You sat on the edge of the bed, stealing quick glances at him, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

You hesitated, swallowing hard before you finally spoke.

"I..." Your voice cracked slightly, and you cleared your throat, cheeks burning. "I know this is probably really stupid. And I know you probably hear this from... like, every girl you save."

You laughed awkwardly, trying to fill the space, but it just made you more aware of how close you were.

"I just—" You sighed, looking down at your lap. "I couldn’t stop thinking about you. After the first time. The way you saved me... the way you held me. I kept telling myself it was silly. You probably hear stuff like this all the time."

You glanced up at him, expecting him to nod, to laugh it off, to say something charming and easy.

But he just sat there, completely still.

Because the truth was the opposite.

Jake was used to hearing things about Spider-Man, sure, but it wasn’t always admiration. Most of the time it was fear. Hatred. Distrust. People thinking he was a threat, a vigilante who needed to be thrown behind bars. And sure, some people fawned over the idea of Spider-Man, the hero, the fantasy, but they didn’t know him.

Not the real him. Not the messy, human, hurting boy underneath the suit.

But you... You were different. You were real. You were you.

And to him, that meant everything.

He didn’t know what to say. He was completely, utterly speechless.

You must have taken his silence as an opening, because then you shifted, biting your lip. And next thing you knew, you crawled over the bed toward him slowly, carefully.

He barely dared to breathe.

Your hand reached out, trembling slightly, and you hooked your fingers at the bottom of his mask.

"Can I...?" you whispered.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

With a careful touch, you lifted the mask just enough to reveal his mouth and jaw, the rest of his face still hidden in shadows. His lips were parted slightly, breathing shallow, waiting.

You leaned in, so close he could feel the warmth of you against him. You hesitated for half a second, and then you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, almost shy, like both of you were afraid to break the fragile moment. But when he kissed you back, it changed.

His gloved hand rose to cup your cheek, fingers trembling slightly against your skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively, and he pulled you closer, like he couldn’t help himself. The distance between you vanished.

Your lips moved together slowly, languidly, testing, tasting. You parted yours just slightly, and he responded immediately, deepening the kiss.

Your tongues brushed, tentative at first, then with more urgency, clashing softly against each other in a dance that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was careful, deliberate, like he was memorizing the way you tasted, the way you felt.

There was something raw and electric about the way he kissed you, like he was pouring every ounce of feeling he had ever bottled up into this single moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, anchoring yourself to him, and you felt the way he shuddered slightly, like your touch alone was enough to undo him.

The kiss grew deeper, slower, more intense, every second stretching out between you like it was stitched with gold. It was messy in the way that mattered, the way real feelings always were. A kiss that left your head spinning, your lungs aching, your heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could feel it through your chest.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces still so close your noses brushed. Your forehead dropped gently against his, and you stayed like that for a long, lingering moment, suspended between reality and something else, something dreamlike and electric.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to.

Everything you needed to say was already written between your lips.

-

Ever since that night, things had been different.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow, Spider-Man had become a part of your life in ways you hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t just the mysterious, masked hero who saved you that one fateful evening anymore, he became someone you talked to.

Sometimes, late at night when you were curled up in bed with your textbooks or scrolling through your phone, he would appear at your window. His silhouette would loom against the glowing city skyline, and you’d unlock it without thinking twice. You didn’t know what it was about him, maybe it was the way he seemed so untouchable yet so real in those brief moments, or maybe it was just how comforting his presence was. But whatever it was, you felt a connection, even if you knew it couldn’t last forever.

It wasn’t always about danger or saving people. Sometimes, it was just the two of you, sitting side by side, talking about the mundane things you both never got to share with anyone else. Sometimes it was silence, comfortable and easy, the kind of silence you’d never felt with anyone before. And sometimes, there were kisses. Soft, tender kisses that lingered for just long enough to make your heart race and your mind spin.

He was still Spider-Man, and you tried to remind yourself of that every time your lips met, every time you felt that spark. But deep down, you knew, you knew that it wasn’t just the thrill of being with a superhero. It was more.

It felt like something real. Something special.

But then, one night, it all stopped.

He didn’t show up.

You tried not to let it get to you. He was Spider-Man, after all. His nights were long, and his duties never rested. Maybe there was just no time for small talk or stolen kisses when he had the city to protect.

You told yourself it was okay. You told yourself that you understood.

But when night after night passed and you sat alone at your window, staring out into the darkness and hoping for a familiar figure to appear, you couldn’t ignore the disappointment that gnawed at you. You didn’t know why you’d gotten so attached to him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was there, that for a moment, he let you into his world. Or maybe it was the way he made you feel like you were the only person that mattered in those fleeting, stolen moments.

But now he was gone.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You remembered the last time he had come over, and how different that night had felt. You had been sitting together in your bed, his body pressed gently against yours, both of you lying there as if the world didn’t exist outside your room. His hands were intertwined with yours, and the quiet intimacy of the moment felt almost too much to bear.

"I know why you have to keep that mask on," you had said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "I understand. It’s for your own good." Your fingers had traced small, absent patterns on his hand as you spoke, your mind trying to reconcile the mystery that surrounded him. "But... I can’t help but wonder... what you look like underneath.”

He had hesitated, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes before he looked away, his gaze drifting towards the window. You felt his fingers tighten around yours, as if unsure whether to speak or to keep it all hidden. The room was silent except for your soft breaths, both of you caught in the unspoken tension.

Finally, he turned back to you, a small, almost sad smile on his lips shown underneath his mask. His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite decipher. "Soon, you’ll find out," he had said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

That had been the last conversation you’d had with him, and now, as the nights stretched on without his visits, you couldn’t shake the thought of what he meant. Soon, you would find out. But until then, all you could do was wait, wondering if he’d ever show his true self to you.

...

Meanwhile, Jake was in his own turmoil.

Every time he visited your window, pretending to be the same Spider-Man who saved you, he felt the weight of his lies crushing him. He couldn’t keep hiding behind the mask. The truth was, he wanted you to see him for who he was. Not as Spider-Man, but as Jake.

The guilt gnawed at him. Every time he saw you, every time his lips touched yours, the shame washed over him, reminding him that he wasn’t being honest with you. You deserved more than this. You deserved the real him, not the superhero persona he wore like a shield.

And so, with all that guilt bubbling up inside of him, Jake decided it was time. He was going to ask you out. Not as Spider-Man. As Jake.

It wasn’t easy for him. He had spent years observing you from afar, watching you laugh with your friends, listening to your stories, memorizing the way you smiled. He had been too shy to ever approach you before, too terrified that you might not see him the way he saw you. But this? This was different. He couldn’t keep pretending any longer. He needed to know if there was a chance. A real chance with you.

So, one afternoon after class, he approached you in the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms sweating.

"Hey, uh..." Jake said, stumbling over his words, his usual calm demeanor slipping away. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the floor before he finally made eye contact. "Do you want to, I don’t know, hangout together sometime? I could really use a study buddy for the test, and, um... maybe grab some coffee afterward?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Jake? Asking you to hang out? You hadn’t spoken much before. He was always the quiet guy in the back of the classroom, a little nerdy and socially distant from everyone. Sure, you knew who he was, but you hadn’t really interacted. The invitation felt... unexpected. But still, he intrigued you.

You tilted your head, considering it for a moment. "Uh... sure? I mean, I guess we could.” You gave him a hesitant smile, unsure of what to expect.

Jake’s face lit up, and for a brief second, you saw a different side of him, the awkward, unsure side of him that was always hidden behind that calm, cool exterior.

He fumbled for his phone, a little nervous, before he handed it to you. "I, uh, I don’t have your number," he said, his voice soft.

You took his phone and entered your number, feeling a mix of curiosity and excitement bubbling up inside you. When you handed it back, he looked at you, trying to hold back a grin. "Cool," he said, his eyes briefly meeting yours. "I’ll text you soon." He gave you a small, awkward smile before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway, leaving you standing there, both confused and intrigued.

-

The day of your first official hangout had arrived. You had agreed to meet Jake at a cozy café downtown, something simple and lowkey. There was something about him, something you couldn't quite put your finger on, that had you curious, eager to know more.

You arrived a bit early and found a quiet corner near the window, tapping your fingers nervously on your coffee cup. It wasn’t like you had never hung out with a guy before, but this felt different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because you’d only really interacted with Jake in class, and now you were about to spend time with him outside of that. You knew he was nice, but you’d never thought of him as someone who would ask you out.

When Jake arrived, he looked a little out of place, wearing a simple hoodie, jeans, and glasses, looking like the normal, shy guy you’d seen in school. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm. He gave you a smile, clearly a little nervous.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual, even though you were feeling a little giddy yourself.

Jake sat down across from you, looking around the café for a moment before settling in. As you both started chatting, you realized how easy it was to talk to him. The conversation flowed naturally, bouncing from classes to random anecdotes, and soon you were laughing together over something silly. His humor wasn’t dry or flashy, and it made you feel comfortable, like you had known him better than you actually did.

But then, your curiosity got the best of you, and you found yourself asking, “So, why did you ask me to hang out? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but it’s kind of... unexpected, right?”

Jake paused, his hand shifting nervously around his coffee cup. You could see a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "I guess, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly hesitating. "I was just thinking about how... how we never really get a chance to talk much in class. You know, with everyone around. I thought it might be nice to hang out, just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a little flattered by his honesty. You’d always noticed how he kept to himself, but you also knew he was always kind and smart. You liked that about him.

“I’ve always thought you were really pretty. And, well, I wanted to get to know you better. I’ve noticed you a lot, so.”

Your heart warmed at his confession, and you found yourself smiling, even though you didn’t know exactly what to say. You hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. You'd always thought Jake was a quiet guy, but here he was, talking to you like this.

The truth was, you didn’t know why you were so unsure when he asked you out earlier. You should’ve been glad. Jake was obviously attractive, he just didn’t know it. He had all the qualities you’d look for in someone to spend time with. And now, as you sat across from him, listening to him talk about things that made him nervous or awkward, you realized there was something different about him. He didn’t try to impress anyone. He was just... himself.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. "I mean, you’re kind of a great guy, Jake. Seriously."

Jake smiled, looking almost relieved. "Well, I’m glad you think so."

The rest of the evening was filled with easy conversation. After coffee, you walked around a nearby park, enjoying the cool night air. The longer you spent with him, the more you realized how comfortable you felt. He wasn’t overly confident like some other guys, but he had this attractiveness about him that drew you in. There was a certain charm to the way he made everything feel effortless, even if he was still a little shy. 

As you both walked back toward your apartment, the night had started to grow colder. Jake slowed his pace, and you both stopped at the entrance to your building. There was a moment of silence between you, and you could sense he had something more to say.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said quietly, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. “It was... nice to actually hang out without everything feeling like a big deal.”

You nodded, feeling the same way. “I’m glad too. Thanks for inviting me.”

As you both stood there, Jake’s eyes met yours, his gaze soft and full of something unspoken. There was a slight tension in the air, but it felt gentle, like the calm before something significant. You could feel the warmth of his presence, and before you could fully process what was happening, Jake took a step closer, his hand gently brushing your arm.

“Would it be okay,” he began, his voice low and hesitant, “if I kissed you goodnight?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. In fact, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, the flutter in your chest as you nodded, too caught up in the moment to think twice.

He closed the space between you, his face soft and vulnerable. His breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, and everything felt so incredibly intimate. You barely had time to register it before his lips met yours.

The kiss was slow, careful, as if Jake was testing the waters, making sure you felt comfortable. His lips were warm and soft, and you melted into the feeling, the tenderness of the moment overwhelming in the best way. It was a kiss full of uncertainty, but also something more, something that felt real, something you didn’t expect to feel in a first kiss.

But as his lips moved gently against yours, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of familiarity. The way his lips fit against yours, the slight pressure, the way he kissed so softly and carefully, it all felt... right. You almost felt like you’d been here before, like this moment had been rehearsed in some other life, some other time and you had a sudden rush of deja vu. There was an uncanny feeling that you had kissed him before, even though this was your first time.

Your heart beat a little faster, and for a split second, you wondered if you were imagining things. Was it the way he held himself, or was it the way his kiss made you feel as though you'd known him forever? The longer the kiss lasted, the more you found yourself lost in the sensation, until he pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to break the connection but leaving the air charged between you.

You both stayed there for a moment, not saying anything, just staring at each other, your breaths mingling. Jake’s face was flushed, but there was something in his eyes, vulnerable, but genuine. And there you were, standing in the cool night air, still feeling the lingering warmth of his lips on yours.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, goodnight,” you replied, your heart still racing. You wanted to say something else, but you couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, you watched him step back, his figure slowly fading into the shadows as he turned and walked away.

But as you stood there, still reeling from the kiss, a strange feeling settled in your chest. The kiss had felt so familiar, so much like something that was always meant to happen, and for the first time, you realized how much more there was to Jake than what you'd seen before.

You turned and entered your apartment, trying to shake the feeling that something significant had just begun. 

-

It had been almost a month now since Jake had asked you out. Each date with him had been easy, comfortable, and filled with moments that made your heart flutter. This was your fourth date, and after grabbing takeout from your favorite local spot, you invited him over to hang out for the evening. Your parents were surprisingly laid back about it, so after a brief but pleasant introduction, they gave you both some privacy.

Now, Jake was sitting on your bed next to you, his side pressed against yours as you both snacked on the food, laughing over some inside joke you had long forgotten the origin of. As the day grew longer, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. There was a lightness in your chest, a kind of peace you didn’t often feel, like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

You had never thought that this would be where you’d end up. When you first met Jake, he’d been just another classmate, a little shy, a little reserved, but undeniably kind. You didn’t even think about Spider-Man anymore, your thoughts were entirely consumed by Jake. Now, he was becoming a constant in your life, and you couldn’t imagine not having him around. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled when he made you laugh, it made everything seem a little brighter.

You glanced over at him, and the sight of his grin made your heart skip a beat. You could tell he was happy too, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that familiar, contagious smile.

"You know," you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, "I’m really glad you made a move on me."

Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, I’d like to think I had a pretty good reason to," he said, his voice full of that same warmth you’d come to love.

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning in a little closer to him. "Yeah, you definitely did," you teased, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued to laugh. The feeling in your chest was warm, comforting, a happiness that seemed to fill the air around you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, no outside distractions, just the easy comfort of each other’s presence. Your fingers brushed against his, and you couldn’t help but feel that familiar pull between you, the kind you had felt ever since the first time you kissed him. There was a sweetness to it, an innocence that felt right.

But as you both continued to giggle, the laughter slowly faded into something softer. You found yourself looking up at him, eyes meeting his in a way that felt more intense than before. You both fell into a silence, the tension between you palpable now.

Without thinking, you reached up, your hand gently cupping his jaw. You pulled him toward you, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. It started slow, tender, like you were savoring each moment. But then, as your lips moved together, the kiss deepened.

Jake’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss became more urgent, more passionate. His lips pressed against yours with more intensity, and you felt a spark of something deeper ignite in your chest. The way his touch lingered on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, everything about this felt so right. It wasn’t just the chemistry you’d felt from the start, it was something more, something that had been building between you two without either of you realizing it.

You responded instinctively, your hands threading through his hair as the kiss became more sensual. The world around you seemed to fade away. It was just you and Jake, caught in this moment that felt so real, so powerful. His breath hitched slightly as you deepened the kiss further, and for a moment, everything else, the outside world, the worries, the questions, vanished. All that mattered was here, right now, in this quiet, intimate moment.

The kiss slowed eventually, but neither of you pulled away. You were both breathless, caught in the aftermath of something more than just a kiss, something that left you feeling dizzy with anticipation and warmth.

You reached up, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight stubble that prickled your fingertips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a silent question in their depths. You answered by leaning in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You obliged, a soft moan escaping you as his tongue met yours, dancing, exploring, claiming. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intense, overwhelming dance of desire.

Jake's hand descended, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, before coming to rest at the hem of your shirt. His eyes, still locked onto yours, asked for permission, a silent question that hung heavy in the air. You responded by arching into his touch, a subtle movement that spoke volumes. He took it as the green light it was, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin. A shiver ran through you, your breath hitching as his touch grew bolder, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb finding your nipple and circling it with maddening slowness.

Your hands, exploratory and eager, mirrored his, mapping out the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. You could feel the heat of his skin, the taut muscles beneath, the way his breath hitched as you traced the waistband of his jeans. He was hard, his erection pressing against your hip, a testament to his desire. 

You wanted to touch him, to feel him, but you also wanted to take your time, to draw out this delicious torture. So, you contented yourself with exploring, your fingers tracing the lines of his body, your lips following the path your hands had taken, leaving a trail of soft kisses and gentle bites. He groaned, his head tilting back, giving you better access, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control. The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, the soft moans and groans that escaped your lips, the rustle of fabric as you continued your slow, sensual exploration. The tension between you was palpable, a live wire ready to snap, the anticipation almost unbearable, yet you both reveled in it, drawing out the moment, lost in the slow burn of your desire.

Your nipples began to harden into peaks beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. He took advantage, his thumbs brushing over them, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your panties growing damp with your arousal. You gasped, begging for more. 

He obliged, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned, your head falling back, your hair cascading down like a waterfall of chestnut waves. He took advantage, his mouth finding yours, his tongue delving in, exploring, dancing with yours. 

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "It's like you were made for me to touch." You couldn't respond, your mind foggy with desire, your body aching for more. He seemed to understand, his hands continuing their exploration, his lips finding that sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, sucking gently, marking you.

You pulled back, your breath ragged, eyes locked with his. His pupils were dilated, the irises a stormy sea of desire. You reached for the hem of your top, a silent invitation. He understood, his hands covering yours, helping you pull it off. Your bra followed suit, his eyes darkening further at the sight of your naked breasts. 

He leaned in, his mouth capturing one taut peak, his tongue swirling, tasting. You gasped, your head falling back, giving him better access. His hands, meanwhile, were busy unbuttoning your jeans, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach, making you squirm. The anticipation was killing you, but you knew he was taking his time, drawing out the pleasure, making this a slow burn you'd never forget.

You reached for him, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him, his chest lean and muscular, a light dusting of hair trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his chest, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. 

You could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against you. The knowledge that you had that effect on him spurred you on, your hands roaming, exploring, learning the planes and angles of his body. He let you, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, a look of pure pleasure on his face. 

The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and soft moans, a symphony of your growing desire. Jake's hands continued their exploration, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, dipping into the hollow of your belly button. You shivered, your skin erupting in goosebumps as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down, leaving you bare to his heated gaze. He didn't rush, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent conversation passing between you. 

Then, he lowered himself, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, his breath hot on your most intimate place. You whimpered, your fingers gripping the sheets, your body tense with anticipation. Then, his mouth found your center, his tongue flicking out, tasting, teasing, driving you to the brink of madness.

To be honest, Jake had no idea what he was doing. He didn't have any sexual experience and he was basing all of his movements off of pure desire and instinct. However, you weren’t any more experienced, so each gentle touch and careful caress felt absolutely perfect.

Your back arched off the bed as Jake's tongue delved deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place. You moaned, your fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He whimpered at the foreign taste, vibrating against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. "Jake," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, "Please..." Your plea was lost in a cry of ecstasy as he found that sensitive spot, his tongue circling, pressing, teasing. Your hips bucked, your body yearning for more, for him. 

He responded, one hand sliding up your body, cupping your breast, his thumb rubbing against your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

As your body trembled on the edge of release, Jake slowed his movements, his tongue tracing languid patterns, his hand gentling its touch. You gasped, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held on for dear life. 

The room filled with the sounds of your pleasure, your moans echoing off the walls, a symphony of your growing arousal. Jake's exploring hands, gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his mouth continuing its relentless assault.

Your breath hitched as you felt a finger slip inside you, then another, your body stretching to accommodate him. He curved them slightly, hitting that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in your head. 

His hands, those clever, gentle hands, held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away, not that you wanted to. Every stroke, every lick, every suck was a testament to his patience, his control, and his unwavering desire to make you feel. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responded with another groan, the vibration against your sensitive flesh pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the coil tightening in your core, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Jake," you whispered, his name a plea on your lips. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his mouth glistening with your essence. It was one of the most erotic sights you'd ever seen, and it sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. "I need you," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He crawled up your body, his hands trailing fire in their wake, his erection pressing against your thigh. You could see the restraint in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, and it fueled your desire. You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him, feeling him pulse in your grip. He groaned, his head falling to your shoulder, his hips moving in time with your strokes. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "I don’t have a condom with me."

"I don't care," you breathed out urgently. "I need you right now Jake."

And with that, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his briefs down just low enough, and positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to take you to new heights of pleasure.

Jake's breath hitched as you guided him, your thumb circling the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of moisture that had gathered there. He watched you through hooded eyes, his pupils dilating with every pass of your thumb, as he slipped it in.

You gasped as Jake slowly pushed into you, his thickness stretching you deliciously. His eyes never left yours, the connection deepening with every inch he claimed. You felt a sense of vulnerability, but also an intense intimacy, like he was seeing into the very core of your being. He paused, allowing you to adjust, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. 

He began to move, slowly, torturously, a delicious friction building with each inch. You could feel every ridge, every pulse, as he filled you. He groaned, his hands finding yours, intertwining them together as he pinned them above your head. "Jake," you moaned, your body arching into his pleasure building like a storm. He captured your mouth, his tongue mimicking the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips, and in that moment, you knew this was more than just physical. This was the slow burn, the tension filled dance, the promise of a love story just beginning.

Then suddenly with no warning, his hips were snapping forward as he sheathed himself fully within you. A moan escaped your lips, your back arching, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Jake's glasses fogged up, a testament to his exertion, as he continued to drive into you, his movements becoming jerky, his control fraying.

He was a sight to behold, his usually neat hair now a rumpled mess, his cheeks flushed, and his lips swollen from your kisses. The sight of him, so vulnerable and yet so powerful, sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. You reached up, tracing the bridge of his nose, the cool metal of his glasses contrasting with the heat of his skin. They began to wobble, trembling with the force of his thrusts. He lifted a shaky hand toward his face, about to slip the glasses off, until you reached out and steadied them. "Keep them on," you whispered.

He nodded obediently, his hand falling back to your sides as he continued to ram into you.

He let out another whimper, his hips stuttering as he tried to hold back. "Fuck," he whined, his forehead leaning against yours. “It feels too good.” He captured your mouth once more, his kiss demanding, and messy. You gasped, your body arching into his touch, your nails digging into his back. 

Jake threw his head back, his own release imminent. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. You could see the strain in his jaw, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he fought for control. Your hands, still tangled in his hair, gently guided his face to your neck, allowing him to nip and suck at your skin, leaving little marks of his possession. The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your bodies coming together, a symphony of desire that played just for the two of you.

You leaned forward, capturing one of his nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hardened peak. He let out a guttural groan, his pace faltering as he fought to maintain control. "Fuck, Y/n," he gasped, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you back to his mouth. "I'm going to... I'm going to come."

You could feel him swelling inside you, his body tensing as he struggled to hold back. But you wanted him to let go, to give in to the pleasure. "Come, Jake," you whispered against his lips, "I want to feel you."

With a final, shuddering thrust, he did, his body convulsing as he spilled into you, his cries of pleasure filling the room. 

He let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he spilled into you. You felt each hot pulse, your body milking him for every last drop. Your own orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed, your fingers digging into his back. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein, as he jerked inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his body spent, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and frantic, matching your own. His glasses were askew, one lens filled with steam, the other reflecting the soft glow of the room.

As the echoes of your shared release faded, Jake collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reached up to push his glasses back up his nose. He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice still ragged from your previous lovemaking.

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, not just from the physical pleasure, but from the emotional connection that was growing between you. 

This was more than just sex, more than just a casual encounter. This was the beginning of something deeper, something real. And as you leaned in to kiss him, you knew that this was just the start of a journey that promised to be filled with passion, love, and a lifetime of exploration.

-

Jake sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his messy hair, still looking dazed from everything that had happened. Mark, sprawled out lazily on Jake’s desk chair, tossed a small rubber ball into the air and caught it with a loud slap.

“So…” Mark started, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You finally slept with her.”

Jake groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Dude, don't say it like that.”

Mark laughed. “What? I’m just saying! Took you long enough. But seriously,” his tone shifted, dropping the teasing, “you have to tell her.”

Jake stayed quiet, his hands still pressed into his face.

“Jake,” Mark said more firmly, leaning forward, “you have to tell her.”

“I know,” Jake muttered through his hands, voice muffled but heavy with guilt.

Mark leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “So what’s stopping you? You’re literally Spider-Man. You’re, like, the coolest guy ever.”

Jake lifted his head and gave Mark a hollow look. “Exactly.”

Mark frowned, confused.

Jake sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I’m scared, man. I’m scared that once she knows it’s me under the mask... she’ll think I'm just... not as cool. That she won’t see Spider-Man as this hero anymore and me as... some loser who lied to her.”

Mark scoffed. “You’re not a loser. You’re Jake. You’re the guy she likes. Not the mask. Not the suit.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and raw. “It’s not just that. It’s the lying. I’ve been lying to her from the start. Every kiss, every late night conversation. She trusted Spider-Man... not Jake.”

The ball Mark had been tossing dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He stood up, seriousness written all over his face now. “You can’t keep this secret, man. It’s been what, more than a month since you first went to her window? Since you first kissed her?”

Jake swallowed hard.

Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not protecting her by hiding the truth anymore. You’re just protecting yourself.”

Jake knew he was right. Deep down, he’d known for a while. But hearing it out loud made his chest tighten painfully.

He had to tell you. No matter how scared he was. No matter what it would cost him.

You deserved the truth.

That’s why Jake found himself back here, dressed head to toe in his suit, lurking in the shadows outside your window once again. He had to tell you. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

He shifted nervously on the rooftop, his heart pounding harder than it ever did during any fight. Finally, he moved to your window, raising a gloved hand to tap softly against the glass.

You were just about to settle into bed when you heard it, that familiar, soft tap.

Your heart stopped. You didn’t even have to look. You already knew who it was.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in place, a million emotions crashing down on you at once. Betrayal. Confusion. Anger. But... also a terrible, aching kind of relief. And as much as you hated to admit it, you missed him.

Gathering the courage you didn’t know you had, you moved toward the window, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out and unlocked it. Slowly, you pushed it open, and there he was. Spider-Man. Crouched just beyond the frame, the city lights outlining him in silver and gold.

He started to speak, voice hesitant. "Y/n—"

But you cut him off sharply, unable to hold it in anymore. "You don’t get to just show up here like nothing happened," you said, your voice tight with hurt. "You left. You left without saying anything. I waited for you. Every night, I waited, wondering if you were okay, if you were ever coming back. But you never did."

Jake flinched under the mask. Every word hit him like a gut punch. He opened his mouth again, desperate to explain, but then you said something that made his words catch in his throat.

"But..." you continued, your voice shaking slightly, "I can't wait for you anymore."

He stared at you, not daring to move.

"I started seeing someone," you said, barely above a whisper. "He's... he's really great. He cares about me. He makes me happy. And... I really, really like him."

"Oh yeah?" he rasped. "What's his name?"

You hesitated, as if saying it out loud made it all real.

 "Jake," you said quietly. "Jake Sim.”

As much as your words were meant to sting, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. Even without knowing the full truth, you were choosing Jake, ending whatever you had with Spider-Man for him. For him, even though they were one and the same.

The silence that followed was so heavy, so absolute, it was almost unbearable.

You took a shaky breath and continued, "I'm starting to get somewhere with him. It feels real. It feels good. So I'm sorry, but... you can't come to my window anymore. We can't... we can't talk anymore."

There was a long beat of silence and you were about to close your window and go back inside.

Then, without saying a word, Jake lifted his hand to the sides of his mask. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched, frozen, as he slowly peeled it off.

And when he did... Your jaw dropped.

It was Jake. Jake Sim.

The boy who used to pass you in the halls, quiet and reserved. The boy who rarely looked anyone in the eye. The boy who made love to you so passionately.

He was Spider-Man. He was the one who had been at your window all those nights. He was the one you kissed under the city stars.

The room spun a little as you tried to process it all, your heart thundering in your chest, your mind screaming with disbelief.

Jake just stood there, holding the mask in his hands, his expression open, raw, and painfully vulnerable.

He was scared. Scared of how you would look at him now. Scared that you wouldn’t look at him at all.

He opened his mouth, voice rough with emotion. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve told you sooner."

You blinked at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried, and failed, to find words. Your mind was a complete blur. Spider-Man. Jake. They were the same person.

How? How had you not seen it? You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to breathe, trying to think through the whirlwind of feelings crashing into you all at once.

All those strange little things you'd noticed but brushed off at the time, they came rushing back to you, loud and clear.

The way being with Jake had always felt familiar, even when you barely knew him. The way his voice had this soft, distinct tone that you had heard before but couldn’t quite place.

Or that day when you had caught Jake sporting the same exact wound you had patched up on Spider-Man when the night before. You had chalked it up to coincidence. You hadn’t let yourself question it. But now? Now it all clicked into place with dizzying clarity.

Jake saw the confusion written all over your face. His shoulders sagged, and he gave a small, broken laugh. "I know," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I get it. I get why you're freaking out. And... I know I never should’ve made a move on you first as Spider-Man. I should’ve just... just been honest and done it as Jake." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling. "The whole situation was just so complicated, and I didn’t know what to do. I was scared that if I told you the truth, you’d see me differently. Or worse, you’d want him—" he gestured vaguely to the suit, "—and not me."

You stayed silent, heart breaking a little at the way he looked so small, so ashamed.

"I get it if you don’t think I’m cool anymore," he said quietly, avoiding your eyes. "I know I’m not. Without the suit, I'm just... me. I'm not that fearless or confident guy you thought you knew. I’m just Jake. And if you don't like me anymore because of that, I understand."

You finally found your voice, hoarse but certain. "Jake..." He glanced up at you, guarded, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

"No," you said firmly, taking a step closer to him. "Of course not. I’m obviously shocked because—God—this is so much to take in. But this doesn’t make me like you any less."

You saw the disbelief flicker in his eyes.

"You're still you," you said, voice softening. "The guy who’s kind and funny and awkward and... honestly, way cooler than you think you are. The suit doesn't change that. It never did."

Jake stared at you like he didn’t dare believe it, his hands still clutching the mask at his side, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You moved even closer, until you were right in front of him. And then, without thinking too hard about it, you reached out and gently took his free hand in yours.

"You’re Jake," you said again, your voice breaking just a little. "And that’s all I ever really wanted."

Jake looked at you like you had just pulled him out of a storm he thought he’d drown in. Like he couldn't believe someone would still choose him, him, even after seeing the truth. His eyebrows knitted together, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice small, almost scared.

You nodded without hesitation, your hand tightening around his. "Of course I’m sure."

For a moment, he just stared at you, eyes wide and glassy like he was memorizing every detail of your face. Then, without warning, he surged forward and kissed you. Hard, desperate, almost clumsy with how badly he needed it. You met him halfway, your fingers curling into the fabric of his suit, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.

Every emotion you had tried to make sense of, fear, anger, confusion, relief, love, poured out into that kiss. You kissed him like you were telling him he was enough. You kissed him like you were telling yourself that this was real.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you slightly breathless, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His voice was low and serious when he spoke next, almost a whisper meant only for you.

"I need you to know," he said, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles on your skin, "being in a relationship with me... it’s gonna be a lot more complicated than a normal one. I mean, obviously I’ve never been in one before, but —" he gave a small, nervous laugh, "— I can assume." 

You smiled, your heart so full it almost hurt.

"I won’t have a lot of time for you at night," Jake continued, his brows furrowing like he hated even admitting it. "You know, Spider-Man stuff. And... you can’t tell anyone. About me. About this."

You reached up, placing your hand over his, squeezing it. "Jake," you said softly but firmly, "I don’t care what it takes. I want to be with you. I want you."

He closed his eyes for a second, like he was holding onto your words, like they were something he never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear. And then he kissed you again. Slower, deeper, more certain. It was the kind of kiss that made your whole body hum with happiness, the kind of kiss that made all the confusion and hurt fade away.

When you finally pulled away, you couldn't help but laugh a little, shaking your head as the absurdity of everything hit you.

"I just can’t believe I had sex with Spider-Man," you said with a teasing smirk.

Jake's face flushed bright red as he groaned and buried his face against your shoulder in embarrassment. "Don’t say it like that," he mumbled, voice muffled.

You burst out laughing, the kind of breathless, giddy laughter that you only had when you were truly, stupidly happy. Jake started laughing too, his arms wrapping tighter around you like he couldn't believe you were real.

For a while, you just stayed there, tangled up together by your window, holding each other as the city buzzed quietly below. No masks. No secrets. Just Jake and you.

And it was enough.

-

Things with Jake were good. Really good. Your parents loved him. Your mom would always gush about how polite he was, and your dad had already invited him to watch a game together. His parents were just as warm, treating you like you had always been a part of their lives.

Of course, you didn’t get to see him a whole lot, especially at night. But you didn’t mind. You learned to love the little moments you guys shared. A stolen lunch between classes, quick texts during the day, and your favorite of all: sneaking a goodnight kiss at your window before he whipped away into the night.

Dating Spider-Man was amazing in its own way. The secrecy, the hidden smiles, the little inside jokes no one else could ever guess. It only added to the thrill.

It wasn't exactly the most normal relationship, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.