#with messy hair and adorable clumsiness

[arainmorn-art]

Just binged the whole thing

Omigosh. "My Adventures with Superman" was super ADORABLE.

Never understood the apeal of a 100% Lawful Good overpowered invincible protagonist before, but now I do. I haven't even watched anything Superman-related before. Clark is such a good boy. A gentle giant struggling with his non-human strength, he went to the chess club to minimize any chances he would hurt anyone by accident. A shy polite clumsy and nerdy good boy from a good loving family wanting to protect other people and a nice girl he loves. Oh gosh, can I keep him?

The way he's animated, the detailes of his whole body language, gosh, animators did wonders with Clark's character. I adore the first part of the show before the drama, because cheeses, I haven't seen such a cute romance progression in a long time, when they both obviously like each other and they also can see it in each other. Loved it! Giggled through their romance like a schoolgirl.

I liked Lois, how both tomboyish and very feminine she is. This was so friggin' refreshing to see an energetic independant girl who is also sweet, soft, vulnerable and contradicting herself, not girlbossing relatability and feelings the hell out of any interaction these characters might have. In one moment I was displeased with her decisions, when she was hurt that Clark didn't tell her he was a Superman and told him there won't be any relationship between them because of that, it was a big "COME ON" for me, but I liked that actualy it was a product of a very girly tangled way of thinking, "You lied to me! Does it mean you were pretending to have feelings for me too?!" while crying. Yes. Yes, thank you, it was a very brief moment, but as a regular girl I felt itXD I love when emotional girls are depicted rightly: saying one thing, implying another, thinking the third, crying inside and outside how hurt she is on several levels over an idiot who hasn't thought about her feelings properly. Great stuff, approve wholeheartedly. Maybe the battle against brick-faced toxic masculinity in a female wig, oh, excuse me, Holliwood feminist never-wrong-doing girlbosses will be won someday with smart writing and kind-hearted life observations. We have a great soldier here. She also reminded me a lot of Roxana from Megamind, and I loved that girl a lot.

I'm also surprised how there were little to no of Twitter SJW-ness. Very nice. I also joked on the phone with my friend, that it felt very ironic, how there are more female villains (haven't count, but it seems like that), than male, and those angry bitches are fighting against the sweetest himbo on Earth, who is saving kittens, infants and grannies all day long. I don't think it was intentional, but in a current climate of English-speaking media - very nice.

Pacing wise, hm, with a purely comedic first part a really fast pacing was great, but on the second half with drama... eh. It felt very rushed. Also, well, as I don't know the lore behind Superman deeper than it is dispersed in the current pop-culture, I was confused with his alien origin, as it felt a lot like Invincible. I thought the whole schtick of Invincible was about, you know, the main twist, buuuuuuuuuut what's about Superman? I know it's kinda backwards to first watch Invincible then watch anything about Superman, but I had a big deja vu. Maybe I'll read some wiki about Clark, I was hella confused.

Overall great show, loved it. The strange, um, mad genius gay couple was something I wasn't expecting to laugh at so much today. And admiring anime Superman. Wow.

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart)

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

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

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

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

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

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

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really need to stop noticing these things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand freezes midair.

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

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

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

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

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

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

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

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

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

"Exactly."

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

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin gives him a look.

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

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

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

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

"But that was BEFORE—"

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

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

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

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait, why do I have to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Noona!"

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

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

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

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

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, this kid.

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

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

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

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

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungkook."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't answer.

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's when it hits you.

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

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not!"

"You are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

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

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

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

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

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

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

Totally not unhinged.

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

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

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

Yank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

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

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

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

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

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

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

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

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

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

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

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

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

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

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

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

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

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

"I—"

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

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

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

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

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

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

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

Oh god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Since... right now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

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

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

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

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

Or—

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

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

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

The dam breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

"You are."

"I'm not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches. "But—"

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

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

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

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

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

And then the door clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[miedei]

lol I imagine spencer picking reader up after her first girl's night with the BAU ladies and he's all 'why did you let her get so drunk' but he's so in loveeeeee will let her climb him like a koala and take her home and take off her makeup for her bc she'd forget </3333

omgg anon you read my mind!!

1k, you're drunk and love spencer (he loves you too)

mystery girl!au

He shows up to the bar, calling you, but in your drunken stupor you seem to be struggling to pick up the phone. Elle, much more sober than the others, guides him over to the booth that you've crammed yourselves into. JJ and Garcia are leaned on your shoulders from either side, voices overlapping as they speak incoherently. Spencer can't help but chuckle at the complete 180 your expression makes, however.

Before you catch sight of him, you're frowning down at your phone, your jabbing finger missing the buttons every time you try. Nodding absently at whatever's being said around you, you can't tear your eyes away from it, your knitted brows making affection swell up in Spencer's heart.

But when you do see him?? It's like the clouds have parted. Your eyes light up, straightening up in your seat as you wave happily, not caring that you're jostling JJ and Garcia as you do.

"Spence! You're here! I was trying- trying to call you but," You frown again, "my phone is being weird." The frown can't stay for long, though, as you climb haphazardly over JJ's lap in order to stand in front of Spencer, lauching yourself at him with a giggle.

He can barely keep his balance, widening his stance a little before running a hand up and down your back with an indulgent smile.

"How much have you had, angel?" He stares pointedly at Elle as he speaks to you, who raises her palms in a repentant gesture. You mutter something into his shirt, words muffled as you don't seem willing to take your face out of his chest just yet.

"What was that?" "I dunno, Spence. Can we kiss?"

He flushes, and no matter how drunk they are, JJ and Garcia can always pick up on an instance where they can tease him. They giggle behind their hands, unsubtly whispering about how they've got to tell Morgan about this. Spencer can't bring himself to care, though, not when he's got you in his arms, your chin propped up against his chest as you look up at him pleadingly.

He can't help himself, bending down painfully at the neck to plant a kiss on your lips.

After making sure Elle is alright shepherding the other two home, he sweeps you out of the bar, bundling you up in his cardigan before putting you in the passenger seat of his tiny car. He's not a huge driver, so he has less of his attention on you than he'd like, but you don't seem to notice, chattering away mindlessly in the passenger seat about how the music was sooo good tonight and your friends are so cool spence i might steal them (you have).

Once you make it back to your apartment complex, he half-drags you into the lobby before giving up and hoisting you onto his back piggy-back style. It's surprisingly effective, not only to get you moving faster, but the sight of his brown hair right in front of your face shuts you up real quick.

He doesn't really realise why until he catches a glimpse of you in the elevator mirror, and the view of your eyes trained fixedly on his hair, clumsy hands trying to be gentle as you braid some of it, has his eyes practically turning into hearts.

Once he finally gets the two of you into the apartment, he makes sure you're holding on tight as he undoes your strappy shoes, placing them in the shoe rack overflowing with mismatched pairs. After toeing off his converse with nowhere near as much care, he maneuvers the two of you into the bathroom, depositing you on the bathroom counter. You whine softly at the loss of his hair in your hands, but his tolerant smile has you melting, looking up at him with a dopey smile.

Your adoration nearly has you forgetting to process what he's doing. He's darting around the messy bathroom, grabbing bottle after bottle until his arms are full.

"Spence, what are you doing?" The drinks have clouded your processing skills, and all you want to do his hold him and go to sleep.

He shoots you a small smile, depositing the stuff on the counter next to you before approaching you, cotton pad in hand.

"I've gotta take off your makeup, you know you'll feel uncomfortable tomorrow if you go to sleep with it on," Your eyes are glassy, looking up at him as he swipes at your face with the utmost of care. All the emotions that you harbour for him seem to bubble up inside you, until you can't take it any more.

If you were more lucid, you'd write him a poem. Maybe organise a fireworks show, or buy him a star. But, you're still held in the throes of alcohol, so it's all you can do to blurt out: "You're so so pretty Spence, I love you."

Despite the gesture not being nearly as extravagant as he deserves, blood rushes to his face, and he ducks his head a little as he kisses your forehead wordlessly. He continues to wipe at your face, much gentler than you would, revelling in the feeling of your soft skin under his hand, calloused from his gun.

Finally, once he's done, he helps you out of your dress, handing you one of your pyjama pants and a shirt of his to wear to bed.

As soon as you're dressed, looking achingly cozy perched on the counter, hair mussed and clothes draping over your form, he helps you down to your feet with hands firmly on your waist. He wraps his arms around you from behind, waddling the two of you to the bedroom and tucking you into the covers.

At long last, he slides into bed next to you, giving you some space in case you're overheating still. You can't have that, though, and shuffle along the mattress until you're tucked into his side. Falling asleep almost instantly, you push your head into the crook of his neck, and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering into the darkness,

"I love you too"

[matchamiko]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Daydreams about Yuuji

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Oral (m -> receiving): sloppy, messy oral; masturbation: dirty talk; AFAB reader (use of girl, girlfriend,); established new relationship; mentions of oral (f -> receiving).

Daydreaming about giving Yuuji his first blowjob. Being his cute, soft, bundle-of-fun girlfriend for a few months before asking him if he wants to fuck your mouth, a little crudely in your tone but quietly, a whisper from your quivering lips. Quivering only in anticipation and the mere thought of him spread out, spilling down your throat. You’re painting your nails on a book on the floor, polish bottles positioned carefully so they don’t tip. A glass of iced yuzu tea sits next to Yuuji’s on the side table, forgotten in your concentration and forgotten in your distraction.

Your nails are long dry now, a pretty pearl that glimmers in the light. They’re fisted on your folded thighs, clenching and cracking when Yuuji shifts uncomfortably under the heat of your gaze.

“You wanna - what?” Golden thighs fog any semblance of sobriety you have left, craving the warm supple skin before you like a wolf to prey. He’s reclined on the foldaway couch he’d thrifted from the side of the road, gym shorts pulled tight over the very tops of his thighs and over his crotch. Staring down at you with sweat beading his hairline and his lower lip dropped open at your sultry admission,

“Please? Should I have said please first?” You shuffle towards him, not touching but so desperately obvious in your lust that Yuuji struggles on where to look, “please can I suck your cock? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

You two hadn’t had sex yet, not that it hadn’t come close. Something had always interrupted, whether it was a noisy neighbour or an irritating friend or mentor, or even the cat that roams your apartment as if it was his own. Kissing him was a dream, touching him made you too hot for your own skin and only he had made you come so far, fingers deep and a little clumsy but deft and strong in their wringing of your orgasm(s) on steamy summer’s afternoons tangled up on the couch.

So asking him for favours wasn’t really out of the question. Yuuji adored it when you politely asked for a kiss, positively beams at you before swallowing your radiating embarrassment with his lips. He’s not beaming now, not in the same way.

He’s - sweating. Squirming as he nods with a dry throat, swallowing and grinding his mouth shut. You’re picture perfect between his thighs, pearly nails digging welts into his muscle and humming at the give of the blonde hairs there. He’s afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth, some kind of animalistic whimper or a loud sob? He feels rather pathetic before you, but gloriously so, bent to your will and your pretty painted nails.

“Bet you taste so good Yuuji,” you simper, lips picking out the moles and freckles leading up to his groin, “might give me some kinda oral fixation,”

Yuuji moans then, out-loud and deep from his chest. You grin wolfishly, fingers deft as they slip over the sweat resistant material of his shorts and up under his t-shirt. It’s tight, a little musty from drying in the bathroom and it gives way for the trail over his belly,

“Hold this f’me Yuuji,” broad hands hover over the edge of his shirt and then over you, biting his lip and then biting the fabric, “Mhm, thank you for letting me do this, been wanting to taste your cock for ages,”

“Yea-sh,” his voice is crackled and muffled by his shirt, spittle damping it but you’re pulling down the band of his shorts and suddenly it’s a little too real, hands raising to pause you, “Baby wait - I -,”

Anything he was going to say dies in a guttural grunt as you envelope the top of his weepy cock in your mouth. Hands that were intended to push you away grab you closer, cradling your throat and squeezing your shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you hum, one hand squeezing the base and the other squeezing his thigh, eyes rolling into the back of your head with the salty, bitter taste of him. Little sucks and kisses have Yuuji barely containing his groans and choked whines, hips flexing beneath you. The shirt has fallen to just below his pecs, belly tightening and flexing with every kick of his cock against your soft palate, but you don’t mind because he’s still trying to keep it out of your sloppy, drooly way, fisting the fabric and giving you a peak of a soft brown nipple, hard and aching.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please please please,” he babbles, the hand on your neck moving to the back of your head, shaking as he follows your bobbing movements. His dick is thick, long and warm in the cavern of your mouth, the mushroom tip pink and slimy with pre, and you swallow every drop a little over enthusiastically. Humming and moaning and whimpering, you’re practically dripping through your underwear, positive you’ve wet through to the carpet.

And when you breathe in through your nose and take him as far as you can, the tip of your nose just shy of his pubes; the two of you practically lose your minds. Yuuji trembles above you, hunched over and incoherent; and you shimmy your thighs together in a squeeze of relief, drool coating the base of his cock and tears skimming your lashes.

“Y-you’re so hot baby look at ya’,” he can see the way you’re wiggling your hips, craning over you with sleepy eyes and heavy pants, “why - why don’t you play with your pretty pussy? Seein’ as you’re practically milking me dry,” Yuuji’s words come out slurred and muffled, as if his mouth were socked with cotton. A large hand comes down on the back of your neck, sweetly holding you and a stark contrast to the way his cock jerks in the tunnel of your throat as you deftly skim your fingers into your shorts. 

The angle is all wrong and you can barely feel the hard bud of your clit but you can feel the pearly arousal that sloshes around your underwear, loud but not loud enough over the slurps and kisses over his cock. You make it work, squirming and widening your knees a little but it still isn’t really enough, not that it mattered because he’s enough, Yuuji is always enough to get you off whether he’s touching you or not. And the heavy head of his cock popping from the seal of your lips is just that right kind of salacious that has your mind fuzzy and dizzy with lust. 

“Ah - fuck!” Yuuji chokes on his spit, throwing himself back against the folded futon that serves as the padding of the couch, one arm slumped over his eyes as you focus your attention on the root of his cock, looking up at him through your lashes and fluttering them when your index finger catches on your clit. His breathing comes out in heaving huffs, chest expanding gloriously above you and abs flexing with every clench of his belly. It’s heaven to you, a vision you always knew would be one to keep locked away in the deepest caverns of your mind, something precious and treasured and so disgustingly debauched. You slow your ministrations for a moment, content with just watching the reactions your boyfriend has when you twist your hand, squeeze a little harder, suckle at the vein on the side of his dick. Yuuji seems to appreciate the little break, catching his breath and adjusting his hips, jutting his length into your cheek and it’s amusing that such a kind boy doesn’t even apologise for it. 

“D’you want me to make you cum? Or - do you wanna fuck my mouth?” a long, drawn out groan answers you and you return it with a long lick right up the thickening root of him, 

“I - get to choose?” Yuuji’s voice is hoarse, cracked and strained from his addictive noises, deep with lust and something a little darker, “Really?” 

At your nod, you delve back into the leaking warmth of him. Yuuji gives a strangled grunt and gives his hips a little experimental thrust, pulsing upwards into the deeper depths of your throat. He seems torn between letting you do as you pleased, and giving in to his most debauched fantasies. He’d been given oral before, blowies or whatever his friends called them but they were nothing like you, none of them paid attention to his every reaction and noise, none of them gave him any choice or option on what he wanted to do. So to have you licking him deep and soft and all things sweet, eyes open and questioning with little bias; he’s all a fluster. 

“You - you can do it, I want you to make me cum baby,” the words were supposed to be gentle, coaxing, all the things Yuuji wished he was to you but his jaw is set and his voice is more of a growl, especially when he spots your tongue lathing over the base, leaving a trail and a string of drool. He tips his head back, bottom lip tugged into his mouth and his thighs drop open further, 

“But make sure you don’t stop playing with that pretty pussy, want you to feel just as good as me,” a whimper answers him and Yuuji isn’t sure if he’ll actually last as long as he thought he would, as he conveyed through his words. And he definitely isn’t sure because you abandon his cock in favour of his balls for a moment, and he’s suddenly all tight in his belly. You’re still squeezing and jerking and flexing your fingers around him, but your wet little tongue is skimming over the soft skin of his sac and drawing them into your mouth with the most wanton moan he think he’s ever heard. You’re visibly more aroused than before, wrist working diligently in your underwear, stretched tight and a much darker colour than earlier, but Yuuji can’t focus on your pleasure right now, for once, for the first time in your relationship. All he can think about is himself and how good it feels to have his pretty girl absolutely worshipping his cock, and he doesn’t care that you’re getting sloppy in your clouded lust; you’re back to sucking him feverently and whining around the thick of him. 

“Gonna - baby you’re gonna make me c -,” His admission has you shuffling even closer, abandoning your poor, suffering cunt and slapping a gooey, sticky hand on his thigh to brace yourself. 

And it's the wet little smear you leave behind, webbing between your fingers and joining the pre dripping down his cock as you hold him with both hands that has him positively howling your name. Hips pulse into your face, forcing his cock deeper as it swells down your throat and shoots hot, wet and salty into your belly. A hand comes down to his hip, the other fisting the shirt over his chest and catching on his nipple with a startled yelp. You’re strong in your restraint, letting him thrash and writhe beneath you, keeping yourself rooted in his lap and swallowing everything you can, shivering at the taste and the feeling of his cock kicking and twitching with every pulse of his orgasm. 

“I gotta - you gotta get off baby,” you don’t realise that he’s come down, don’t realise that he’s still twitching but with overstimulation and softening against the limp muscle of your tongue, “I can’t, I can’t do another yet, m’sorry but -,” Yuuji, through the jelly-like jitter of his limbs, heaves you off the floor and into his lap with a grunt, “That was the best head anyone’s ever given me,”

You’re shy all of a sudden, as if you’re not still swallowing the remains of his spend and sporting the slickest arousal you’ve ever experienced. Yuuji kisses your nose with an appreciative smile, 

“Really? I just wanted to do it y’know? You make me wanna suck your cock all the time, s’just something about you,” you tuck your chin into your chest, almost giving in to the little kisses he pecks all over your face, stopping at your temple and deflating with a sigh at your admission, 

“You’re cute baby,” his cock twitches from where it’s nestled between his stomach and your cotton covered crotch, “But a meanie, I swear you’ll be the death of me, thought I was gonna black out at one point,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” your fingers twist into the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sagging into him and kissing him with a deflated breath. Yuuji licks into your mouth lazily, hands squeezing up the length of your waist and back down again, urging your hips into a soft grind. You’re still sat up on your knees, so all you can feel is the syrupy chafe of your underwear over your cunt and you huff, 

“S’okay pretty girl, I got you,” Yuuji smiles at your apparent distress, “You want me to return the favour huh? Let you fuck my mouth instead? That what you want?” his long, thick fingers trickle into your underwear, choking at the slick he finds there, slipping and sliding over the swell of your clit, “Fuck - you got so fuckin’ worked up, bet you won’t last long, not as long as me,”

“Just, I don’t know - Yuuji, please,” a little circle of your hips puts his fingers where you need them most, “Do something or I’m gonna cry,” he shushes you, kissing you again with a loud smack, 

“I got you baby, gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, I promise,” Yuuji physically flinches when he pulls his hand from between your thighs, covered nearly to the wrist with your arousal and he inhales deep, dark, nostrils flaring at your scent. His tongue drops between his fingers, slurping up to the knuckles and down to the callouses on his palms, eyes fluttering and reopening to stare at you, “You taste insane - fuck - ‘m gonna eat you so fucking good, you’re not gonna know what hit you,”

all rights reserved © matchamiko. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[frmisnow]

total loser. ⊹₊⟡ nsfw.

summary. crashing a party just to unwind? yeah, that was the plan — until you end up sharing a smoke with the lead singer of that metal band. turns out the ‘playboy sex god’ image? total myth. awkward, tipsy, and apparently… a virgin?! this night just got interesting !

warnings / includes. all fictional ofc, smoking, drinking, suggestive themes, soft!dom reader

damned be after parties.

but long live your connections and well.. pretty face, that's what gets you in one of these special parties, pretty privilige is alive and breathing!

for the fact that this was an after party of a last tour show for one of the biggest metal bands right now, you'd imagine it to be a lot more expensive. these red plastic cups just don't cut it, and whose idea was it to squeeze so many people into one little room? that's the charm of the metal industry, i guess.

apropos charm of the metal industry?

you'd think somebody put something in your drink, the way you see the jungkook in front of your eyes right now? leaned up against a wall, nursing what looked like his fourth shot, hair messy like he just got of stage.

one of his bandmates stumbles past, slapping him on the back, and jungkook nearly loses his balance. He mutters something, barely audible over the music, brows drawn together in this adorable mix of annoyance and confusion. his eyes trail over the room before ultimately settling back onto the man in front of him, patting his back, a cigarette pack in his hand.

you made your way through the people, way to much sweat and way to close might i add, did you look obssesive? maybe. but the cold night air sounded heavenly and you could use a good smoke. plus, you'd rather come of as a groupie then get suffocated on the dance floor.

with each step, you felt the chaos of the party fade a little more. the fresh air hit your face like a slap, and you welcomed it, relishing the brief moment of solitude. But you weren’t the only one seeking a breather.

jungkook pushed off the wall, nearly colliding with you as you stepped outside. the cold night air was a relief, sharp and refreshing, cutting through the haze of noise and sweat. he fumbled with the cigarette pack, almost dropping it as he tried to shake one out, his fingers clumsy from the alcohol.

"need a light?” you offered, pulling your lighter from your pocket.

he met your gaze, a hint of gratitude in those dark eyes, before quickly looking anywhere else but you, “thanks. I usually don’t smoke, but—” he paused, taking a deep drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “i guess i just get… scared. so, i drink. and then i drink some more and then i start smoking, it's a bad habit.”

silence fell over the both of you, you didn't decide to pry since that'd just be rude. even though there were quite a few thoughts in your head. why was he scared? rather, who was he scared of?

after a while (and plenty of drags), jungkooks voice cut through the carefully established silence, small and quiet, a mumbling-like tone that made him seem tipsy, "i don't know i just want to feel something.." he trails off, shaking his head, clearly oversharing, "i mean no, i feel something when i'm on stage i just-"

he took a breath, taking another drag before ultimately stupping it out with his shoe, giving him another oppurtunity to not stare at you, "would you have sex with me?"

the next thing you knew, you were standing outside jungkook’s apartment, the door slightly ajar, a hesitant light spilling into the hallway. you weren't proud of it, but you also didn't have time to really think it through? teaching a hot rockstar virgin how to have sex? that sounds ai-generated and it was simply something you couldn't pass up on.

he fumbled with the keys, his fingers still shaky from the drinks or maybe that was just him, you'd seen his feet tap onto the floor multiple times throught the uber and his eyes never quite seemed to settle. maybe he was just a naturally anxious person, that's the impression he gave of.

the place was small but cozy, with a faint scent of lingering smoke and rock posters plastered across the walls, giving it an oddly inviting charm.

"i think you're really pretty." he managed to hold eye contact this time around, though he was clearly fidgety.

you smiled, genuinely, a rush of flush going straight to your cheeks, fuck weren't you supposed to be the compsoed one? yet he was so sweet in a way. "flattery won't get you anywhere but it's a nice start."

he grinned, walking ahead of you intot he kitchen, the small amount of alcohol he had in his system making him lose some balance in his step but he quickly recomposed himself, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer then last time, "would you like some water?"

you don't think you've ever had anybody ask you if you wanted to drink water during a hookup, but you welcome the thought. see? so sweet, how would you even teach him sex?

"sure." you respond, shrugging, as he pours some in, "can i kiss you?"

he nods, the water in the glass swirling in small circles as he takes a step closer towards you—he's so close you can feel his breath on your skin, each one of his exhales and inhales—his eyes on you, "yeah."

his tone is quiet, but firm and his free hand slowly reaches to your waist, "can i touch you?"

you hush a 'yeah', closing the gap between the both of you, pulling your shirt of yourself.

as he grasped the lace of your bra, he hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. you guided his hands, gently tugging him on, the material falling away effortlessly.

"oh.." he gasped, like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, eyes taking a quick glance on the now exposed skin in front of him—all of the tension he was carrying in his shoulders quickly disappearing.

he put the glass down on the nearest surface, "sit on the couch." he mumbled, breath shaky as he gently pushed you back.

"woah commanding now?" you raised your eyebrows, genuine surprise written over your face though you grin, walking down the hallway, sitting down.

"i'm a quick learner." he muttered, his eyes on you as he followed behind, quickly making his way on the couch, sitting incredibly close to you. he leaned forward, his body hovering over yours before he quickly put his mouth on your neck, leaving small kisses on the skin.

you encouraged him, tugging him closer, your fingers weaving into his hair as he found his rhythm. with every kiss, he grew bolder, his hands exploring the curves of your body like he was savoring something sweet.

you pulled him down with you, laughter escaping your lips as he stumbled slightly, catching himself with a grin.

“okay, maybe I’m not a pro at this,” he said, his cheeks slightly flushed. You smirked, enjoying his awkward charm.

you guided his hands, showing him how to touch, how to tease. the couch squeaked under you as you shifted positions, getting more comfortable. his kisses became more confident, more demanding, each one igniting a fire within you.

as his clothes started to come off, the atmosphere became charged. You watched as his eyes widened, a mix of surprise and desire flooding his expression. he was eager, and you were more than willing to lead the way.

you tangled your fingers with his, showing him what felt good, how to respond to your body. he mirrored your movements, following your lead, the shy, awkward dweeb from earlier replaced by someone more daring. you sucessfully managed to change a rockstar; that'd look good on a resume.

[machveil]

ok ok so we all know and love loser!könig...BUT CONSIDER loser!könig x loser!reader!!!!

like, reader is equally as touch-starved and nervous and clumsy but also so, so needy...you know??? flusters so easily...and yet also has the FILTHIEST mind.

idk just pathetic man + equally as pathetic reader 😵‍💫💕

Loser!König flustering over you silently resting against him. it doesn’t matter if you seek him out to tuck against his side, lay down on him, or straddle his thighs - all König can do is thickly swallow and awkwardly rest his hands against you. he does adore you nervously settling against him, he’ll just never get used to the way you make his heart pound. he loves how you awkwardly ask him to cuddle, avoiding his gaze by looking down, “Ah— ja, come here, Liebchen.”. he’d never turn you away, a small bit of guilt in his chest because he’s doing it more for himself than you

Loser!König that takes a deep breath before walking up to the cashier to order for you both. even though he feels his skin crawl when he stumbles over your orders, König would rather embarrass himself than let you fumble over your order. he’d rather order take out and have it delivered, but when you’re both out and hungry he’d take that social interaction bullet for you… he comes crawling back to you, flushed and hot in the face. it’d calm his nerves if you held his hand, Schatz :(

Loser!König unintentionally making you flustered. while König has no charisma when purposely trying to flirt with you, he has such cute ways of making your heart twist with love. when he fumbles a pickup line he’ll gently hold his own hands, weakly tugging at his fingers while he apologizes for sounding cringy - but you like the way his voice gets a little whiny when he nervously chuckles afterwards. he’ll excitedly come up to you, hands wildly gesturing while he tries to convey something cool he learned. he gets so close to you, too close. he’s nearly chest to… face with you, looking down at you with wide, blue eyes and a lopsided smile

CW: cockwarming, overstimulation (König!receiving)

Loser!König loves how needy you are, his sweet Liebling falling apart before anything even happens. what he didn’t expect, but comes to love immediately, is how desperate you are for him. he’s been touch-starved his whole life, he didn’t think anyone would understand the feeling. well, how wrong he was, behind closed doors when you’re pawing at him and asking him to touch you he’s absolutely delighted

Loser!König that worries about crushing you - well, hurting you in general. he tends to get a little lost in the moment, all sloppy kisses and mindless rutting. maybe that’s why he lets you crawl onto his lap to go at your own pace. he’s got his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, biting down a little too hard as he watches you. you’ve got König laying down in bed, he had been reading a book before you shyly came up to him. how was he supposed to resist you when you quietly asked if you could sit together

sitting together led to being on his lap, being on his lap led to you grinding against him. before Loser!König knew it you had his sweatpants and boxers tugged down, arms around his shoulders as you pressed your face against his neck. he can’t help but groan when you tell him you’ve been wanting him all day - that he looked so good wearing nothing special, hair messy and unkempt. maybe, just maybe, that’s how König ended up with you cockwarming him for the past couple minutes

Loser!König is just as desperate as you are though, a pathetic little whine leaving his mouth when he involuntarily bucks his hips up, face beet red when you moan and mouth at his neck. and then he whines, eyes fluttering shut when you ask him to be good for you, that you’ll make him feel good if he lets you rock against him until you can’t anymore. his hands are twisting against the sheets, legs twitchy when you pull an orgasm from him, “Bein’ good f’me, König—”. he can’t stop the tears lining his waterline from spilling, salty streaks running down his cheeks when you keep riding him. it’s too much, but he wouldn’t have it any other way - he’s all yours to use, Liebling

[trulyumai]

sweet wine and messy lips

pairing: emperor geta / empress! reader

synopsis: in which geta and his wife get drunk. even clumsy and lost in a stupor, the emperor still tries to adore you in his own way.

warnings: geta talking down to people, grabbing.

a/n: im re-entering my heimdall phase (gow2) so be on the lookout for that and I apologize in advance for another hyper fixation taking me over completely

enjoy!

your hand nudged the goblet towards geta, tipping it ever so slowly to his lips until a bright maroon dusted across the pink expansion.

“try it— you’ll like it my liege I swear it!”

Geta only scoffed, his cheeks red with drunken clumsiness.

“get that away from me, wife. I’d rather drink poison than to sip on such a disgrace of wine.”

you pouted instantly, already drunk yourself, the sweet wine wafted off your figure like a cheap oil. “pretty please, husband? it’s got all the flavors you like,”

listing them off slowly, your other hand began its decent up his arm and finding passage massaging his shoulder. Geta, ever soft for your hands couldn’t help but relax in such a comforting hold.

“cherries, a hint of cinnamon—“

gods you smelled divine.

so sweet, so alluring to the man that he could sweep you off your feet right then and there.

“did I say grapes? it has honey too, just the right amount—

“wife,” the emperor shuddered. your fingernails found their way up his chest, lightly circling and smoothing their way across it as you were lost in thought, too busy naming of ingredients instead of paying attention to the now flustered lord.

“wife!” Geta interrupted, seizing your moving hand with his own ringed one.

fearing you did something wrong, your posture instantly froze; rigid and stiff.

‘calmly, you fool.’ Geta’s thoughts rang out, his grip lightened and with a feathery touch made its way to the jawline just in front of him.

clenched and tightened with stressful thinking.

“I… apologize, little wife,” he finally gritted out. you were so beautiful tonight. it’s as if the stars molded across your eyes and lit up the expansion of your pupils with untold dreams and conquests.

He wanted to drown in them.

“im tired, hm?”

your lip wobbled before a look of surprise took over the reddened and messy features you displayed.

“of course, my emperor! how could I be so silly?”

getting up off the man’s lap, you felt a tug upon the material of your robe.

it was light, but firm enough for you to turn your neck back around with a slow uneasiness and to the emperor once more.

he laid comfortably against the seat, sagging into it while his legs spread with enough of a widened expansion for your body to mold into.

his arm, the one that wasn’t connected to your delicate robes— sat against the ginger hairs littering his head, with his fingers pushed against the pale temple, making his upper body lean to the side.

he looked relaxed. happy, one might say.

“you will return with me, won’t you, wife?” although it sounded like a question, you knew it wasn’t.

even in your drunken state, the man’s stature—his temper is a trait you won’t easily forget.

so instead of having one more glass, like you had intentions of doing, you nodded in agreement.

it’s all geta needed to hear, or rather, see before clumsily gathering himself out of the throne.

instantly, the party goers raised, bowing their head completely before the man could demand them of it.

usually, the emperor would make a show of this. mumble on about how well trained they are, how obedient.

“their more like animals,” he would scoff, laughing vehemently while tugging you along. possessive fingers grazing your waist with the cool feeling of the rings brushing against any revealing skin.

such a touch brought you back to the present, cold and calculated against the backside of your dress.

following your husbands bounding steps, you avoided the looks that were thrown your way. it wasn’t wise to get drunk in front of so many people, you knew it wasn’t.

but geta had insisted.

“we’re winning the war, dearest.” he had all but giggled, pouring heaps of wine into your (once) empty goblet.

“I ordered it special for you, drink up before Caracalla gets to it, hm?”

you had peered into the drink with newfound interest. a little smile entered your face and pushed against your cheeks. such a sight almost made the emperor flustered—he’d blame it on the wine, most definitely.

it was indeed a light red, the color of the sweet wine you always loved to sip on. upon closer inspection, the smell made its way up and into your senses.

what was a few drinks? you had thought. And with a quick note of appreciation to your husband, the goblet had graced your lips.

who knew it would bring you here, barely holding yourself up against geta as you both made way for the chambers?

his left palm spread out easily against your back. with a firm hold he took lead, guiding you through the stone walls and to the bed that was calling his name.

his other hand braced against the rough wall to the side—just in case he needed to push against it.

“husband?” he heard you call out, with a low drawled out hum, geta responded.

“thank you for the wine.” your sweet voice spoke so low.. so softly against the muffled laughter and voices that spilled out of the throne room.

his fingers came up to the back of your neck, seizing it with a loving grip before his lips crashed upon the top of your head.

he had aimed for your cheek, but this will do.

“anything for you, lovely.” geta purred against the softened locks, already his arms snuck their way under your buttocks, groping and touching the flesh there.

the guards had to move a bit behind, just beside the corner of the wall to avoid any further groping and kissing that was being displayed.

it was turning out to be a sweet night indeed.

[86espresso]

obsessed jack mature [1k]

hitting you with all the ‘w’ questions whenever you get up from your spot and leave his side cold and empty.

“where are you going?”

“bathroom”

“why?”

“because? I need- to go-” pointing down there to emphasize

“when will you be back?”

he’s putting his face in the crook of your neck too often in front of audiences, mumbling about how much he loves you.

of course, your face burns with the amounts of affection he throws at you and you reciprocate because who doesn’t want a man thats wholly dedicated to them.

he can’t help but buy whatever you set your eyes on a little too long.

he’s always bending down to strap and unstrap your shoes.

always drinks from his second favorite mug- his favorite goes to you. you never thought it was weird, you would do the same for him if you had a favorite or second favorite something.

always keeping his hand in your back pocket while wandering through a crowd. his brothers and friends give him shit because you def walk him like a dog.

calling you in the middle of girls night, rutting his sweatpants against your bed and rasping out that he needs you. waiting for you to get home and punish him for ‘ruining’ your plans knowing full well that, to you, there’s no pleasure greater than watching your boyfriend fall apart in your hands.

him pointing at you after every goal he scores as if you did it.

carries you up all and every stairs because he can. no one bats an eye at your antics anymore because you were basically best friends that spend way too much time with each-other.

treats you like a princess / fucks you like a whore type guy. (need)

up awake wondering what you’re doing while he’s on roadies. he’s usually less bright during these because you aren’t there to greet him after good or bad games.

roadies are hard for you too, because jack spoils your so much that you forget basic things like opening doors for yourself and carrying in the groceries. you’re more on the clumsy side, so jack isn’t there to save you when you take a tumble and break your wrist. he’s on the first flight back home and goes straight to you in the ER, pale and flushed with worry even after you reassure him that you’re okay. he steps around you carefully for a few days after that, making sure you have everything you need.

it’s embarrassing how co-dependent you both are, but it’s another point that solidifies that you’re in it for the long run.

literally gets lost in your kisses. pulls you closer and closer til he cant and tilts his head to get better angles at drowning in you. loves the way your cup his face during the soft ones and melts every time you sigh in between them. loves how perfectly your lips slot against his. you love his adorable giggles when you’re smacking your stained lips all over his face.

would pass up a night with the boys in a heartbeat if you even hinted that you wanted him to stay.

knows you’re cold all the time so uses that as an excuse to remain attached to you as much as he can.

takes his baseball cap off his head and puts it on yours whenever he sees you.

never misses any of your important events. he always puts emphasis on how your career is as important as his.

posts you on his insta in obvious and subtle ways. sometimes it’s you entirely, other times it’s your shoulder in the corner of the picture, just barely showing the ‘86’ tattoo there. twitter went crazy when he posted pictures of you in your wag jacket right before the playoffs. one picture of your back turned, showing his name, and another with your front where the jacket is open and you’re wearing shades and a black tube top.

“you’re so pretty” and you’re in a fucked out state with your hair clinging to your face and neck, breathing erratic.

knows exactly what type of sex you want and when, and never fails to deliver. sometimes it’s fun and messy, teeth clashing, laughing when his head hits the wall. sometimes it’s hot and rough, edging you to tears and not holding back. sometimes the roles are reversed. sometimes he’s slow with you and takes his time showing your body love.

makes sure that his gifts to you are more thoughtful than expensive because he knows that thats what you prefer.

is absolutely terrified of tattoos but gets one for you anyway.

he would live between your tits forever if he could.

you can’t help the way your uterus explodes when he holds quinn’s son in his hands. he’s just so tiny in Jack’s arms and you would jump him then and there if there wasn’t a quietly sobbing quinn on your shoulder and his passed out wife beside you.

sends you pictures of different things from the store, wanting to buy what you prefer.

never takes off the necklace you gifted him.

you’re more of a hygiene-freak and he’s more of a neat-freak so he leaves the cleaning to you and you leave the laundry to him.

there’s so much unspoken love between you two, physical touch and acts of service are as important as the words you say to each other.

you put a hand to your heart whenever he catches your eyes during a game, so he knows that he has your full support no matter what.

you love nothing more than wrapping your hand around his throat while teasing him other than him doing the same to you.

wears your perfume and leaves your lipstick stains on his neck as they are.

watches you do everyday things with the most lovesick expressions, he’s actually obsessed.

like, people would make fun of him being so enamored by you but he would wear it like a crown.

[hsnlv]

cookie confession | l.hs

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: when you come home to heeseung baking cookies, it seems like a sweet surprise—until his overly affectionate behavior sets off alarm bells. as you dig deeper, his guilty confession leads to a whirlwind of burnt cookies, broken blushers, and hilariously clumsy apologies.

warnings/others: fluff!, mention of hamster’s death (gasp! tragic!), heeseung is clumsy but he’s cute so he’s forgiven!

wc: 1.6k

a/n: hello! it warms my heart knowing that adorably mine! receives a lot of love from people. so heres another hee fic for you <3 and feel free to check out my page and read my other creations (the old ones are cringe ew so pls dont read those😵‍💫) here’s my masterlist!

you unlock the door to your apartment, the faint scent of something sweet wafting through the air. it greets you the moment you step inside, and you furrow your brows, slipping off your shoes. the aroma is enticing—warm, sugary, and a little… burnt?

you head toward the kitchen, your bag sliding off your shoulder, and there he is. lee heeseung, standing in the middle of the chaos he’s somehow created.

the counter is dusted in flour, bowls and utensils scattered around, chocolate chips spilled everywhere. heeseung himself looks like a disaster: hair slightly messy, an apron tied around his waist, and a smudge of flour on his cheek.

his head snaps up when he hears you, and a wide grin spreads across his face. “baby, you’re home!”

his voice is so soft, so warm, and the way his eyes light up makes your heart flutter.

“what’s going on in here?” you ask, setting your bag down on a chair. you glance at the oven, where a faint trail of smoke seeps out from the edges.

“i’m baking cookies for you,” he announces proudly, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “because my girlfriend is the most amazing, beautiful, smart person in the whole world, and she deserves cookies.”

you blink up at him, confused but also charmed. his voice is sweet, dripping with sincerity, but something about the way he’s acting doesn’t sit right.

“cookies, huh?” you murmur, tilting your head as you eye him suspiciously.

he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “only the best for you.”

his words are perfect—almost too perfect. and that’s when it clicks.

“heeseung,” you say slowly, watching him tense slightly, “what did you do this time?”

he pulls back, blinking at you, a picture of innocence. “huh? i’m just baking cookies for my beautiful girlfriend. what do you mean, ‘what did i do’?”

you narrow your eyes. you know this heeseung. the overly sweet, doting heeseung who only acts this way when he’s done something he’s trying to cover up. you’ve seen it before.

like the time he accidentally bathed your hamster.

<flashback>

“hee, where’s mochi?” you asked, setting down the hamster cage that you had been cleaning in the other room.

heeseung’s eyes darted toward the bathroom door, and you immediately felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“heeseung,” you said slowly, your voice laced with suspicion, “what are you doing?”

“nothing!” he yelped, his tone way too defensive for it to actually mean nothing.

you stormed toward the bathroom, pushing the door open to find… mochi. soaking wet. sitting in the sink.

“heeseung!” you shrieked. “why is mochi in the sink?!”

“he smelled weird!” heeseung cried, his voice high-pitched and panicked. “i thought i could, you know, help him out—”

“you’re not supposed to BATHE hamsters!” you cut him off, your hands flying to your head in disbelief.

“how was i supposed to know that?!”

you glared at him, watching as mochi blinked at you both, looking utterly done with life.

you sighed heavily, scooping the little hamster out of the sink and carefully drying him off.

later that week, mochi passed away—not because of the bath (though you’ll never let heeseung live it down), but simply because he was old and fragile.

and of course, heeseung cried at least twice as much as you did, apologizing to mochi’s empty cage every time he passed by it for the next month.

<end of flashback>

you shake your head at the memory, eyeing heeseung as he fidgets under your gaze.

“lee heeseung,” you say again, your voice firm this time, “what did you do?”

his lips part as if to respond, but he hesitates, his hand lifting to scratch the back of his neck. “nothing, baby, i swear. just… just focus on the cookies, okay? you’ll love them, promise.”

“hee,” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “what. did. you. do.”

he sighs, defeated, and gives you a sheepish smile. “okay, okay, i might’ve broken something.”

your stomach drops. “you what?”

“it was an accident!” he rushes to explain, holding up his hands defensively. “i didn’t mean to—i was trying to clean our room and my elbow—” he stops, cringing.

“what did you break, heeseung?” you ask, dread creeping into your voice.

“your… blusher,” he admits quietly, wincing as he says it.

“you broke my what?!”

he winces again, his voice small. “your blusher. the one in the little pink compact.”

“heeseung!” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

heeseung flinches, his hands coming together in front of him like he’s praying for mercy. “i know, i know, and i’m really, really sorry. but it wasn’t on purpose, baby! it just… fell! and then it kind of… exploded.”

“exploded?” you echo, staring at him incredulously.

he gestures helplessly toward the trash can. “it’s everywhere, and trust me, i tried to salvage it, but it’s just… gone. like, really gone.”

“which one was it?”

“it says ‘charlotte’ something,”

“lee heeseung, what the fuck?! my charlotte tilbury blusher?” you’re screaming at this point. heeseung just stands there, blinking innocently, his lips in a pout.

you sigh deeply, shaking your head. “heeseung, that was a limited-edition shade! i can’t even replace it!”

he winces at the word limited-edition, looking like a scolded puppy. “i’ll buy you a new one,” he offers quickly, stepping closer to you. “any shade you want. even if it costs a fortune.”

you cross your arms, glaring up at him. “you bet you will.”

“please don’t be mad,” he pleads, wrapping his arms around you. “i’ll make it up to you, i promise. i’ll even get you two blushers—one for everyday use and one as a backup!”

you huff, turning your head away from him. “you’re lucky you’re cute, lee heeseung.”

he grins, sensing the tiniest crack in your armor. “cute enough to make you forgive me?”

“no.”

“adorable enough to make you consider forgiving me?” he tries, his voice light and teasing as he nuzzles his nose into your neck.

“don’t push it,” you mumble, though you’re already fighting a smile.

“what if i let you eat the cookies first?” he offers, pulling back to look at you with big, hopeful eyes. “the ones i baked with all my love.”

you glance toward the oven, where the faint smell of something burnt still lingers. “hee, those cookies are probably inedible.”

he gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “how dare you doubt my skills?!”

“heeseung, you burned instant noodles last week.”

“that was one time!”

“and the spaghetti before that.”

“okay, fine,” he concedes with a sheepish grin. “but at least let me try to make it up to you. we can go shopping tomorrow, and you can pick whatever makeup you want. blushers, lipsticks, foundation, the whole works.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re just saying that because you feel guilty.”

“absolutely,” he says without hesitation, pulling you into another hug. “but I also mean it. because i love you, and you deserve everything.”

you roll your eyes, though your heart softens at his words.

“fine,” you mutter, resting your forehead against his chest. “but i’m still mad about the blusher.”

“understood,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “i’m officially on probation.”

“and you’re cleaning the kitchen,” you add, glancing at the flour-coated counter.

he groans dramatically. “you drive a hard bargain, babe.”

“consider it payback for mochi,” you say with a smirk.

heeseung freezes, his expression comically guilty. “you’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“never,” you reply, stepping out of his embrace and grabbing a cookie from the tray he set on the counter. it’s slightly misshapen and more than a little burnt, but you take a bite anyway.

it’s terrible.

but as heeseung watches you with a hopeful, lopsided grin, you can’t help but think it’s a little perfect, just like him.

[blueblossomrose]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SATORU GOJO! 🎂

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Content: Fluffy, Gojo is a dad, female reader, is implied that reader is younger than Gojo,

Notes: December 7 was Gojo's birthday and I wanted to give my man a present 😩 but I was uninspired 😐 really nice, so, belated happy birthday, Gojo! 💗

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

It was almost three-fifteen in the morning.

The soft light from the bedside lamp in the room barely illuminated the room. The low, rhythmic sound of the baby monitor, a muffled noise at first, soon became impossible to ignore for Satoru, who woke up with a frustrated groan.

He was lying in bed, where he had fallen asleep wearing only a crumpled t-shirt and sweatpants. A messy strand of his white hair fell over his eyes as he sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.

"That brat is going to kill me one of these days…" he muttered softly, his sleep-hoarse voice full of sarcasm but with a hint of genuine exhaustion.

[Name], who was lying on the right side, was also awakened from her sleep by the noise of the baby monitor. She was about to get up to go to the baby's room, but Satoru stopped her.

"Let me…"

"Are you sure?" She said, soft and worried.

"Yes, I can handle it. Go back to sleep,” he replied, giving a tired half-smile, before getting up from the bed.

He stood up with slow and somewhat clumsy steps as he walked down the dark hallway of the house to the baby’s room.

Little Kazuya was standing in his crib, holding onto the bars with his tiny fingers, his big, sleepy eyes looking straight at the door. His white hair, which he had inherited from Satoru, was all messy, and his red little face indicated that he had probably been crying for a while.

“Huh? What now?” Satoru grumbled, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably when he saw the innocent and curious look on the baby’s face.

As he approached, the boy stretched out his arms in an automatic gesture, a silent plea that Satoru could not ignore. He leaned over and picked the little one up, feeling the warmth of the trembling little body against his chest. The baby let out a soft sob, the crying finally subsiding now that he was in his father’s arms.

"Do you know what time it is?" Satoru whispered. "Three in the morning, young man. Do you have any idea how important your old man's sleep is?"

Kazuya, of course, didn't answer. Instead, he let out an adorable yawn and rested his head on Satoru's shoulder, causing the sorcerer to let out a long, resigned sigh.

"Tsk, that's what happens when you have my genetics... you can't even sleep like a normal child."

As he murmured, his tone was softer now. Satoru began to rock the baby with slow, rhythmic movements, walking in circles around the room. He ran his free hand gently over his son's back, feeling him slowly relax. Silence returned, except for the distant sound of the city sleeping outside and Kazuya's increasingly slow breathing.

Satoru looked down at the sleeping face of the baby, who was now fast asleep in his lap. The constant arrogance disappeared, replaced by a tender gaze.

"I don't know how you did it, brat... but it seems like you're starting to soften me up," he whispered, before carefully placing Kazuya back in his crib. He straightened up and stood there for a moment, watching his son sleep. A part of Satoru wondered how he, someone so used to living on the edge between strength and pride, now found himself surrendered to such a fragile and small creature.

"This world doesn't deserve you."

Walking back into the room, he saw [Name] there. She was half-awake, her face illuminated by the dim light of the lamp, her expression soft and restless.

Satoru looked at her and sighed. He lay down on the bed next to her. They stared at each other in silence for a while, before she spoke. "Did he fall asleep?"

"Yes." He mumbled. "After making me spin around with him for 7 minutes."

[Name] laughed softly. "I consider that pretty quick for his sleeping patterns."

"Oh, sure..." Satoru rolled his eyes, but soon smiled when he heard her laugh.

It wasn't just the sound itself, but the fact that she was more comfortable, more at ease than when he had known her. When their paths had crossed, [Name] had been as shy and reserved as a flower before spring. The memory of her back then — her eyes always downcast, her fear of speaking her mind — still haunted him. But there, in the dim light of the night, as she smiled softly with a light humor, he saw how much she had changed. And, perhaps, how much he had changed too.

"Tomorrow is your birthday," [Name] says, her eyes fixed on his, a warm expression lighting up her face.

"Hm? Oh, yes," Satoru answers absently, as if he had forgotten, but the slight glint in his blue eyes indicated otherwise.

"I want to make you a cake."

"A cake, huh? What flavor?" he asked, arching an eyebrow curiously, his tone slightly playful.

"It's a secret! The flavor will be a surprise."

Satoru tilted his head with a mocking smile. "If it was supposed to be a surprise, there would be no need to even talk about the cake, right?"

[Name] laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, as she did whenever she tried to be discreet. "Satoru, you are a silly!"

Satoru. The sound of his own name did something strange inside him. Not in a bad way — quite the opposite. It had been a while since anyone had called him that, by his first name, and the feeling remained funny, almost unsettling, like a distant memory of the intimacy he was no longer used to having.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had called him Satoru so naturally, without reverence, without fear or weight. It was strange. But it was good.

When he was at home, with [Name] and his son, he wasn't the strongest jujutsu sorcerer Satoru Gojo. He was just Satoru. Just Satoru.

That small realization made him smile softly, without notice it. When [Name] noticed, she laughed again, for no apparent reason, just because the lightness of the moment seemed contagious. Satoru accompanied her laughter with a muffled sound, almost a laugh, but low, careful not to wake little Kazuya in the next room.

He looked up at the ceiling, his body relaxing further against the mattress. Satoru lightly squeezed her hand, still intertwined with his.

He didn't need to be the strongest one. He didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

The house returned to silence. The only sound was the calm rhythm of their breathing. When he finally closed his eyes, still holding her hand, Satoru felt that, for the first time in a long time, he was not alone in the world.

And that was enough.

[raven-cincaide]

A Little More Than Twenty Minutes 

Summary: Woken up by your commotion in the bathroom, Megumi assumed you had just gotten your period and was prepared to act like a grown man by starting laundry and getting breakfast up. What he didn’t expect was to find something that would shake his entire world upside down while making him act like a literal man-child. In his defence, he just needed a little more than twenty minutes to make a life-altering decision..

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Megumi Fushiguro (aged up) Prompt: Back to the basics → 6. Rash decisions  Warnings: Cursing, established relationship, Themes concerning female reproduction (period etc). 

You were not as discreet as you thought you were. Like a baby elephant, you stirred Megumi awake with the commotion you caused in the bathroom: a curse, a smash, something clattered against the floor, followed by another curse and a low ‘duns’ of skin against the tiles. As you dropped something again and prayed you hadn’t disturbed his sleep, Megumi’s annoyance shifted towards adoration. 

No, stealth was never really your forte. But he would be lying if he said he hated it. It made his apartment feel alive, chased away the darkness of solitude and transformed the four walls into a home.

Groaning under his breath, Megumi turned onto his side, eyes sliding shut. It was some godforsaken hour- the sun barely rolled over the horizon, and he deemed it too early to roll out of bed. Too early even for him. Just as he was about to doze off again, he heard the click of the bathroom lock, followed by the hinges’ loud groan. Fuck, he had forgotten to oil them yesterday. Again. He heard you push the door open as wide as it would go, the handle hiding the wall behind in obvious frustration, and he breathed out a little deeper. That one was on him. 

He promised himself he would oil it the first thing after getting up. 

Megumi expected to feel the bed dip and have you back securely in his arms for another hour; two, could you persuade him to skip breakfast with his team and just meet them directly on the training grounds? 

Instead, he heard the ruffling of clothes. Instantly, Megumi frowned. You were off duty today; yesterday’s late-night mission filled your quota for the week. You had no plans to be social, let alone get out of bed before noon. 

Then, a lightbulb moment struck him; was it your time of the month again? 

Hearing you grab your keys before quietly slipping out of the front door, Megumi let out an audible groan. He counted to ten in his head, then sat up. His body ached in protest, and his eyes blinked lazily, trying to chase away the reminisce of sleep. Running a hand through his messy hair, he willed his body to move out of bed. If it was your period, the least he could do was throw the sheets in the washer and start on breakfast—small things to make your shitty day a little easier.

Boxers on bedding off, he headed to the bathroom with a loud yawn. Two steps to the right, he shoved the well-used sheets into the washer. Detergent in; then softener. Goddamn it, he always had to spill some on his hands. Pinkie out, he twisted the knob awkwardly, pressed a button, another button, ‘confirm’, and the sound of water filled the bathroom. Smirking in triumph over the minor victory of not making a complete mess everywhere, Megumi turned towards the sink and began washing his hands. His thought was already on the next thing; a much-needed piss, then tackling the ever-daunting question; what to cook for breakfast?

Undoubtedly,–Bacon and eggs were easy, but they’d likely get cold by the time you got back and settled to eat; full Japanese took too long. Maybe pancakes to satisfy your sweet– “What the?” During the first spin cycle, Megumi’s eyes landed on an unfamiliar, long white object shaken out from underneath the washer. Undoubtedly, it was one of the things you had dropped and forgotten all about. 

“Clumsy”, he sighed, leaned down to grab the back of the white and blue plastic stick, and pulled it out and up towards the sink. Then he froze, his sleepy mind catching up and realising what he was actually holding. A plastic stick, white on one end, blue on the other, and a tiny screen in the middle. Minus for not pregnant, plus for pregnant. Two lines, although faint, were still two lines. 

Positive. Pregnant. 

Megumi’s body froze; his mind raced. Undoubtedly, you left for another pregnancy test, not tampon. Shit. The closest 7/Eleven was ten minutes away. But he doubted you’d go there in case one of your classmates was working the graveyard shift. The last thing you needed was for rumours to spread before you both had come to terms with the news. It wasn’t like Yuji could keep his trap shut, and Nobara would be on you both like a hawk. No, knowing you, you’d head down to the more anonymous one by the train station. So about fifteen minutes until you got back, twenty if there was a queue or you took the test in their bathroom. 

Twenty minutes to decide how to act. Within twenty minutes, he would either shower you with affection or take you to the abortion clinic. Twenty fucking minutes to choose between becoming a dad or becoming the same deadbeat his father was. But he wasn’t the kind, nurturing type, and how was Megumi even supposed to know, learn and become all that a kid needed amidst his busy schedule? In between protecting people, becoming a great sorcerer, classes and all that? Did he even have the time and money for that? But this could be yours- and his- only chance, a little voice spoke up in his mind. There was no knowing which mission would finally take his life- or yours for that matter- would either of you be okay with missing your possibly-only chance at a family?

A feeling of dread pooled in his stomach; what if he warmed up to one option, got his hopes up, and then you’d be dead set on the opposite? What if he had misread you, and you had already gone to the clinic alone? What if you had already aborted the child, taking the matter- and the choice- right out of his hands? What if—

Megum’s fist made contact with the bathroom tiles. The pain shooting through his arm did little to calm his racing mind, but at least he wasn’t spiralling completely anymore. Grasping on the edges of reality and the situation in front of him, his tactical mind came to the bitter realization that he didn’t have enough time. No, twenty minutes was far too little for him to make a life-altering decision. And he hated that the answer wasn’t obvious to him, that it wasn’t like in the movies where it was an obvious ‘yes’ keep or ‘no’ abort. Instead, it was much more complicated and required him to consider and reconsider every single aspect of himself, his priorities and ultimately you: what he wanted out of a relationship with you, a not-so-serious couple that would surely break up in a few years for greener pastures, or a wife- a lifetime partner?

Megumi hated himself as he spun on his heel out of the bathroom, forgetting all about needing a piss, the earlier thoughts of laundry or even the screeching bathroom door. Haphazardly, he threw on his uniform, stuffing the test into his pocket like a guilty thief. Mismatched socks, then shoes. He grabbed his keys, forgetting to lock the door, and rushed down the stairs, two at a time. Desperate to leave before you caught him in his messy glory and read right through him. He couldn’t afford that, not when his thoughts were this dishevelled. 

Megumi knew it was cowardly to run away from his problems. He promised up and down that he would come back and deal with it all like an adult, like a man. He just needed a little more than twenty minutes to come to a decision..

Author note:For someone who always acts cold, calculating, aloof and a little angry but also extremely mature and independent,  and who I expected doesn’t give a rats ass about periods by treating them as something ‘natural’ I wanted to try and write something that showed a more.. childish side of Megumi. A side where he gets so wrapped up in his mind to the point he stops thinking altogether. And what better way to show that than with a pregnancy scare? A cheap trick, I know. But still, I hope it was worth the read.

And for those of you who recognize this, yes, it’s a repost from months ago. But I still like this fic and I am sure most of my new followers haven’t seen it. So with that, I hope you enjoyed. 

~ Raven 

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All fics are unique works by ©raven-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[chocsra]

✧ STORMBRINGER CHUUYA AS YOUR GUY BSF IS .... (pt. 2)

✧ w/c: 588 ✧ content: drabbles & headcanons of cute things with stormbringer! chuuya

☆ a shocked yet distasteful groan pulling from his throat when you show him a picture of a celebrity you find cute, grumbling about how your taste in men sucks ass. you didn't think he was jealous, just shocked at the creature he was looking at. though sometimes, you barely graze the envy on his face when you actually interact with another boy; especially if he's your type, because chuuya knows. still, he brushes your friendly smile with stupidity—because the dude you're talking with 'isn't even all that.'

☆ like having an annoyed caretaker, always keeping an eye out for you, rebuking your recklessness. just appalled that you have this much carelessness for your life on a day to day basis. but even though he'd scold you gently for anything stupid or clumsy you pull, you'd always find a gloved hand reaching out to you, providing support. either when you've stumbled, or you're about to jump off a ledge from even the smallest of heights.

☆ falling face first into the ground whilst trying to fight off one of the port mafia's powerful enemies because your shoelaces were untied. humilated, you found yourself sitting on a bench as chuuya unashamedly scolds you for your rookie mistake. knelt down as he still ties your shoes. "do you double knot your laces?" he'll ask, if you already said yes, the boy would finish one shoe with a tight squeeze, before gently patting your ankle to lace the other one, "well you better start triple knottin' em!"

☆ late night calls about the silliest things. chuuya would have his camera on in his pajamas, either mindlessly fiddling with his guitar, doing some chores, or cooking simply out of boredom. he'd rant about his day, the jewel marketing circulation, this crazy fuck named 'dazai', how much he admires his superior—kouyou, and his friends which call themselves 'the flags'. in return, you can tell him all the school gossip you've picked up on, new music you caught onto, your rants in your notes app.

☆ exchanging knowing side glances at each other when someone's being annoying or a dumb fuck. it's the kind of look two sassy girls would stare at each other with a secret disdain for the person in front of them.

☆ chuuya keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you and him only. at first, it was extra incase he lost his own hair tie, but soon, if you ever needed one, he always keeps extra on his wrist so you wouldn't have messy hair flying everywhere.

☆ taking unwanted photos of chuuya while he chases after you to delete them. sometimes, it'd be mid sneeze or the boy yawning carelessly. he definitely cares once you've did a close up shot where he looks like the epitome of a ginger leprechaun. he'd (try to) snatch your phone and now gives you the stinkiest side eye when you even try to point your phone at him.

☆ unconsciously resting an arm behind your shoulders when you're both sitting side by side. for chuuya, it provides a comforting stretch for his arms, and it feels safer knowing that he can just manuver you if there was ever an unexpected attack. for you, the fact that he just does it so casually makes you a nervous wreck.

☆ believing wholeheartedly that he's human. afterall, you wouldn't feel this much adoration for a code of strings, no? you always internally chide him if he thinks otherwise, but as friends, you thought it's better to give him a comforting pat on the back.

✧ chocsra™

[faithfulren]

messy cooking

late at night in the 1-A dorm kitchen, izuku’s attempt to bake cookies turns into a chaotic mess. y/n steps in to help, and amidst playful flour fights and laughter, they bond over the imperfect but heartfelt moment, realizing they make the perfect team.

----

it’s past midnight, and the 1-A dorm’s shared kitchen smells like chaos.

y/n stands in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as they watch izuku fumble around the counters. he’s still in his hero training sweats, his hair even messier than usual, with a streak of flour across his cheek. pots, bowls, and random utensils are scattered everywhere, and a thin trail of sugar leads from the counter to the sink.

“izu..” y/n says, barely holding back a laugh, “what on earth are you doing?”

izuku spins around, wide-eyed and guilty. “i—i was trying to make cookies!” he stammers, clutching a whisk that looks like it’s seen better days. “i thought it would be a nice surprise for you, but, uh… things got a little out of hand.”

y/n steps closer, surveying the battlefield of ingredients. “a little?” they tease, picking up an empty carton of eggs and gesturing to the flour explosion on the counter. “this looks like a sugar monster sneezed in here.”

izuku scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “i thought it’d be easy, but i didn’t realize how fast everything happens. and then i forgot to preheat the oven, and, uh… i might’ve added salt instead of sugar at one point.”

y/n snorts, shaking their head as they grab an apron hanging nearby. “alright, chef midoriya. step aside. let me save this disaster.”

izuku blinks, his cheeks flushing. “you… you’re going to help me?”

“of course,” y/n says, pulling their hair back. “but only because you look like you’re about to cry over burnt cookie dough.”

together, they work to salvage the mess. izuku is surprisingly good at taking directions, though his clumsiness doesn’t exactly help. at one point, he accidentally flings a glob of dough onto y/n's cheek, earning a playful glare and a smear of flour across his nose in retaliation.

despite the chaos, laughter fills the room, and by the time the cookies come out of the oven, they’re leaning against the counter together, shoulders brushing and smiles lingering.

“these turned out pretty good,” y/n says, holding up a slightly misshapen cookie.

izuku takes a bite, his eyes lighting up. “they’re perfect,” he says earnestly, looking at y/n with that soft, adoring gaze that makes their heart skip a beat.

y/n grins, bumping their shoulder against his. “they’re messy, but they’re ours. just like this kitchen.”

he laughs, glancing at the disaster zone they’ll have to clean up. “yeah… i guess we make a good team.”

y/n rolls their eyes but leans in closer. “we always do, izu.”

[hemmingshouse]

the two of us / colby brock

summary: in which colby finally realises he wants to be the only man in your life after only being your friend for way too long.

warnings: swearing, sarcastic!colby, jealous!colby, alcohol, mentions of sex, semi choking?, clubbing, being drunk, ass grabbing, kissing / making out

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“if your heel snaps off once again i’m blaming it on your clumsiness instead of the alcohol this time.”

sam’s words made your head turn into his direction, eyes narrowing at the grinning boy as he exited the taxi right after you. you pretended to think of an answer, ticking your head to the side before sighing softly and sticking up your middle finger to flip him off as a small chuckle left your mouth.

as much as you hated to admit it, saturday nights combined with shots of strong liquor and going out in heels was never something you were good at. but since it was tara’s birthday you couldn’t stay behind, the raven haired girl claiming you had to look your best because she invited some of her old friends from college. ‘there might be one or two that would love to meet you’ was what she said when you asked you friend as to why she was so keen of you going out with her in the first place.

so here you were, making your way into the club after sighing softly and stacking your id back into your small shoulder purse. a staircase that was supposedly leading you to the actual club and bar made you groan a little, convincing you once more that the knee high heeled boots on your feet were not a good idea.

a large hand softly rested in the small of your back and you didn’t even have to check who was right next to you leading you up the staircase - his intoxicating cologne was enough for you to know colby was there to rescue you once again.

sending him a warm smile as the heat of his hand radiated through the thin material of your silky dress made your insides turn and turn your cheeks a slight shade of rosy blush. thank fuck it was dark in this club.

it had always been like this, ever since you got to know colby through your mutual friends tara and sam. the flirtatious comments, the small touches and the genuine warm smiles as you gazed into his eyes for a tad too long - you and colby had always felt at ease with one another.

one game of truth or drink once lead to him having you pinned against his bedroom door after on a livestream you answered who you wouldn’t mind kissing the shit out of. your honesty had lead you to believe that colby might’ve been feeling the same way after his mouth found yours and you made out for what felt like an eternity before sam was trying to find you for a game of beer pong and you and colby had never spoken about (or repeated) your actions after that.

it was times like these where your head was playing tricks on your heart and made you think that he still had a small amount of feelings for you somewhere within. that was up until he had a few drinks and shots and found a new girl to spend his time with.

“c’mon babes!” tara took your hand after colby had disappeared to get your group a few drinks, “luke is here and he wants to see you!”

tara, oh tara. she was a little devil in disguise sometimes. she was always trying to set you up with one of her friends and had even tried to make you and sam date before she was even aware sam felt like a non biological brother to you. it was nothing new and you always found it hilarious and adorable to see how happy tara was when she introduced you to your new potential flame.

especially after she found out colby let you down every time he brought a girl home. sure, he wasn’t aware of your slight feelings towards him but that didn’t mean it hurt less to see him surrounded by absolute babes.

“t,” you chuckled, “we have loads of ti-” you were cut off by tara tugging your hand a bit harder which you knew was a sign you needed to stop talking.

luke was gorgeous. the way his hair was messy, but still styled to a t. his white t-shirt clung to his torso in all the right places. warm and welcoming eyes looking down at you and a toothy grin curving his lips upward as he found out you were the one tara was yapping on about.

“oh,” you breathed, “hi. oh god.”

he chuckled at your words, extending his hand for you to shake so he was able to introduce himself. “hi y/n, i’ve heard a lot about you. i’m luke.”

his voice sent a good tingle down your spine, hand feeling warm against your palm as you shook his hand. “is this the part where i say i hope you only heard good things?”

luke shrugged his shoulders with a playful grin, “unless you wanna tell me about the bad things.”

in the meantime colby had made sure to get you your favourite mixed drink, his eyes trying to find yours as he looked around his group of friends.

tara took notice of this and she cleared her throat to get his attention. “y/n’s got a drink already, actually.” she pointed towards the corner of the club, where luke had just handed you your favourite drink.

tara absolutely knew what she was doing. she knew colby longer than you did and when she brought you into his life, tara was fully aware of the effect you had on him. colby obviously wouldn’t be colby if he wasn’t his flirtatious self, but the way he cared and looked out for you was something tara rarely saw when it came to colby and a girl.

colby followed her finger, blue eyes landing on you and the taller guy you were talking to. he licked his dry lips in the hope to cover how his mouth went extremely dry when he saw luke brush a piece of your hair behind your ear. “are you trying to set her up again?”

tara turned her head to meet colby’s eyes, an unreadable expression behind them. she asked him a question, already knowing the answer to it. “why? would that bother you?”

colby intently watched the pair in the corner of the club as he took a sip of his alcohol, trying to restain himself from downing the entire drink at once. he hated the way he felt when he saw you with other guys, and he didn’t know why.

fuck that, he knew exactly why.

colby always had a protective feeling over you ever since you two met multiple years back. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders when you were investigating with him and sam and something shook you to the core. he wiped off all your make-up after a night out because you were too drunk to do so and he hated how you felt waking up with that stuff on your face. he picked you up when a thunder storm was approaching and let you sleep in his bed, cuddled up to him because you couldn’t stand the loud cracks of thunder and lightning whirling around the silent house.

and somewhere along the way, when you started feeling secure and comfortable around him, he had caught some feelings for you as well. he didn’t wanted to own up to them because he knew how much your friendship meant to you (and him) and he was fucking terrified to lose you if he confessed how he was massively in love with you ever since he laid eyes on you when tara brought you along for the first time.

colby sighed deeply before he turned to meet tara’s gaze, narrowing his eyes at the dark haired girl. “you know what you’re doing,” he spoke up.

tara ticked her head to the side after she clinged her glass together with colby’s in a cheers. a grin danced on her face as she watched you and luke, “is it working?”

another sigh escaped colby’s lips before he downed the rest of the strong liquor in his glass, smashing it down onto the table the rest of the group sat around at. “it fucking is.”

tara’s mouth fell agape as colby confessed, not expecting the reaction he had just given her. she watched him make his way through the crowd of dancing bodies, nearing you and luke within a few seconds.

sam had stood up from where he was talking to jake, his eyes narrowing at the sight. “is colby finally doing something about his fucking feelings?”

tara nodded proudly, holding out her fist so sam could join her in a fistbump. “fucking finally.”

you chuckled at luke, nodding your head at something he had said. he was absolutely gorgeous but the way he behaved himself after only knowing you for around fifteen minutes made the hairs om your neck stand up straight. he was definitely not your type in any way, shape or form.

when you saw someone approach you two from the corner of your eye, you felt a relieved feeling take over your body. “oh my god,” you mumbled, genuinely happy as you looked into a pair of blue eyes. “hey colbs.”

colby’s body relaxed a bit when he noticed the uninterested look in your eyes after you looked from luke to him. he had made his way over to grab you by the arm and drag you through the crowd to make sure you knew the guy was an asshole, but when he noticed the distance between you and luke he knew enough. you were so not into this kid.

and so he decided he was in the mood to try something to make you tag along with him instead.

“hey babe,” he spoke up, biting the inside of his cheek to refrain himself from smirking too big, “i got you your drink, sorry it took so long.”

his eyes darted towards luke, who sat at the booth with a confused look painted across his face. he was too stunned to say anything as colby took your hand and pulled you from where you were seated onto the silk fabric of the couch.

you had no fucking clue what he was trying to do, but the amused look and smirk on colby’s face made you curious and genuinely excited for wherever the hell his plans were headed.

“oh that’s okay,” you chuckled slightly, smoothing out your short dress with your free hand before looking at him. “thank you, babe.”

the nickname fell from your lips before either of you could comprehend what you just said, a slight blush creeping up your neck. luke cleared his throat, standing up awkwardly from where he was sitting before. “shit bro, i thought she was single. apologies.”

colby inhaled a sharp breath as one of his hands rested itself on your waist, the silk of your dress feeling soft against his fingertips. he kept looking into your eyes to make sure whatever he was doing was fine by you, even when his hand dipped down to your ass and he gave it a slight squeeze. “she has always been mine.”

your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest, it must’ve been at a thousand beats per minute with the way colby was looking at you and keeping you close to his body.

drowning out everything that was going around you, you shook your head slightly as a chuckle fell from your lips. “is this tara’s work?” you asked him as your arms finally snaked around his neck, your body relaxing into his touch.

colby rolled his eyes playfully, one hand now reaching up to brush a sparkle of your eyeshadow off your cheek. “she got me good,” he admitted, softly pulling your body so your chest was flush against his. “although i was planning on doing this for quite a while actually.”

“is that so?” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear as your lips brushed the shell of his ear.

colby released a breathy sigh, “oh my god,” he laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief, “you’re something else.”

“are you gonna kiss me or do we need to play a truth or drink game once again before you make a move?”

your words were all it took for colby to softly dig his fingers deeper into your waist, other hand prettily resting around your throat. his thumb lightly pressed down onto the side of your skin, a breathy gasp leaving your mouth. “careful what you wish for baby, i can’t stop once i start.”

your mouth ran dry at his words, eyes looking into his. your hand wrapped itself around colby’s wrist, blinking your eyes slowly, “i’m not a quitter either.”

that was all it took for colby to squeeze your throat slightly and bring your face closer to his to nudge his nose against yours, “that makes the two of us then.”

his soft lips couldn’t wait to kiss yours, the taste of tequila mixed with beer making your head even more fuzzy than it already was as colby’s tongue slipped into your mouth to deepen the kiss.

your hands found themselves slipping underneath his shirt, right below the waistband of his jeans as you tried to give him some of his own medicine. your soft hands against his skin, so close to where he needed you the most made a soft groan fall from his lips.

“i hope you’re ready to make up for lost time as soon as we get back to my house.”

part 2 (x)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

hiiii everyone! i decided to start writing again after what seemed like forever. send me a request if you want! will also write for sam if anyone’s interested :) also, part 2? ;)

[y2kuromi]

✶ : ❛ 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 : seishiro nagi x reader

˖ ִֶָ𐀔 contents ⋮ fluff. cw! mentions of alcohol. est rel. second person and third person pov. birthday fic cs i miss my loser

nagi was no stranger to loneliness, rather he found it comfortable and familiar because he strongly believed people and parties were bothersome.

he was quite sure he was allergic to parties. they were loud, overcrowded and he could think of countless other ways to spend his birthday— playing valorant ranked, binge reading manga or better yet sleeping. alone.

that's how he’d always spent his birthday. he was free to do whatever he wanted and the presents his parents sent in the mail made up for their lack of presence. the sixth of may had always been just another day to him.

this year it was a day he wanted to spend with you.

he had to some degree, you’d let yourself into his apartment relatively early with intricately piped lemon cupcakes and a new controller for his playstation before reo dragged him off to keep him out of your way.

the small party you’d thrown left his apartment undeniably altered. to be frank, not much had changed. it was as messy as ever — with sparkly confetti adorning the floorboards and the bottles of soju cluttering the coffee table — but it felt less lonely, he felt less lonely

after he’d gotten over the initial shock of being showered with confetti and having his apartment filled with his friends, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips and his eyes shone brighter than the stars themselves.

the starry-eyed look he sent you as reo and isagi whisked him away for celebratory shots is filled with the purest form or love. it’s unwavering, and stronger than the lemon flavoured soju they sipped for hours.

it’s stronger than the frown that tugged at barou’s lips as he herded his intoxicated teammates outside and it’s stronger than the hangovers that would follow consequently in the morning.

seishiro’s apartment is empty now, save for the two of you curled up on the sofa. he seems to melt into you as your fingers comb through the messy mop of white hair against your thigh.

he’s never felt more comfortable than he is now with his head on your lap as he taps at the fps game he’s playing on his phone. his gray eyes are fixed on you as he clears the stage and a cutscene fills his screen.

he doesn’t think he’s ever put his phone down faster. the cushions on the sofa dip as he props himself up on his elbows, leaning forward to close the space between you.

“headshot” he hums, pressing his lips languidly to your temple.

you laugh — it's pretty, comfortable and you look absolutely breath-taking doing it. his heavy lidded gaze falls to your lips and he doesn’t hesitate to press a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. seishiro always seems to melt when he kisses you

he wasn't the type of boyfriend who would publicly whirl you around and kiss you breathless in front of a crowd — though he would always find you in one — he was still a little clumsy and awkward when it came to love but it was starting to become as easy as breathing.

he blinks at you sleepily, undeniably kiss drunk, and far more intoxicated by the sweet scent of your perfume than the blur of lemon soju lingering on his lips as he pulls away.

“thanks for throwing me a party” he murmurs — a low drawl that reverberates against your skin and fills the space between you.

“glad you liked it, sei” you smile, in a way that’s so soft it makes him want to lean in and kiss you again. he finds he’s too tired and settles for laying his head down on your lap again.

he could care less about the blinking ‘you lose’ screen on his discarded phone as he feels your fingers continue their ministrations on his scalp

it’s adorable, the way he’s fighting to keep his eyes open — letting them drift closed ever so slightly when your thumb brushes softly against his cheek. he basks in the warmth you radiate before you slowly attempt to peel yourself off the sofa

“where you going?” he murmurs drowsily, gray doe-eyes blinking owlishly at you. his brows are furrowed slightly and his lips tug together in a makeshift pout

“home” you sigh, “it’s pretty late, i should probably head out soon” you can't help the laughter spilling from your lips at the quiet, sleepy protests that leave his pouty lips.

"stay the night" he frowns, tracing messy, wobbly hearts on the bone of your encased wrist. “ts still my birthday, you can’t leave me yet”

his eyes shine with a silent plea and he gazes up at you from your lap with warmth that rivals the sun when its rays kiss your shoulders. it’s convincing — enough that you find yourself softening and sinking back into the sofa.

“okay, i’ll stay” you say quietly. seishiro sighs when your fingers comb through his hair again and you know it’s less because he’s well past tired and more because as far as birthdays went, this is the best he’d ever had.

© Y2KUROMI 2024. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[ln444]

spider-man!lando

cw: strangers to friends to lovers, uni au, idiots in love, fluff fluff fluff, slight angst; comfort/hurt (reader comforting lando), sad and tired lando:::(((((, mention of blood/wounds/bruises.

words: ~1,5k

notes: hii i'm finally back:D, i've been thinking about abt spiderman lando for weeks now omg!!! anyway it took me so long to write this pls don't hesitate to leave feedbacks😭 enjoy<3

playlist (to listen to for a better experience !!!): daylight by harry styles, yellow by coldplay, sparks by coldplay (my fav song in the whole world)

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lando norris. the adorable, clumsy guy you spot every day in class. he's always in his own world, snoozing on his desk and consistently late –somehow managing to still have good grades. you've been watching him for a few weeks now, totally fascinated by the curly boy. a goofy smile always creeps onto your face when he does something silly like accidentally bumping into people and mumbling apologies or drooling on his notes while falling asleep in class.

oh, you definitely have a small crush on lando norris — or maybe even a big one. your mind has been filled with all sorts of ideas on how to approach him –daydreaming about it during class or as you're trying to fall asleep at night, finding yourself staring at your ceiling with a stupid grin, lost in thoughts of that adorable guy you've been keeping an eye on.

today, you stayed a bit longer in class, diligently recopying your notes from the previous lecture. however, you weren't alone; a dozing lando occupied a nearby table, blissfully drooling on his notes. concentration became a struggle as you wrapped up quickly, sighing as you stole glances at the dreamy boy. rapidly packing your bag without a sound, you approach him, taking a moment to admire the sleepy boy, a smile instantly gracing your lips as your heart melts. inhaling deeply, you find the courage to gently tap his shoulder.

"hey," you softly whisper, lando whimpering and stirring slightly. patiently, you wait, hoping his eyes will finally open. when they don't, a suppressed giggle will finally open, and you tap his shoulder again, a bit more insistently this time.

"wake up!" you whisper-scream, a blush coloring your cheeks as a hint of regret surfaces –maybe it was too much, maybe you should have let him sleep, uncertain if he'd appreciate your wake-up call. his eyes eventually flutter open, struggling to grasp the situation. once he does, he clears his throat, quickly fixing his posture and adjusting his glasses. the sight makes your heart feel like it might burst out of your chest.

"class is over," you say sofly, standing in front of him, resisting the urge to run your hand through his messy hair.

"what?" he groans, still attempting to shake off his sleepy state. "already?" he glances around in confusion, seeing the empty room before turning to you, finally becoming aware of the one who put him out of his sleep and his cheeks slightly turns red.

"do you need notes?" you ask, eager to have a conversation with him. the pink on your cheeks persists since he opened his eyes, intensifying as he looks at you with big, confused and sleepy eyes. his gaze shifts down to his notes, damp with drool, and suddenly his cheeks burns. clearing his throat once more, he nervously scratches the back of his head.

"oh... right... uh," his eyes return to you, hesitantly meeting yours, and you stand there, fighting the smile on your face. "i guess i could use some of your notes," he chuckles nervously, "if that's okay for you, of course!" he quickly adds, causing your heart to race dangerously close to exploding because of how cute he is.

"of course, you can give it back to me tomorrow," you smile, your stomach tightening with the anticipation of talking to him again.

"thank you," he softly says, still clearly in a sleep state and a bit lost, but he manages to offer you a shy smile that almost brings tears to your eyes.

"see you tomorrow, then," after giving him a final smile, you turn around, hearing a small "see ya!" behind you before leaving the class, feeling happier than ever.

lando runs a hand through his hair, attempting to process what just happened. conversations with people at uni is rare for him, making it a surprise when someone approaches. he gazes at the notes you handed him, lost in his thoughts for a few more minutes before reality hits him—he just embarrassed himself in front of a pretty girl.

"fuck..." a groan filled with frustration and embarrassment escapes his lips as he buries his face in his hands, his cheeks bruning.

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since that day, you and lando start having study sessions, usually at the library or in relaxed coffee shops. the transition is a bit of a mystery; lando returned your notes, and somehow, conversations about the lecture led you to offering help, which he accepted without hesitation.

your study sessions became more and more friendly, both of you getting comfortable in each other's company. you couldn't be happier, realizing that you get the chance to see him every day and appreciate the subtle details, like the way he crunches his nose when he is thinking or how his glasses slide down when he attentively listens to your explanations.

it's the way lando consistently gives you his full attention, not just during study sessions, but also when you share bits about yourself, your interests, or even random stuff you've seen on the internet or the way he never forgets to bring two snacks, always excited to share it with you and making sure you're eating and drinking well. despite his lateness, he puts effort to be present, sincerely apologizing and making it up to you everytime.

you somehow got used to his habit of arriving late, accepting that it's a part of who he is. even though frustration and questions nag at you occasionally, you never found the courage to ask and feel like you don't have the right to say anything. of course, there have been moments when you were mad, waiting for over an hour, but you're way too whipped for him to stay mad forever.

just like that, you find yourself slowly falling for lando. what started as a silly crush turned into something more profound; it's evident when butterflies go wild in your stomach at the sight of him, and your heart races unusually fast whenever he smiles at you.

lando can't quite understand how you've become a constant presence in his thoughts. the frequency of your hangouts has become unexpectedly high, something unusual for him. being spider-man and a student was already challenging enough; adding a social life seems nearly impossible. he tried before –having friends, attending parties, socializing –but it never lasted, the fatigue and busyness making it hard to keep up.

with you, everything feels different for lando. falling this hard was unexpected from the moment he first asked you to study with him. slowly, he starts making time for you, always finding a way to see you, even if study sessions became an excuse. you became a ray of sunshine in his life, bringing light to his otherwise tiring days. whenever he feels miserable, a glance at you makes everything feels right.

beyond study sessions, you both start having dates –that's how you secretly both call your hangouts. lando takes you to the arcade, introducing you to his favorite games, while you share cherished spots in your favorite park; sitting there, watching swans, you engage in lighthearted conversations, while your hearts secretly beat for each other, missing the subtle starstruck gazes and the way your cheeks burn when your hands accidentally brush against each other.

the worst part for lando is finding himself thinking about you even in the midst of fighting villains, getting distracted more than he should. it frustrates him how he can't shake you from his mind, even when he's spider-man. at first, he hated himself for it, attempting to ignore his growing feelings. but it become undeniable the day you smiled at him with the most sincere and loving expression. in that moment, he realized he was already too deep into it and let himself drown deeper into the feeling.

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letting out a frustrated whimper, you bury your head in your hands. you've been attempting to finish this essay for hours now, but thoughts of the curly-haired boy persistently invade your mind. you've tried to push him out, if only for a moment, to focus on this stupid homework, but he always finds a way back into your thoughts. being stuck in your small apartment due to villains doesn't make the situation any easier.

sighing for the umpteenth time tonight, you stare at the almost white screen of your pc, hoping that motivation will miraculously appear. amidst your frustration, a subtle noise catch your attention. you turn around, your eyes scanning outside. you notice nothing out of the ordinary, brushing it away and convincing yourself it was just a passing bird. you had bigger problems anyway.

as you try to refocus on your work, the persistent noise grows louder, intensifying your unease. determined to dismiss it, you turn around for a second time, only to be shocked by the unexpected sight of lando. his face is covered with bruises, and he's struggling to climb the last steps of the fire escape stairs. reacting quickly, you jump from your chair, urgently guiding your steps as you open the window to lend him a hand.

"oh my god lando!" you choke on your own split, and lando lets out a pained groan, fighting to maintain his balance as he relies on you. with careful effort, he makes it to the sofa, collapsing upon it. you rush to his side, cupping his bruised face, your heart sinking as you take a look at the injuries. the sight nearly brings you to tears, a mix of concern and distress filling your stomach.

lando looks drained, the effort to keep his eyes open visible on his face. despite the weakness, he manages to maintain an unwavering gaze locked onto yours. the pain you're reading in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, making your heart heavy.

"lando... what happened?" you say softly, your voice betraying the dryness in your throat. his response is delayed, taking a minute for lando to found the strength to answer. throughout this time, his hands grip your shirt, and his eyes remain fixed on yours, unbroken since he arrived.

"just a stupid fight... i'm fine," his voice is deep and weak, feeding your concern. despite the fatigue, he manages a small, gentle smile.

"what do you mean you're fine? are you kidding me?" you try to keep your voice soft, not wanting to add tension. "let me take care of you first, then you're going to tell me everything," with a sigh, you stand up, but lando's hands on your wrist stops you. you can't miss the painful groan that escapes him.

"i'm fine... i promise," he says weakly, his words carrying a weariness that tugs at your concern. "you're not fine, lando!" you voice unintentionally rises, a reflection of your worry, but you regret it the moment you lock your eyes with lando's softened gaze.

your hand instinctively reaches for his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the lines of his bruised skin. "it's okay, let me take care of you, please?" you implore, your voice adopting a softer tone. lando's heart seems to respond, warmth spreading as he relaxes, gently releasing your wrist.

"okay," he mumbles, too tired to resist, and you hurry to the bathroom to get your aid kit. returning swiftly, you find an exhausted lando, battling fatigue. your heart tightens, and you take a deep breath, holding back tears. lando starts regretting coming to you, the worry on your face making him feel guilty. as you come back, without a warning, you put an arm around him –and he's surprised that even in this awful state, you manage to make his heart beat faster. "let's get you on the floor," you gently suggest, doing your best to avoid hurting him. with a few soft whimpers, lando makes it to the ground, and you sit in front of him, getting the closer you can.

you gently take his chin between your fingers, inspecting the wounds again, unable to get over the extent of his injuries. lando feels his cheeks burn from the closeness and attention, his heart racing. without wasting any time, you start cleaning the bruises, handling him carefully.

your eyes shift to his white shirt, now stained with fresh blood, revealing notable marks underneath. a gasp escapes you, and you look at lando, your hands gripping the bottom of his shirt. "can i?" you timidly ask in a quiet voice, and lando don't hesitate to nod, trusting you more than anyone. you proceed to gently take off his shirt, ensuring not to cause him more pain. he winces, and your eyes fall on his wounded body, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. "oh my god..." you fingers trace the big and deep wounds, and lando watches you with remorseful eyes.

you don't add anything, wanting to take care of everything as soon as possible so he can finally rest. a comfortable silence fills the room as you begin with his face, gently cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

on the other hand, lando can't tear his eyes from you, enjoying your pouty expression because of your concentration. occasionally, he closes his eyes when you touch a sensitive area, his lips parting to release small groans. you find yourself apologizing each time, looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

you take a second look at his blood-covered body, and a million of questions race through your mind. this can't be a simple fight. lost in your thoughts, you don't notice lando's gaze or the flush on his cheeks due to your intense staring of his chest. he's about to call your name, but you're quicker than him.

"are you hiding something, lando?" you gently speak, your hands cupping his face with tenderness. you give him a soft look that seeks not just the truth but a shared vulnerability. lando opens his mouth to respond, but the words gets stuck in his throat, caught between the desire to tell you everything and the fear of exposing too much.

"i..." he starts, the weight of unspoken words evident in his eyes. sensing his struggle, you lean in closer, a soft and reassuring forming on your lips. your fingertips dance gently over his cheek. "you know you can tell me everything, right ?" you whisper, your voice filled with understanding. lando don't even dare to blink, drawn into the sincerity in your gaze.

without hesitation, he closes the gap with a tender kiss. your mind momentarily pauses, trying to process the situation. slowly, you kiss him back, feeling the heaviness of his heart in the softness of the kiss.

pulling back slowly, your eyes meet again, and there is a change in lando's expression. the warmth is replaced by a hint of concern, even sadness, making you rise an eyebrow curiously; "wh-"

"i'm spider-man."

his words hang in the air, and it takes a moment for you to process, leaving lando feeling like he's on the verge of a breakdown. completely petrified, he continues, "i understand if you don't want to see me anymore... i-"

"lando," you try to cut him off, but he's panicking, his eyes welling up, and it tugs your heart. "god, i'm so stupid," the instant regret hits him, he keeps mumbling, expressing his fear of messing everything up. it becomes too much for him, and he bursts into tears. without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, holding him as tight as you can.

"hey, you're okay. it's okay, i'm here," you softly whisper in his ear, your hand gently rubbing his back. the sound of his sobs makes your heart ache, as if it's breaking into pieces. "i'm so tired," his voice is muffled, but you can hear all the pain and exhaustion in it. your stomach tightens, feeling your own eyes burn as you try to hold back the tears.

you let him cry in your arms for a moment, letting him take it all out, whispering sweet and reassuring words in his ears. your hand hasn't left his hair, stroking it gently. you feel him finally calm down, his sobs getting quieter.

he finally decide to look up, meeting your eyes and the sight breaks your heart; his eyes are puffed and red, accentuated by his bandaged bruises. you immediately grab his face, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of empathy and affection.

"do you still want me? even if i'm spider-man," his voice is soft, and you could feel all the exhaustion in it.

"of course, lando, why wouldn't i?" you reply without any second thought, sincerity evident in your eyes, softening lando's heart.

"i don't know... i'm always late and... tired," his voice is weak and hesitant, and you wish he'd stop talking and just rest.

"you're always late, but you're always here. you always do your best to make it." you reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a soft smile. "it's okay to be tired, especially with your life, you should never apologize for that." your hand finds its way to his hair, "even when you're tired, you find the strength to take care of me and spend time with me. and for me, that means a lot," you gently stroke his hair, comforting him.

lando's eyes remain locked onto yours, caught in the sincerity they hold, and he swears his heart could explode at any moment just from hearing your words.

"you're so good to me..." he says in a whisper, pulling you into a quick but sweet kiss that makes both of your hearts melt. "of course, you deserve it," you whisper back, stealing a other kiss. "let me finish taking care of you, and then you can finally rest." you don't give him the time to complain, pulling back to resume cleaning his wounds.

after what felt like an eternity, you finish bandaging the last wound, looking up to find an exhausted lando. he fell asleep multiple times but insisted on staying awake until you finish. without wasting a minute, you put your arm around him to help him up, struggling to guide him to the bed where he manages to use his last drops of strength to remove his pants. once he's laid on the bed, you turn around to clean up the bandages on the floor, but lando immediately stops you, pulling you down.

"don't go," he whispers, and you smile, laying beside him without any hesitation, welcomed by his warm embraced.

you gaze at the sleepy boy beside you, your fingers gently ghosting his cheek.

"thank you," he says softly, and the sincerity in his words resonates. you offer him a loving smile, putting your lips on his for a passionate kiss. you manage to pull away just in time before lando succumbs to the sandman.

in that moment, it hits you—the boy you've fallen in love with is spider-man. a proud smile spreads across your face as you look at the peacefully sleeping lando beside you.

"i'm so proud of you," you whisper, determined to repeat those words to him tomorrow and every single day after that.

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tysm for reading! don't hesitate to leave a feedback if you liked it<3