#(<- nobody has asked me that i just thought it was funny)

[femme-plant-mom]

@k1k00sss requested:

11 for Nico: "Inertia" by AJR

Oh boy, I was hoping I'd get to talk about this song! First of all, I love AJR for Nico. I think they have a really fun blend of pop and alt-rock that I just see him vibing with. And then this song is all about being stuck, but still trying to move, but also not being sure how to, I guess?? Anyway, it opens with "I've worn the same skinny jeans / Since I was 15; it's probably nothing", and it just makes me think about Nico's limited clothing for years and probably being stuck at a small size due to everything that happened to him. And the chorus is really interesting for a HOO Nico with, "I'm an object in motion, I've lost all emotion / My two legs are broken, but look at me dance / An object in motion, don't ask where I'm going / 'Cause where I am going is right where I am" because I think in many ways he comes across as just sort of riding through it all during those books. He does what he needs to in order to save Hazel, help the Seven, obey his father, but he doesn't really have his own trajectory anymore, doesn't care to make it, doesn't see a point if he isn't going to live long enough to see it fulfilled, and he very much assumes he's going to die young. And yet!! He does so much good for people, contributes to the saving of the world in some of the most important ways in the story—the dancing. And then there are some more literal lines that make me think of him like "But I'm fucking hungry, and screw you, I'm trying," "So why am I so tiny, and why am I so mad?", and "I'm stuck in this life, and I'm stuck in these pants," back to the skinny jeans of the beginning of the song. And I think it's interesting to see Nico as this constantly moving person as soon as Bianca is gone, but he is still tethered in some ways and places, even if he doesn't know what to do with that. He can never truly escape Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter or Tartarus or the Underworld or the years spent alone (or Venice, even, I would argue), not really, so he has to live with that and figure out how to navigate it while he figures out what he wants for the future he didn't realize he would have. Inertia.

77 for Will: "Heaven's Gate" by Amélie Farren

The lyrics in this one are just, ugh, Will all over. Opening right with the lines, "'Cause playing god is funny 'til you have to choose who's dying first / I became the thing I feared, taking their lives in my hand / My innocence had consequences that I still don't understand" because he's out here having to make life or death decisions at a crazy young age. Sure, he has the power to save lives, but have you met a thirteen-year-old?? They shouldn't have to be responsible for that! And yet he is, and he learns just how serious it is so young. And then "my immortal evolutionary traits are still intact" is just such a good line for a demigod! "So, in '97, I gave up my future / I'd been raised to reject my human nature / in the hopes that I'd be praised" just works for him so well because ultimately what he's been taught is useful about him is his healing ability, which he gets from his godly side; it's not a human trait. Followed immediately by "I thought SOS meant 'save our souls' / Instead, it meant jack shit / 'Cause nobody came to help me when I told myself I'd quit", which just feels like the experiences he must have had in the suddenly empty infirmary, overworked and with no one older to take over. "I'll follow 'til I fly or 'til I'm dead" just reminds me of how he really has no choice but to keep working because, if he doesn't, others will die, so he just has to hope he'll make it and "fly", so to speak. And I feel like the plight of a demigod is really encapsulated in "so I'd hope for liberation, but that isn't what we teach" because even once someone leaves Camp, they aren't free of the monsters. There's also a biblicalness to the line preceeding it, talking of a "promised paradise" which I feel like (as a Southern gay myself) I see as recognition of the weird space he lives in where he knows he's going to the Underworld one day, and maybe he gets Elysium, but it doesn't look like the paradise he was told about by his Texas family. And then we end with, "They could tell me fucking nonsense with the knowledge I'd obey," which I love for Will because it gets his anger as well as his helplessness. Like, what else is he going to do but obey? He can't reject helping others—not really, not entirely. And the gods are not good, we know this (not necessarily bad, either, but Greek Gods are very much aligned with human nature and its fallacies), so he just has to trust that what he's told will help the world in the end.

Okay, my “Will Solace” and “Nico di Angelo” playlists both now have at least 101 songs each. Send me a number and a playlist name or “both”, and I’ll tell you which song is at that number and why I put it on the playlist!

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

the Klavier-Edgeworth parallels of I Don't Care How You Feel, the Truth Is the Only Thing That Matters™ are very interesting, but the Klavier-Phoenix parallels of nothing bad has ever affected me in my life idk what you're talking about that didn't mean anything I'm not talking about it I'm not thinking about it I'm not acknowledging it they may not be dead but they're dead to me and that's how I like it I'm never looking at them again because they're dead they're gone they're a ghost and this is a perfectly healthy way to live look at me I'm thriving I'm thriving I'm thriving are also very interesting, do you get what I'm saying.

[dafpork]

it really is so, so nice having such a vast frame of reference for these characters. i've had many of these thoughts and headcanons for so many years that they've sort of coagulated into their own Thing, and so sometimes i'll be like "man where did i even get this from? am i honoring the shorts? am i just making stuff up?" but then i'll go back and revisit and there'll be one short that has an extremely miniscule detail that has drastically affected my interpretation of these characters and i will then bask in my victoriousness in, No, i did not make it up. and the fact that these guys are so versatile that this can practically apply to anything

[dailykugisaki]

Day 223 | id in alt

Maki thinking some very unsorcererly things over a piece of damn cheesecake.

(Read from right to left💥)

[tamingicarus]

the person who vaccinated me was so stressed about accidentally offending me asking about my assigned sex at birth that he just semi-shouted ‘pronouns??’ at me . and that was not what he was asking

[peapod20001]

I’m really lucky actually that I rarely, if ever, get oc asks about things I don’t have the answer to 😭

[libingan]

—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

[my-castles-crumbling]

I like him

for shower thoughts anon :D - jegulus, marylily, drarry -word count: 661

"It's got to be Ginny," James said, sitting back onto the sofa next to Regulus and sipping at his glass of wine. "I mean...c'mon. He's been looking at her for a while! She's pretty, funny, a damn good Quidditch player..."

"And a redhead," Lily chimed in from the loveseat, winking at her ex-husband.

"And a redhead," James acknowledged, inclining his head with a chuckle. "I'd bet money on her being his girlfriend."

"Sure, she's pretty," Regulus, who was sitting next to James, drawled, "but she used to pine after him! Harry's going to walk in here with Hermione, just you wait. She's pretty as well, and she's smart, and they've been friends for ages."

"Ginny's smart!" James retorted, sounding offended, like Regulus had said something about James's own intelligence.

"Sure, but Hermione's grades are top tier," Regulus shrugged. "Nobody can beat them."

"Hermione's in love with Ron, I guarantee it," Lily said confidently, sipping at her own drink. "Hermione and Harry get on too well. There's no tension there."

"Poor Hermione. Why do the smart ones always fall for the emotionally stunted?" Regulus mumbled, smirking when James shouted 'Oi!'

But after scoffing at his husband, James sighed and addressed the room at large. "Alright. Let's say it's not Ginny or Hermione. Who, then? Cho? Luna?"

Finally, Mary, who was sitting next to Lily, gave a little giggle.

"You have an idea, love?" Lily asked curiously, turning to her wife.

Mary grinned. "No, it's none of my business," she said airily.

"You've known Harry since he was a baby," Regulus replied, rolling his eyes. "Just because you've only officially become his stepmother recently-"

"Ugh, 'stepmother' sounds awful...like I'm going to lock him in a tower..." Mary grimaced.

"Whatever. What're you thinking?" James asked eagerly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Mary said, eyes on Regulus, who gave her an annoyed head shake. "I'd bet my life he walks in with Draco Malfoy."

James and Regulus's sitting room was silent for a long time.

"Nah, that's-"

"There's no fucking way-"

But Regulus was the one who said thoughtfully, "No...she has a point."

James stared at his husband like he had three heads. "Love...Harry hates Draco, you know this! You...you both make fun of Lucius Malfoy together!"

"Yes, it's great bonding," Regulus agreed slowly. "And I'd sooner die than say anything nice about my cousin or her husband. Why do you think I haven't so much as sent them a letter in almost twenty years? But...well, you and Harry are very similar, James."

"Meaning what?" James asked incredulously.

Lily let out a little laugh of understanding. "Meaning he could also fall for the grumpy, pretentious Slytherin with a shit upbringing and a horrible outlook on life and somehow realize that said Slytherin isn't as shit as his family is."

Regulus frowned. "Grumpy?"

James, however, gave Lily an affronted look. "Are you saying that our son inherited my...what? Attraction to Slytherins?"

"Maybe your attraction to people who insult you, too," Mary mumbled from next to Lily, and everyone laughed except James.

"But I-" James began to argue his case, but before he could, there was a crack! outside, and loud voices could be heard.

"...was going to tell them! I just didn't know how!"

"You can't just surprise your family with this, Potter! They may be 'nice people' but they're still capable of going into heart failure!"

"Listen, Malfoy, it's going to be fine. They don't care who I date, as long as I'm-"

"-Happy, yes, well trust me, I'm not going to be making you happy for a long time if this goes poorly because you didn't give them the decency of a warning!"

"Listen, you need to talk quieter, alright? They can probably hear, and..."

And the voices trailed off into whispers, all four adults looked at each other with wide eyes.

"Well....I like him," Mary said, breaking into a grin. "But I'm just the stepmother, so..."

Everyone else groaned and moved towards the dining room.

[sunboki]

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying. 

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes. 

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right. 

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh. 

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

.

.

.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling. 

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips. 

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh. 

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently. 

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it. 

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes. 

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with. 

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook. 

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation. 

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man? 

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected. 

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process. 

That isn’t new. 

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard. 

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You. 

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from. 

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts. 

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too. 

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.   

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved. 

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah. 

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.  

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering. 

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive. 

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever. 

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps. 

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date. 

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No. 

Enough. 

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

.

.

.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right. 

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily. 

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz. 

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his. 

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted. 

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t. 

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind. 

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression. 

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack. 

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now? 

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior. 

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds. 

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd. 

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable. 

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes. 

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?” 

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite. 

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

.

.

.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh. 

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.” 

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!” 

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes. 

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes. 

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest. 

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them. 

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining. 

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time. 

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful. 

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness. 

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face. 

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes. 

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager. 

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior. 

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

.

.

.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks. 

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you. 

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion. 

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar. 

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt. 

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life. 

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated. 

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting. 

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected. 

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder. 

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

.

.

.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response. 

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler. 

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week. 

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.  

Is he that hero? 

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man. 

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics. 

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness. 

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering. 

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath. 

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath. 

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that. 

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[angeastrd]

. . . you got (e)mail

caitlyn kiramman x fem! reader. office romance

when emails from a colleague become more. aka Caitlyn Kiramman has a crush on you & doesn't know how to flirt.

Subject: Paperwork Criteria Comment

Good morning,

I had some time to look over your submitted paperwork. Unfortunately, I do not think it meets company criteria. See my notes, and we will re-evaluate. 

Regards, Caitlyn Kiramman

Fuck Caitlyn Kiramman. You had spent all night making sure that paperwork was up to par – see her notes? God, how the fuck did she have time to do her own paperwork, and then find time to nitpick your paperwork. You had not had enough coffee to deal with the heir of the Kiramman business.

Caitlyn had joined the company a couple months ago, some bullshit about working her way up from the bottom as if her last name was not plastered on the side of the building. Though, you did feel for the girl. She was trying, at least. The emails made the empathy harder. And they were, for some reason, only directed at you.

Subject: Re: Paperwork Criteria Comment

Dear Caitlyn Kiramman,

Fuck you. Literally and Figuratively.

Warm Regards.

You had meant to backspace. Instead, you're met with the ever-familiar whoosh! sound of an email sending. Fuck. 3 googles searches later, and you learn that emails cannot be deleted. And you probably were going to be fired for your email cursing at the boss's daughter. 

Which is how you find yourself, at Caitlyn’s desk, praying she had not opened her email yet. While you wait, you wonder if you should have brought something for her; maybe she liked cupcakes? All you had to offer was the granola bar, ungraciously squished in the bottom of your bag. Fuck.

Heels click against the floor, and the clouds around your head seem to disappear as your eyes meet hers. Her eyebrow raises slightly, before she speaks, “What’re you doing here?” she asks, and she sounds confused; which makes sense, it's not as though people were lining up to talk to the boss’s daughter. Actually, nobody had lined up.

“Hi Caitlyn,” you greet, and then wince at your inability to be nonchalant. “I don’t know if we’ve met before, I’m–,” you start, and she cuts you off. Okay, Great. 

“I know who you are,” she says, before realizing that she had cut you off, murmuring a quick, “Sorry for interrupting. I’ve seen you around,” she says, as if she hasn’t been sending you nitpicky emails spanning over the last couple months. 

“Oh.” you falter, before nodding, trying not to get deterred. “Oh, okay well I was wondering if you had a chance to check your email because I sent you something by accident and it looks really bad, but I swear that's not what I meant–,” you ramble, as she takes out her phone and opens her email. Fuck. Maybe she would get really chill for the first time ever. 

Her lips quirk up at the email. Maybe she thought it was funny. You hoped so. The job market was brutal. “So you don’t want to fuck me literally or figuratively?” she asks, and your face turns to one of mortification fairly quickly. And she laughs– Actually full-on laughs. You had emailed her a bunch of curse words, and here she was, laughing. 

You look, somehow, even more appalled, as manicured nails reach for the water on her desk, taking a sip after her laughter quells. “I’m sorry– it’s not funny.” she murmurs, and somehow the way her accent wraps around the words make the crudeness of your email sound polished. “It’s alright. I’m sure the emails must be irritating, in their own capacity. I’m sorry,” she apologies, and you blink at her; was this a dream? The Caitlyn Kiramman, apologizing to you? You tried not to pay attention to the lilt of her voice, and the way her accent curled around her words. God, she was so posh.

“No! It’s okay– they aren’t that bad. Just frustrating sometimes,” you admit, and the way she looks at you doesn’t seem judgemental or angry – she seems to revel in your presence. You realize, with a slight pang in your heart, guilt maybe, this was probably the most Caitlyn had actually spoken with a co-worker in the year and a half she’d been working here. “Uh– where’d you go for lunch? I’ve been looking for new places,” you throw out, and the smile that she tries to push down is unmistakable. God, she was cute. 

Which is how you find yourself, slowly becoming friends with Caitlyn. The shift is gradual, of course, granted your email, but she seemed to find you amusing. And you enjoyed the reserved smiles that seemed to become a commonality in your presence. First she takes you out to some cafe; hidden away in the bustling street, and the servers seem to know (and adore) her. It was scrappy, but the food was some of the best you’d ever had, and the company might have been better. 

The real Caitlyn was nothing close to what you imagined; she was witty and incredibly sharp, and her laughter was elegant, but she was also kind. The way she would look over your reports – the comments weren’t meant to be nitpicky, they were meant to help you grow. The way she would lend a hand to co-workers who were known for demeaning her position in the company – (nepotism, they called it. You knew better.) The way she seemed delighted to have a friend who was a co-worker; the coffees on your desk before an early meeting, lunches together. You had invited her out to a bar once, after work; she was thrilled, in her own unspoken way. You also learned that Caitlyn couldn’t handle her alcohol. She learned that you did not consider her emails thoughtful flirting. 

So she shifted her approach. The emails were consistent, but they were accompanied by invitations to get dinner together after work. Dinner at very exclusive hard-to-get-into places, which she had no problem getting either of you into. She didn’t correct the hostess when she referred to the two of you as “Mrs. & Mrs. Kiramman.” Neither did you.

Subject: Overtime Query 

Greetings, 

I noticed that you were planning to stay overtime to review your presentation. Coincidentally, as am I, and I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner together afterwards. I have a reservation at 7 o’ clock for 2. I look forward to seeing you. 

Warm Regards,

Caitlyn Kiramman

Dinner that had spiraled into her tongue on you, and somehow she had more skills past her flawless grammar and pristine work ethic. “I have no interest in casual. You’re mine. Obviously,” she had said, after the 4th or 5th time together. Which is how you found yourself arriving to work with Caitlyn. People had muttered, and started; you were sure your names had been thrown around by the watercooler. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care when her manicured hands had curled into yours as you walked to the parking lot.

Today had been a particularly trying day, long meetings and not enough sleep (Caitlyn had returned from a business trip of 3 days, and had taken it upon herself to prove how much she missed you. You already knew how much she missed you. She sent you 12 emails. You didn’t protest.) 

“Can you grab me some coffee too—” you begin, looking up as you hear the unmistakable sounds of her heels – Louboutins today – as she approaches your desk , and she cuts you off as she places the warm cup onto your desk.

 “Already did. Just the way you like it.” is all she mutters, and your lips quirk upwards at the way her ears redden.

“Careful Kiramman, I might think you like me,” you tease.

Subject: I know you didn’t eat lunch.

Meet in my office in 15? I brought food for you. 

Love,

Caitlyn Kiramman

[cinnamonlouu]

Never Had One

Elias ‘Stack’ x black!Reader

Synopsis: imagine the reaction when you told stack a man has never made you cum.

You’d been spending time with Elias for a minute now. He wasn’t the type to rush or put on a show. And when it came to you, it was clear he wanted more than just to get skin-deep.

Sex wasn’t something he shoved in your face. He wanted to build trust, show you he was serious. Took his time, always asking what felt good, paying attention like it was the most important thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

But that night, you said something that changed the whole vibe.

“I’ve never had an orgasm,” you said, voice quiet, like confessing a secret.

Elias froze mid-sentence, blunt halfway to his lips. He put it down on the table. Nothing made him put his blunt down, nothing.

“You lyin’, ma,” he said flat, eyes narrowing but not in anger. More like disbelief.

You blinked. The blunt was still on the table. Elias never got riled up like this. He rarely let words spill out so fast or so raw.

“I don’t know, Elias ,” you said, twisting your hands in your lap, “it’s just hard for me.”

“You bullshitting, you for real?” His voice had shifted soft almost tender.

You started giggling, but he didn’t get it. What was funny about dudes not putting your needs first? You were serious.

“I’m just saying, my spot is hard to find anyway. I can’t be mad if they can’t find it,” you whispered.

The stupidest shit he ever heard. Because he knew exactly where that spot was. And he knew what it took to get you there.

Elias stood up, moved to you with that slow, deliberate calm he always had. “You ain’t gotta make no excuses for nobody,” he said low. “You just ain’t been with the right nigga.”

Then he showed you.

⸻

Elias knelt between your thighs and looked down at you like you were something sacred. His fingers trailed slowly along your inner thigh, and you gasped when they grazed that aching, neglected spot.

“Mmm,” he hummed under his breath. “Ain’t hard to find. Not at all.”

He didn’t rush. Just explored. Made you squirm with the softest flicks of his tongue, the curl of his fingers, watching very breath you took.

And when your body started to tremble, thighs closing in around his head, he didn’t stop. Kept going, steady, locked in, one arm sliding up to hold you in place.

“Don’t run,” he murmured. “You said it was hard, right? Let me show you.”

You cried out, hips arching, something hot unraveling in your gut and then it hit. Overwhelming, and real.

You came with his name spilling from your lips in broken, desperate moans. Shaking. Barely breathing. Tears stung the corners of your eyes from the release, from how much it felt like.

Elias moved up, kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice thick, low. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you. You just needed someone who gave a damn.”

Your voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

He smiled then. A rare, slow smile that made you dizzy all over again.

“I did. That’s why I been takin’ my time.” He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. “But now?”

He leaned close to your ear.

“I ain’t holdin’ back no more.”

[infinityinakiss]

Do you have top 3 pazzi pics?

edit: so i'm blind and can't read apparently. just pretend you asked for fics cause i don't have the heart to delete this and i'll make another post with my pics. this is so embarrassing for me.

it'd be easier to pick a favorite child, man. i'm gonna spotlight a couple (a ton) of authors with my favorite fics by them, but just know i am absolutely in love with anything they write. this post is about to be so long.

@imaginespazzi - anything nivi writes is a godsend. golden hour broke me a thousand different ways, as i'm sure it did many other people, but if you like a fluffy fic, i reread their here's to eternity series whenever i wanna smile at my screen like an idiot.

@luvergirl-535 - actually so good and so funny, her that's so true series is like the perfect mixture of comedy and angst. she's such a wholehearted author, i love her writing so much.

@loeysoi - everything she writes is so beautiful. she says her favorite fic that she's written is thinking of you (while i'm up here), but i've got such a soft spot for weren't we the salt in the sea. lyra, if you see this, your writing is so lovely and if you'd like to update salt in the sea, i wouldn't be opposed.

@azzibuckets - trying to pick one thing that cessa's written is giving me anxiety, so just read all of it. also, follow her and put her notifs on, she's so funny. literally such a beautiful person to follow online.

@bucketgetter535 - wanna feel like you're 15 again and it is all so bright and fireflies aren't going extinct, but also everything is insanely complicated and nobody will tell you anything? read their fic this is not a cry for help (but it might be). i personally love writing that reads like thoughts, that doesn't try to be anything less than it is, and this fic is it. (also there is a little soft spot in my heart for i don't even like her.)

@theseh00perscanh00p - genuinely one of my favorite authors on here, reading their writing is like being given a tight hug (most of the time at least, this new series has been tearing my heart out.) par for the heart is so sweet, not very angsty, and i just love paige and azzi's character voice in it.

@raevpng - rae, i love your writing so fucking much, i basically live in your anons because you're so good and i feel the need to constantly glaze you. i am actually so obsessed with their new series only you, go read it now if you know what's good for you. their one shots are so incredible, bags is a personal favorite of mine.

@azzibueckers5 - their series i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) is one of my top rereads, it's truly so well written and emotional and just everything that i don't think i can fully articulate how much i love it without kissing them on the cheeks like an italian grandma.

@sowerpatch - i've been so hooked on their series terms of play, the tension and the dynamic is so good and so addictive. paige in this fic has balls the size of australia and it always makes my jaw drop.

so yeah. there's my very short and sweet top 3 pazzi fics. totally didn't go overboard.

psa: i love that here it's normal to send an anon so you can really show the authors how much you appreciate em. but it has broken my heart to see people abuse the very thing i love about the fandom to make authors feel unsafe. this is your daily reminder that fic authors are people too and they have their own lives besides writing. try not to hound them too much about when they're gonna update, and always give them grace. they are creating beautiful art for free because they love to. don't ruin that for them.

and if you threaten authors and run them off the internet because they fear for their safety, you are the actual scum of the earth.

[lexirosewrites]

Day One: Courting Rituals

for @stmarchmm

Before Eddie officially starts courting Steve, they’re together nearly every day.

Steve tends to hang at the trailer and watch movies with the alpha. Sometimes they go to the arcade with the kids or they host a DnD night at Steve’s place.

Everyone can see that they’re inseparable.

Robin even lightheartedly complains about how Robin and Steve time became Robin and Steve and Eddie time.

Steve wants to be around his new friend constantly and Eddie seems to want the same thing.

So they’re always together.

The funny thing is that Steve doesn’t even recall it becoming more than a friendship.

One day, they’re goofing off, cracking jokes, and getting high on Eddie’s rooftop.

The next, they’re holding hands at the movies and sharing milkshakes at the diner.

It’s an easy transition.

When people start asking about labels (Joyce keeps prodding Steve, reminding him that dating an alpha without clear intentions is a dangerous affair), Eddie beats him to the punch with a traditional bouquet of flowers.

Wildflowers. Hand-picked, colorful, and unique just like Eddie.

He’s received many attempted courting presents before, but these are Steve’s favorites.

Of course he agrees immediately to the unspoken request and that makes things between them official.

They can spend all the time in the world together now without speculation or judgement!

Only… now Eddie is barely around.

It makes no sense to Steve (or the other half of his brain, Robin). They’d been attached at the hip when it was casual and now that it’s serious, Eddie just up and disappears?

Steve is more than a little hurt, but he tries to be reasonable.

Maybe Eddie saw their official courting as a victory and he no longer has to work so hard to get Steve’s attention. Now he can put some space between them.

Or…

Maybe Eddie changed his mind.

Maybe Steve isn’t what he wants anymore and he’s delaying the pain of breaking it off by avoiding him entirely.

The uncertainty eats away at Steve. It’s one too many cancelled plans, dropped calls, and flimsy excuses.

Steve storms into the Munson trailer at 9PM, beyond panicking when Eddie didn’t answer his phone call they’d agreed to have at 8:30.

Eddie’s van is in the driveway.

In his rush to check for Eddie’s vehicle, he’d apparently missed Wayne’s truck.

“Evenin’, Steve. Eddie expectin’ ya?”

Steve’s anger deflates slightly in the face of the man he assumed would be as good as family soon.

Wayne has always been kind to him.

“No, I guess not. He was supposed to call me half an hour ago. I even tried ringing, but nobody picked up. I got—”

Paranoid. Angry. Hurt. Devastated.

“Worried. I was worried about him,” Steve explains truthfully.

Wayne pats the free spot on the couch next to him.

He hesitates.

If Eddie’s in his bedroom and willfully ignoring his calls, Steve would rather get this break-up over with.

The quicker his hearts breaks, the quicker he can start repairing it.

He sits anyway.

“I’m sure he lost track of the day again. Been happenin’ more and more lately.”

Wayne’s never lied to Steve before. It’s hard to imagine he’d start now.

“I just thought Eddie would want to be with me more since we started courting. It feels like he’s too busy to even see me anymore,” Steve confesses, a little shocked at his own honesty.

Wayne has that effect on people.

The old man hums thoughtfully, not outright agreeing or disagreeing.

“If there’s one thing I know about my boy, it’s that he’d give anything to spend every moment of every day with you, kid. He may not always do it perfectly, but Eddie loves you, Steve. Trust that much.”

He snorts.

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it these days. He used to at least make time for me, Wayne. Now, he’s practically avoiding me entirely. How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

The wrinkles of Wayne’s brow furrow deeper.

“Have you… really talked to him recently?”

Steve shakes his head briefly, trying not to let the tears fall.

“That would require him to pick up the phone for anything other than cancelling our plans.”

“Ah. I see.”

Wayne lets out a hearty laugh and Steve has to wonder whether Eddie’s uncle has lost his mind entirely.

“You should go see your alpha,” Wayne advises him with a smile. “Ease your troubled mind, omega.”

“What?”

“Go on, Steve. Just try not to startle him. That silly boy hardly sleeps as it is… I’ve got the night shift, but I trust you two won’t start on grandpups if I leave ya alone here?”

Steve nods frantically. His face is more than flushed at the idea of starting a family right now.

He’s not sure Eddie likes him anymore, let alone loves him enough to do that with him.

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne stands with a reassuring pat on Steve’s back, heading for the door after a pitstop for his keys.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Wayne.”

He stays on the couch by himself a little longer, working up the nerve to go confront whatever is waiting for him in Eddie’s silent bedroom.

Steve would rather face another demogorgon than deal with Eddie’s incoming rejection.

Still, he promised Wayne.

He treads lightly on the creaky floors until he reaches Eddie’s bedroom.

It used to be a place Steve loved being. Full of Eddie’s personality and warmth. Smelling strongly of his loving alpha. Music always playing on the radio or turntable.

He turns the handle slowly, heeding Wayne’s advice to not startle Eddie.

It ends up not being an issue since his boyfriend is completely dead to the world, deep in sleep.

Weirdly enough, he’s still dressed. On top of the covers and wrapped around a box that Steve’s never seen.

Steve doesn’t flip the lights on, but he leaves the door open enough to light his way so he can come further into the room.

His hands move of their own accord, reaching for Eddie despite his brain saying it’s a bad idea.

Instead of a t-shirt, he touches a collared button down.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie in anything so formal.

It’s a short sleeve shirt, but looks like nothing the alpha would ever choose to wear.

His fingers continue to wander until he finds a patch on Eddie’s chest. It’s ironed haphazardly.

He gets close enough to read.

‘Eddie.’ A name tag?

Steve continues to search Eddie’s shirt silently. He finds more words. Embroidering on the pocket states ‘Dan’s Auto.’

Dan’s Auto Shop is a garage in the next town over. Steve’s taken his own car there before. It’s decent, if a little rundown.

Does Eddie… work there?

Eddie has never held an honest to god job. Selling drugs to locals? Sure. But never a 9-5 blue collar hourly rate.

Why would he get a job and hide it from Steve?

Steve’s heart can’t take the suspense. He reaches for the strange box without care.

What’s inside makes him freeze.

A handcrafted brown leather collar with Steve’s name burned into it. And a ring. Simple, beautiful, elegant.

It matches Steve’s tastes exactly.

It has to be for him.

Steve lets out a shriek of surprise when an arm appears around his waist.

He’s pulled down onto the bed, Eddie’s strong hold tucking Steve right back against the alpha and keeping him in place there.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

“Hi alpha.”

Steve doesn’t mention the missed phone call. Or the cancelled dates.

He’s missed his alpha too much to hold a grudge over such silly things.

In the morning, they’ll have a long and important conversation about proper communication and how Eddie doesn’t need to buy Steve any more fancy courting presents in order to impress him because he’s already in love.

Tonight, they just sleep peacefully in each other’s arms as (almost) mates.

[valentinedrifter]

Moments with Karina: The Park

male reader x Yu Jimin/Karina

~6.9k words

A/N: Noob writer making stories. Enjoy.

“So how does air taste like?”

“Funny, you should try it out for yourself.”

“You seemed like you were enjoying it.”

—

You weren’t exactly sure how it got to this point.

Meeting a K-pop idol wasn’t exactly on your bucket list, but here we are, with a K-pop idol, a pretty famous one at that, in the middle of the night, in an empty park, with her laughing and dragging you around like she wasn’t a famous K-pop idol.

It doesn’t help that she’s wearing a pretty explicit outfit. The top alone was driving you crazy. So much so that you just want to pin her down the nearest tree-wall-whatever and show her how much she’s affecting you by simply existing.

The dumbest thing? You didn’t even know she was a K-pop idol till she told you.

So how did you let it get to this point?

Well, it kinda started at a convenience store.

You got off work pretty late, your boss telling you to do a bit of overtime for a bridge call he wanted you to attend because someone decided to mess up a couple of accounts, on a Friday of all days. But you, not wanting to lose your work visa because you didn’t suck up to your boss and potentially lose your job, stayed.

I mean, you’ll still get paid regardless, but it sucks having to leave the office five hours later than you wanted to be.

So here you are, coming into the nearest convenience store to your apartment, still in your work clothes that you got from the discount stores you occasionally visit because if it fits and it looks good on you plus it’s cheap, then that’s good enough for you.

You round the corner to the food aisle to get whatever stops your stomach from being hangry with how you decided to work five more extra hours. But you remember that those five extra hours translates to more money so you think that your stomach will be fine, especially when you see a bento box that has tempura, some sushi, and a salad of some kind. Wasn’t your favorite meal but-

“Food’s still food.” You shrug, grab it, and head off to the drinks aisle for your favorite peach drink.

Then you see her.

At first glance she was pretty unassuming. With her back turned she looked like a regular old nobody like you that also wanted to buy a drink, so you thought that there’ll be no problem just going up next to her and opening up the beverage cooler to get your peach drink.

But she turns to face you when grab your drink, and by God was she beautiful. So much so that your brain short circuited and forgot that you were supposed to get your drink. And when she smiles, you’ve lagged out-

“You okay there?” She asks, and her voice sounds divine, unreal even. But she is, and she’s looking at you with a teasing glint in her eye and a slight smirk in her face as you come back to reality, shake your head a bit, and give a shaky laugh.

“Sorry, just a little tired from work.” You know it’s a very shitty excuse because you totally weren’t enchanted with her smile, but you did spend close to 15 hours in the office today. Although she doesn’t know that of course.

You quickly grab your drink and attempt to close the cooler, but she squeezes in between the door and your hand to grab the same drink you did, and straightens to give you another one of her smiles.

“Thanks for helping me choose my drink.” She says, like you two weren’t complete strangers and walks away to the counter, and you’re left shaking your head and trailing behind her after closing the cooler.

It takes you a teeny bit longer than her to pay but that also lets you subtly check her out and you swear she knows, because she saunters away with a little sway in her hips that just…fuck.

And when she sits down next to an empty table with a conveniently placed empty chair and looks at you, gives you a knowing smile, and pats the table while she goes about opening her drink, she definitely knows.

And so here you are, sitting across this beautiful stranger in the middle of the night while trying your best to focus at your bento box, which you begin munching down to avoid thinking about the fact that she wanted to sit next to a complete nobody who just so happens to be you while she takes a sip on her own drink, taking glances at you with a glint in her eye that makes you uneasy in a weirdly good way.

For the next few minutes, it was pretty silent between the both of you, you focused on your food and her scrolling on her phone, drink halfway empty. It wasn’t until you took a sip of your own drink that the silence gave way to conversation.

“You always ask strangers to sit next to you at convenience stores?” You begin, and she chuckles.

“You would be the first.” A sip of her drink.

“Then why ask me?” A stab of a fork hitting sushi.

“Because you looked like you needed company.” A ringtone plays out of her phone.

And that made you stop midway into having food into your mouth, placing down said food to give her a stare that screamed ‘doubt’.

“What, you a therapist now?” Your eyebrow raises, and your mouth goes upwards.

“Maybe, should I start asking for payment?” She side-eyes, and her mouth goes upwards.

“Depends, what kinda payment do you accept, miss…?” You ask, and she turns to face you.

“Jimin.” She leans towards you.

“And I accept payment in gossip, mister…?” She grins, a palm on her cheek.

You tell her your name, she repeats it, and you’ve never wanted to hear your name spoken out loud like that again so much your brain is activating neurons.

“Well then!” She claps her hands. “Start talking.” She beams, and that might actually get you killed.

—

You didn’t know how long you spent with Jimin talking, ranting, venting, everything. You just know that being with her felt nice.

Like it was okay just talking about anything with her.

You tell her about taking overtime just to make sure your boss and your boss’ boss is happy, she laughs and tells you that she’s doing overtime because she’s “in demand” at her job and she doesn’t get enough sleep.

You say that you work as an analyst at an electronics company and she says that she’s a model for a couple of brands out there that are too expensive for you to buy, let alone look at.

You’re annoyed that you lost your last 50/50 at the latest banner on this popular gacha game, having to angry pull another 70 or so tickets just to get your favorite purple-haired amnesiac and she brags that she’s “a little over 11,000” levels at some connect 3 game, showing you the game on her phone that clearly says “11,552” on the bottom right of the screen.

You two keep this back and forth until you realize that you’ve been taking sips out of an empty bottle for the last couple of minutes, and you hear a sweet little giggle that just sounds so fucking cu-

Stop.

You embarrassingly take a glance at her, and she’s grinning ear to ear. “And now he notices.” She brings up her own empty bottle of peach and dangles it in front of you. “So how does air taste like?”

��Funny.” You stand up, grumbling as you start to clean up your mess at the table. “You should try it out for yourself.” You tap her bottle as you stand up and head to the garbage can.

“Wanted your opinion on it Mister Analyst, you seemed like you were enjoying it.” she follows you to the garbage and throws it out her bottle as you soon follow.

“Peachy.” You step outside. “Really peachy.”

She bumps your shoulder with her own and smiles. “I’ll be sure to have a go at it next time.” She whips out her phone and hands it to you. “You should give me your number, just so we can compare notes when I try drinking air.”

You smile back. “Very smooth Jimin, sure it’s not because you want me to start playing that game of yours?” you hand it back to her after putting your number with your name as the contact, which she quickly changes to ‘Mister Analyst’ with a nerdy emoji.

“Totally because I don’t want you to start playing, no.” She’s laughing as she rings your number, and your phone lights up with hers. You were about to save it until she grabs your phone and starts typing away, probably saving her number for you and hands it back to you with the words ‘Jimin’ with a heart looking right back at you.

You ain’t gonna lie, but that made your heart skip a beat for a second.

“Nice heart.” Placing your phone back to your pocket, you look back at her smiling at you, hands behind her back which really accentuates her…chest.

That white top really was doing wonders for her. Doesn’t help that she unbuttoned one of her shoulder straps because it was a part of some fashion trend or whatever. You weren’t really listening on that part because, well, tits.

“Still up for a walk?” She tilts her head, smiling at you when she’s totally not shoving her tits in your face.

“Don’t you have curfew, Miss Model?” You notice it’s close to midnight.

“I told manager-unnie to pick me up at the park close by.” She points her thumb towards your right. “Be a gentleman and take me there, why don’t you?”

Before you could answer, she’s already walking like you agreed. You shake your head, still in disbelief that she could trust someone she’s met no more than an hour, maybe two, so easily,  before catching up.

“You trust me that much to walk you to a park?” You ask, finally wanting to get the answer to the conundrum that is Jimin.

She slows down her walk to look at you. An intense gaze that pierced straight into yours. And Jimin smiles, softly, “Yeah.” And moves on, pretending that nothing happened, like something didn’t change between the two of you, and she mutters something that you couldn’t pick up. 

“You treat me as just Jimin.”

—

You two continue your banter all the way to the park, her talks about her work increasing in number as you found out that she wants to break into the acting industry, be more than just a face in a billboard, more than just someone part of a group, which sounded odd considering she’s a model and models usually work alone, but you let her continue on, letting her air out her frustrations and you unknowingly becoming her outlet.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love them like they’re my family.” Them being her co-workers, you think. “It’s just the job that’s tiring sometimes, you know?” You both continue your stroll, finally reaching the park, trees illuminated by all the lights making it feel peaceful. “Having to always keep up with appearances, having to do what the higher ups say,” She rambles on, taking a seat at a nearby bench, this tired look on her face like it’s her first time being able to say all these things.

“Sometimes, a girl’s gotta do her own thing.” She finishes, as you take up the spot next to her and lean back, taking in the lights, the trees, her face-

You blink. “And this is part of a girl doing her own thing?” Your hand stretches out to relax on the bench. “Talking to strangers, dragging them to a park?”

“First of all, you’re no longer a stranger. You’re Mister Analyst now.” She shoots back. “Second, you agreed to take me here, like a gentleman should.” And the swoon that she makes looks so fake you roll your eyes.

“Right.” You draw it out just enough to let her know that you’re smiling. “I should get paid for this.” You say it as an offhand comment, and she makes an exaggerated gasp.

“You totally should!” She stands up, and starts making small poses as if she’s in a photoshoot. “But you gotta take pics first!”

And so your impromptu life as a photographer begins, using your phone-

“Why is it my phone exactly? Your phone’s better.”

“Because it’s your job to take pictures of me, so you have to use your phone.”

Using your phone as the camera and her as the object of its obsession, you two begin taking pictures all over the park, starting off with a simple head tilt behind some trees, making her hair move just right to highlight her face, and she gives this stare that makes your heart stop for a second and you start-.

Click.

She leans to the left, making one of her legs go slightly up in the air and gives a shy smile.

Click.

She stretches her hands and makes a cute little face that makes you wanna pinch her chee-

Click.

She steps up to the road and turns around to face you, readying herself up by fixing her hair before-

Click.

She hurries back to you, screaming “Yah!” before snatching your phone and skipping away, like it’s her turn to take a picture.

Click.

She stops and hands your phone back to you. “Take it properly this time.” She smiles, and you’ll never get tired of that look on her face before you put your phone up and just-

Click.

She laughs, so carefree, and takes your hand before taking you away to another area of the park, going up a pedestrian crossing before she stops and leans on the railway, giving another smile that lights up the area around her and-

Click.

You two reach the top of the bridge, and she leans forward, staring to the left so you can-

Click.

The both of you walk to the other side, smiling and laughing and having fun like it’s just the two of you left in the world before she leans back on the railing and gives you another look, her white top’s design now prominently seen in the lens of your phone.

The bra that is ever-so-slightly obvious underneath those words on her top, telling you to Send Nudes.

Click.

You feel things shifting between the two of you, a couple lines crossed that ring a few alarm bells in your mind but at the same time, it makes you feel happy, content, making it feel so easy to forget all your problems and just live in the moment with Jimin. 

And she feels it too, when you notice that her stares linger a little bit more than they should whenever you take a picture, or when her hands take a second longer before she lets you go. But no words are said, no more lines to be crossed right now when you both want some time away from responsibilities and relax for a couple of hours.

And that is how you got to this point.

“You okay there?” She’s right in front of you now, waving her hand across your face. A flicker of amusement passes by her eyes as she gives you a giggle. “You looked pretty focused on those pictures. Still can’t believe I’m that beautiful?”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle, glazing back down at your phone’s gallery, pictures of Jimin front and center, before your eyes go back right at her face which you gently give her forehead a flick. “Your ego’s showing, Miss Model.” 

You hear a cute yelp. “Because that’s the same look you gave me back at the store!”

“What look?” You hand her your phone, one of her pictures on the screen, silently asking her to review your creations that were about this beautiful woman named Jimin.

“The look that made me feel like I’m the only thing that matters right now.” She starts scrolling through the pictures while you’re still processing what she just said, jaw a little dropped, chest pounding a bit more, mind rizzed up by Jimin and she’s just there, smiling at her own pictures as though she didn’t just cross another one of those invisible lines.

You blurt something out along the lines of “Maybe you are, Jimin” and her finger stops mid-scroll to focus on you, eyes looking straight into yours, as if she was peering into your soul. 

“I never did tell you who I am, did I?” Her look on you softens, yet still searching for something that you can’t quite describe.

“Does it matter?” Your brows furrow. “You could be Jimin, Miss Model, whoever.” A smile crosses your lips. “All of that just makes you…you, and I think I’d like to know more about all of you, whoever that is.”

And now it’s her turn to have her jaw a little dropped, eyes still soft as she lets out a little laugh. “You say that to all the strangers you meet?”

“Nah, just the ones that make me follow them to a park in the middle of the night and call me ‘Mister Analyst’.” Air quotes are made with a smirk. “So lay it on me, Miss Model.”

She returns with a smile, a real one, and opens her mouth to say-

“Karina. Æspa’s Karina.” She gives a little bow. “Nice to meet you.” And she straightens up, like she’s suddenly become this ‘Karina’ in a split second, her real persona hidden underneath a layer of sophistication and grace, and yet, all you see is Jimin.

Wait. You’ve heard that word before.

“Dude, have you listened to the new song Æspa released?” One of your coworkers suddenly comes up to you while you’re busy fixing up last minute data errors on an excel sheet because somebody decided to use the wrong formula again.

You glance back at him. “What the fuck is an Æspa?” You weren’t really familiar with K-Pop, too focused on adjusting to Korea and all its nuances like actually speaking the language which took you almost 4 months to be somewhat fluent in it.

Eyes widen. “You don’t know who they are?” Suddenly a phone comes out of a pocket and fingers frantically start tapping. “You seriously gotta start listening to K-Pop, you’re missing out!”

And in the next few seconds you hear this synthy, dark, mesmerizing tune and-

“Yeah, yeah” A pause. “I’m the drama” It drags out before-

“Where the hell are those reports?” Your head snaps back to the monitor, quickly getting your head back to the task at hand-

You blink.

She’s still eyeing you, softness replaced with a weary guard, afraid that you’d look at her in a different light until-

“Huh.” You shrug. “One of my friends would freak out if he saw you.” You tease, and reach your hand out. “So how are they? Up to your standards?” 

Then she blinks, and a laugh comes out of her mouth, disbelief written on her face. “Seriously? That’s it?” She’s shaking her head now. “I tell you that I’m this-” Her hands are flailing “-this K-Pop idol and you’re not even surprised?”

You give her another shrug. “I don’t listen to K-Pop, I listen to EDM.” You take the phone out of her hands and show her the last piece of music you were listening to, Lost in Mumbai by Apashe.

She gives you this exasperated stare when she grabs your phone and starts scrolling down your playlist, laser focused on all the song names and sure enough, it’s full of EDM, House, and the occasional Phonk.

“The only thing close to K-Pop here is K/DA.” Her arms are slump, defeated. “How have you not heard of us?” Another shake of the head. “No, how have you not heard of K-Pop when you’re literally in South Korea?”

“Too busy learning hangul and surviving the corporate world I guess?” You don’t really have a defense to that, since you’ve been in Korea for almost six months now and you somehow still managed to avoid K-Pop.

Can’t say you’ve avoided PC Bangs or Manhwas though.

“I told you, I want to know more about you, whoever that is.” You tilt your head. “Karina’s just another part of you that I’d like to figure out.” You lean closer to her, eyes drawn to your phone and your fingers tapping back to your gallery, where a picture of her leaning on a railway is center stage. “Seriously, how are the pics? Good enough for an idol?”

She lets out a huff, still not believing that this is happening to her right now, but her raven eyes showing a hint of something else now. Adoration, warmth, lov-“Yeah.” Her voice was low. “They were great.” But Jimin wasn’t looking at the pictures anymore, she was looking at you.

She takes a hand and brushes it over to your cheek, guiding your face up to hers and you feel her breasts press into your chest before she shifts, her lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, her hand caressing your jawline as you slowly reciprocate.

And she pulls away, just enough for you to feel her breath on your face, and your mind is reeling when she says-

“I think I want to know more about you too.”

—

She takes you away to a darker area of the park, hidden from prying eyes with your hand on her hip and another on her cheek as you push forward, your mouth connecting with Jimin’s, lost in yourselves. She has both hands looped around your neck, kisses deepening, light moans in the air.

You didn’t know how long you two stayed like that, enjoying being with one another, but when she pulls away you’re both breathing heavily, lips burned from all the action as you let out a chuckle.

“Sure you should be doing this?” Your thumb, still on her cheek, starts to move to brush her red face. “Gonna be a hell of a scandal if we get caught.”

“I don’t care.” She bites her lip. “A girl’s gotta do her own thing.” She repeats what she told you earlier, and her eyes look back at yours.

“And I…” Her heart laid bare to you. ”I trust you.” Those three words carried so much weight, and the lines you were crossing began to blur into something more.

You didn’t have to say it back, not when you look at her like she’s your world, not when she already knows. So you do the next best thing you could have.

“Remember when you decided to play therapist earlier?” You start, and in an instant you spin her around, back facing you as you whisper. “Let me take care of you this time.” 

The gasp that comes out of her mouth sounded angelic when you start kissing her neck so tenderly, the little sighs that come out of her mouth as you pepper small kisses, the breathy moan when she says not to leave marks on her neck as you smile under all those pecks on her neck, her jaw, her cheek, and you’re right back to where you started when her lips are already parted, arousal in her eyes as your mouths connect once more.

She brings a hand up to your cheek, another to your hand that was resting on her hip, and starts bringing it lower, deeper, into her jumpsuit that you could just pull down and she’d fucking let you.

It wasn’t until you felt your hand stop at her safety shorts where you separated from her. Her hand still resting on your cheek, eyes darker than what they were used to, lips wet as she takes deep breaths. 

“Last chance to back out.” You didn’t know if you were asking her or yourself, because you both knew that this was a really bad idea. “Your manager might be close by.” Another excuse to stop this, to go back to running around the park taking pictures and pretending that there’s nothing happening between the two of you.

But when Jimin gives you this dangerous little smirk, like she knows what you’re trying to do, she’s already all in. Especially when she takes your other hand and brings it up to one of her breasts, still covered in that white top that you know that there’s no chance in hell she’s stopping.

“Honey.” Your brain blanks out when she whispers. “Stop talking and start touching.”

Now, all bets are off.

You give her breast a rough squeeze, her back arching, your cock throbbing at the way she starts to grind against you. You quickly leave the softness of her chest to steady her hips, stopping her, making her whine, until you pull her top and bra up in one go, exposing her tits to the cold air and you go back to groping all of that soft, firm flesh of hers. You tug at one of her buds, flicking it, rolling it, before you stop to gently slap her boobs, making them jiggle in front of you.

She lets out a soft whimper, grinding against the hand on her shorts instead and your hands starts moving, upwards to the edge of her shorts, slipping inside them, feeling her wet and hot and fucking gorgeous when you pull her panties aside and start to slowly circle around her clit, making her eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent scream, head leaning back towards you.

And once you bring a finger inside her, and she starts to break.

You were evil with her, when you’re pumping your finger so slowly yet playing with her tits so roughly or when you added another finger inside her tight pussy, upping your pace at the way you go in and out of her while gently massaging her tits and it was driving her absolutely insane.

“Please.” She’s biting her lip to stop herself from moaning out loud. “Don’t tease me.” She’s begging now, face pointed towards you, eyes wide as you let out a chuckle.

“Fast or slow, Ji?” You’re still teasing, fingers no longer moving inside her cunt and your other hand resting on one of her breasts.

She kisses you, raw, desperate, biting your lips with hers, and only a word is uttered.

“Rough.”

And your fingers start to push and pull inside of her, another thumbing her clit and she’s crying out, one of her hands quickly going up to her mouth to silence herself while one of yours continue to abuse her tits, slapping them harder now, leaving reddish marks on her perfect skin.

You don’t realize that she’s been cupping the tent in your pants for a while now when you’ve been so focused on Jimin that you move back just enough to let her unzip your pants to fish out your length.

“Dirty little girl, aren’t you?” Your mouth starts moving on its own. “Want my cock that bad?” She nods, her hand moving. 

“You know you’ll be mine after this, right?” You bite her ear, and she moans, eyes closed, pleasure overriding her brain.

“Yours.” She says it like it's a fact, set in stone somewhere, and her eyes are wide now, full of this fondness towards you. “Yours now. Always yours.”

And she finally exposes your cock, she takes a hold of it, stroking it slowly, memorizing what it feels like. She was being so good with your length and yet you’re still punishing in your pace, a hand on her hip to keep her in place while your fingers are pumping so fast inside her pussy her knees are starting to give out.

The hand on her hip snaps up to her chin, forcing her to look at you, forcing her to let go of your shaft to hold on to you because she’s so close to getting ruined.

“Close?” You can hear the nods coming from her, the air a cacophony of moans, squelches, cries-

“Please, please, please-” She’s begging even more now. “Let me cum, fuck I need to cum-”

And when you put a third finger in, she’s ascending.

You’re slowing down now, letting her bask in her high, helping her stand straight as she cums, her chest shaking, legs turning to jelly, and you’re still there. Whispering all the  things that drive her mad.

“Let yourself go now baby, there you go.” She sighs, hands on your wrists.

“Yes-” She drags it out, leaning her entire body to you, chest heaving.

“Such a good girl for me, cumming all over my fingers like that.” Your fingers pull out and you start lazily circling her clit, making her let out a shaky laugh. 

“Stop, Stop-” She pulls your hand up from her core and up to her face, where she takes one of your fingers, still wet from her, and she starts to suck.

She’s enjoying it, eyes closed, tasting your fingers, tasting herself, letting out these dirty moans that you can feel in your hand. She doesn’t stop, not until every last one of your fingers are clean from her mess, sucking them, licking them, worshipping them. All the while one of her hands come back to your cock, her hand rolling into your length and a thumb at the tip and she starts to run it down slowly, and you let out a small sigh, like you’re finally getting relief.

She lets go of your fingers, eyes fluttering open to gaze at you, and the only thing she says before kissing you is-

“Mine.” 

Her hand is still jerking you off, twisting, soft, slow, fast, fuck, and she’s moving, facing you, giving out kisses from your lips downward, to your jaw, your neck, until she squats down, eyeing your cock for the first time, and the look she gives you sends a shiver down your spine.

A hand on your thigh, still clothed with your pants, and another still holding onto your dick while she nuzzles up to it, rubbing it against her face while she lets out these sighs that makes it throb harder, until she rests it on her face, and she speaks these utterly filthy words-

“Honey, can I suck your cock?” She’s still asking for permission, still being the good girl that she is, and all you do is take a hold of your cock, slap it a few times on her cheeks, on her lips before-

“Anything for you, Ji.” And her face lights up, her eyes locked onto yours, her head moving forward to give your tip a kiss, then another, and another, until she’s smothering your cock with kisses which makes you jerk your hips forward, hands on her hair and now you’re the one begging.

She’s grinning, enjoying what she’s doing to you, and gives you a small reprieve when her tongue stretches out to have a taste of you, and your head leans back at the sensation.

She’s licking everywhere, starting from the base, slowly sliding it up your length, swirling around your cockhead to get all the precum that’s been leaking out, and she goes back down to start it all over again.

She’s not trying to edge you so much as she is worshipping you, every inch of your cock lathered in her spit and all you can do is moan her name out.

And then she parts her lips and takes your cock into the her hot, wet mouth is when your mind blanks out and you’re gone-

“Fuck, Jimin-” Even now she’s smiling, your cock in her mouth as she hollows her cheeks, bobbing her head on your length slowly, savoring your taste like it’s going to be the last time she’ll ever have it, and she’s loving it.

Slurps are all you hear, her tongue flicking over and under your cock as she takes in more of you, one of her hands holding the base, moving in tandem with her mouth as she gives you this amazing blowjob that’s making your knees shake.

Then she puts both her hands on your thighs and slides down even more to take your entire length down her throat, her mouth in contact with your clothed pelvis and you feel her gag and pull back.

She’s still stroking your length, full of her drool like her chin is now, while she’s recovering from taking all of you, licking her lips from all the precum and all the strings of spit and she’s staring-”Am I doing good honey?”

“Fuck, you’re doing so well Ji-” A hand goes down to cup one of her tits, and you squeeze while she smacks your cock against her face before taking it all in once more.

She’s going faster now, sloppier, trying different things like moving her head to the side so your cock hits the inside of her cheek, or when she tries to throat your cock all the way back while she’s humming that makes your entire body feel the vibrations.

And everytime, her tongue is always moving, always getting a lick here and there, always twirling around your tip when she pulls back, always trying to get a taste of your balls when she takes your entire length down her throat.

You’re trying your damn best to hold back from cumming, to get more out of this moment with Jimin because you don’t know if you’ll ever experience this again until she takes your cock out of her mouth, tongue sliding over the side, and and it’s like she knows because-

“You know you can cum whenever, right?” Her tongue slides up the other side. “It’s not like this’ll be the last time, honey.” And she stops, resting your cock back on her face again and gives you this look of adoration or devotion or both-

“After all, I’m yours, aren’t I?”

And all self-control goes out the window when your hands get on her hair, forcing her on your length, pushing and pulling and she’s staring at you, letting you use her to get off.

Hands braced onto your thighs, lips wrapped around your cock, tongue moving under your length as you start getting rougher, thrusting your hips faster until-

“Shit, Jimin, cumming-” Hands still holding on to her hair as she pulls her head back all the way out except for the tip, her hand pumping so fast and her tongue still fucking twirling as the first spurts of your cum spilling right into her mouth, her tongue suddenly stopping to lay flat to catch all of it as she drains you of your load, eyes watching you go positively braindead from the pleasure that is Jimin, Karina, Her.

Just as when your orgasm was about to end, she takes your tip out of her mouth and lets the last of your cum land onto her face, messy little streaks on her cheeks, across her nose, and her mouth opens to show you all the cum she’s collected from you.

There’s an idea somewhere, at the back of your mind, something downright outrageous that would definitely get you both in even more trouble and yet, your hand is already moving on its own to collect your phone from your pocket, opening up your camera to-

A red dot starts to blink on your screen.

She’s still smiling against all the cum on her face, still smiling when she widens her mouth to give you a better view of the cum she wrung out of you, still smiling when she gargles it, relishing it, and she’s still smiling when she swallows it.

Her mouth opens one last time to show you well she did it too, and you’re brushing your thumb on a strand on her cheek, bringing it up to her lips to feed her more of your cum, and she’s gladly taking more.

“So good for me.” You keep giving her the strays that are left on her face, helping her clean herself up from your filth and as soon as she’s gotten all of it, she’s licking her lips, still looking at your phone and she winks.

The red dot stops.

You put your phone down, falling back into your pocket as she stands up and gives you a little peck, that smile still etched onto her face, your hands gravitating towards her tits, red from all the slaps you’ve given them and riddled with all the spit she’s let loose from sucking your cock, and you grab them like their yours.

“Thanks for all the cum honey.” 

Her phone lights up and a ringtone blares out.

—

You both cleaned up fairly quickly, well, mostly her considering you fucked her with your fingers and came on her mouth-

“I’m seriously gonna need a change of panties when I get home.”

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to do it in a park.”

She laughs, smacks your shoulder before spinning around to walk back to the main area of the park, and you’re shaking your head in amusement before catching up to her.

She’s still walking when she suddenly turns her head and-”Take another picture.”

And your life as a photographer continues on. Your phone on the ready, she has her hands on her hips and her head’s slightly towards you with a small smile for you to just-

Click.

“Thanks honey.” She gives this little whirl with this grin that just melts your heart-

“Karina!” Footsteps accompany the shout, and you turn and see this woman in all black running out from a car and stops- “Where have you been?!”

“With a friend, unnie.” And Jimin’s acting like she’s done nothing wrong, as if it wasn’t way past midnight and she’s just nudging your shoulder. “Say hi to manager-unnie.”

You give this timid wave and she’s ignoring you, too focused on Jimin-Karina to care about some nobody that was you. “We need to get back to your dorm, Karina. You still  have an early day tomorrow and it’s almost two in the morning! Do you know how-”

You stopped listening to give Jimin a glance and she’s back to being Karina with all the responsibilities that she wants to ignore coming back down on her, a smile that didn’t really come up to her eyes and a nod that felt too practiced when she’s being scolded for being up this late at night-

“And you.” Her manager points a finger at you, looking like she’s ready to give you a scolding before she lets out a tired groan. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her, she’s been a handful these last couple of months.”

Oh, she’s a handful alright-

Give a polite smile and tell her it’s no issue, and her manager’s back to ignoring you again for Karina who’s giving you a wave and a call me gesture as she’s heading into the car, yelling “See you later Mister Analyst!” before she’s taken away, returning to her modeling gigs and singing acts and you’re back to being an analyst that looks at numbers for a living.

Your brain was still processing all of the things you’ve just done with Jimin that you don’t notice that you’re already at the front door of your apartment. 

The door opens and closes and you’re wrecked on the bed, where you see a couple of text messages from her.

“Thanks for listening, I enjoyed tonight.” 

“And don’t forget to send the pics!” A heart emoji at the end.

“Here you are, Ji. I expect my payment in full.”  A few money emojis.

A laughing emoji. “I’ll treat you to coffee next time we meet”

“Oh so there is a next time?”

“There is now” A winky face.

“Lemme know when you’re free and I’ll take you to my fav cafe”

“Can’t wait!”

“And you forgot to send the video, honey” Three winky faces.

A laugh rings out of your apartment.

—

The weekend blurs by, having done nothing but have conversations with Jimin on the phone and look up who she is as Karina and you’re back to your life in the office, looking at numbers, suggesting actions, and pretending that you’re listening to company gossip.

Until you hear the words ‘Karina’s post’ and suddenly, you don't want to pretend anymore.

“What about Karina?” You couldn’t help yourself, and the words are already out loud before the same coworker who’s been telling you to start listening to K-Pop shoves his phone into your face to see your pictures in her Instagram with the caption-

‘To Mister Analyst’

The guy’s freaking out, asking everybody in the near vicinity who’s ‘Mister Analyst’ and ‘Is she dating someone’ and you’re sitting on your chair recording a short video of him before you open up your messages and-

“You see what you’ve done” The video attached.

“Absolutely mental”

An emoji of a hand over its mouth. “Like you’re not enjoying it”

A chuckle. “I’m more worried about you and your career with that post”

“Unnie’ll handle it, she always does”

“You still up for that cafe on Friday?”

And she’s already changing the topic, like this wasn’t a big deal, and here you are, smiling through the chaos, both in your office where your boss is trying to wrangle your friend back from causing more trouble for himself, and in the chaotic combinations of personas that is Jimin.

“Yeah. Pick you up at the park?”

“Can’t wait honey”

[milessunflowers]

welcome back to bear does role reversals!!

twitch streamer!lando norris x f1 driver!reader :P

-bear

twitch streamer!lando makes me so happy omg

twitch streamer!lando norris x f1 driver!gn!reader

synopsis: nobody realizes that their favorite twitch streamer is dating their favorite f1 driver until they show up in one of lando's streams

author's note: guys i actually wrote something other than headcannons?? holy shit?? i feel like a small blurb or whatever it is called (can't remember for the life of me) fit this vibe more than anything so yeah! hope you guys like it

finally, it was winter break. you had had a long season, ending it in third overall for the world championship. sure, it wasn't ideal, per say, but you were incredibly proud, and so was lando. in fact, the two of you went out on a last-minute date, sharing a nice burger before heading back to the hotel.

with the season finally over, you now had all the time you could wish for and more to spend with your boyfriend. most of the time, you and lando attempted to make dinner, had movie nights, and oftentimes played whatever games lando wanted with each other. it was a nice break from the high stress of driving cars at upwards of 375 kilometers an hour. plus, you had gone pretty much off the grid to detox from the heavy drama and rumors swirling around your career.

with lando, you could just be you without the stress of pr or the looming presence of your contract. lando was a breath of fresh air, even if he was a bit intense and chaotic at times. you loved him more than anything.

tonight was more or less normal. you were sitting on the couch, waiting for your food to arrive, and watching the tele. lando was in the home office, streaming like he usually did on friday nights. he was screaming and laughing, chatting with max while they shot insults back and forth at each other. you found it hilarious, especially since you teased them for acting like an old married couple.

behind lando was your collection of helmets and trophies. of course, people knew you lived together and somehow never put together all the puzzle pieces. you thought it was quite funny as it was blatantly obvious. you never hid your relationship from public view, nor did you ever want to. your fans and his just never seemed to connect the dots.

you hadn't minded, though. it was nice having a more private relationship, even if it wasn't exactly private. lando, and you were always openly affectionate with each other in public. especially lando, who is constantly hanging off your arm and kissing you.

you are snapped out of your thoughts when the doorbell rings, signaling your take out has arrived. you thank the delivery woman, tip her extra for being so kind, and enter the apartment once more. you set everything up before calling your boyfriend.

"lando! babe, dinner's here!" you call to him, hoping he can hear you over his high-pitched giggling. you wait a spell, seeing if he will come out of his cave as you have come to call the office. "babe!" you shout again before sighing and heading towards the office door.

you open it to find lando bright red from laughing. "lando, babe!" you say, approaching him, in view of the camera, and pull his headset off. "dinner's here." he looks up at you, annoyed before he smiles.

"why didn't you call me?" he asks, turning to see the chat blowing up eith question marks. he giggles again before looking back st your half annoyed expression.

"i called you at least three times, baby," you tell him, rolling your eyes at the cheeky look he was giving you. you gently shove his face away and laugh. "c'mon, love. gotta eat before it gets cold."

"can you pretty please bring me a plate? today's the longer stream, and i can't end it," he tells you, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. you close your eyes, throw your head back, and sigh heavily.

"fine, but only if i can eat in here with you too," you respond, leaning down to give him a short kiss before going to grab him a plate of food. lando cackles when you leave as his chat is absolutely shocked with your relationship.

"chat, don't be so surprised. i've been with them for years," he tells his chat, rolling his eyes. "and yes, i have been to their races. it literally says 'twitch streamer and y/n l/n's partner' when i'm shown on the tele. are you guys actually that dumb?!"

"well if they watch you, mate-" max starts before lando is yelling again, causing max to cackle as well. you barely step back into the room before you are met with the hynea sounds that assault your ears.

"what the hell?" you announce, handing your boyfriend his plate, your reaction unfortunately making him cackle louder. "never mind, just eat." and he does. he eats and chats and laughs with you and max. that stream later goes completely viral, and finally, after years together, the world has finally pieced it together how insanely in love you guys are.

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[velvetwyrme]

which deception would have an sti AND fuck cars?

in reference to: https://www.tumblr.com/penny-anna/767952128217104384/imagine-youre-a-mechanic-in-the-transformers?source=share

okay. so. first off. anon, thank you for sending me this because the idea that you read that post and just went- "hey, you know who i should pose this question to?" and sent it to me- is hysterical and i lvoe u.

anyway theres also a Texty answer under the cut if you want to read that, because i genuinely DO have thoughts about this, but i wanted to draw that comic because this ask made me laugh very hard when i saw it in my inbox.

also, the thrilling conclusion of the comic answer:

he fucked that car!!!!!!!

hi! Texty time. I think a lot of them would have/be one but not the other (either has a STI or is a Carfucker) but i included some of those here anyway because i think my thought process was funny for some of them. this is all purely my own opinions etc. etc. no basis for anything only vibes. i went through a lot of options and came to a lot of conclusions.

to reiterate the Chart for claritys sake:

Soundwave: No STI and no Carfucking. This is true across all versions of Soundwave imo. Rumble and Frenzy are a solid no on the STI front and a solid yes on the Carfucking.

Starscream: no STI, no Carfucking (despite what Soundwave thinks). TFP!Starscream specifically might have an STI though. Sorry man. Skywarp definitely has/had a STI but gets it treated on account of his trinemates. No Carfucking. Thundercracker would fuck a car but doesn't have an STI.

Shockwave: ??? - I'm not sure I want to know. "Once, as part of an experiment" was the original thing I wrote for his answer lol. True across continuities as well.

Anyway. moving on...

My actual answer for Megatron: REALLY depends on continuity. Here's a sample:

G1? Yeah, probably both. I can see it.

IDW/MTMTE? Nah. Maybe? ... Nah. I feel like if he had an STI it'd have been back when he was a miner. Would not fuck a car.

Earthspark? I feel like no STI but yes to the Carfucking. Except he feels really guilty about it after. I still haven't watched ES but this is the impression I get from him.

TFA? oh god. i don't know... i don't know....... he probably fucks cars. No STI.

TFP? Yeah absolutely are u kidding me? Yes to both.

Constructicons: I feel like they'd be a yes to both, but not at the same time, so they wouldn't have been the one/s to transmit a STI to a car. Also Hook would be ON TOP of treatment. Once they ALL got infected after combining into Devastator, and that was miserable for everyone. Nobody has fessed up to being the one who had it in the first place, but now they have treatment on hand just in case.

Also while on the topic of combiners... I think some of the Stunticons are also pretty good candidates for STI/Carfucking. Motormaster, Drag Strip and Wildrider in particular shfkgbekfbk

I considered Tarn/The DJD and Overlord just because of how freaky them guys can get, but I think Tarn runs too tight a ship for that to happen, and Overlord is preoccupied with. worse things. The Scavengers on the other hand... sorry to Misfire, I can see him giving a car a STI. Relatedly, Grimlock would fuck a car but not have an STI.

Who else................................ wait.

Astrotrain. I can see it. Okay bye im going to sleep this took me too long to reply to fhfjfbrmfbdj