#and they're sharing the set of clothes. of course.

[punksalmons]

[angelovi]

simon that just needs his frustrations taken out on his baby girl.

he storms into the house, slamming the front door behind him, not even bothering to take off his gear.

his steps are hurried and unsteady as he makes his way to where he knows you’ll be—the bedroom you two share every night. bursting in, his harsh demeanor falters, his gaze softening as he takes in your peaceful, angelic expression.

without wasting another moment, he gently guides you onto the bed, his hands tender as they cradle your soft cheeks.

"pants off. now."

you move quickly at his command, slipping off your pants and leaving yourself in just his oversized t-shirt and the delicate pink lace panties he had given you as a gift on your last birthday.

"oh, such a sweet girl..."

"arms up," he instructs

he slides your shirt off, revealing your skin marked with love bites from previous nights.

"so fuckin' beautiful. look at these pretty tits."

his lips trail over the soft curves of your chest, leaving gentle kisses, while his hand moves to caress and tease the other.

"you wear these panties just for me baby? i know they're your favorite."

he kisses his way down your torso, avoiding where you need him most and he knows it, and a smirk grazes his face.

"simon please..."

"use your words baby. be a big girl yeah?"

You quickly yield to the request, your voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper as a sense of desperation fills your words.

"fuck me simon."

"atta girl."

without a second thought he shoves you down further into the sheets, quickly unbuckling his pants and slipping himself inside you, too rushed to take off any more clothing.

"god you're so fuckin' tight."

he rams his hips into you, showing no mercy, only set on one goal: fucking you dumb.

"you'd be so pretty when you're round with my kids yeah? you up for that mama?"

You offer a quiet nod, your throat tightening as the weight of unspoken words hangs heavily in the air. The silence envelops you, and you choose to hold back, your lips sealed in uncertainty as you wrestle with the urge to say something, anything.

He can feel the way you grip him, a delightful tension building between you both, as anticipation courses through the air. It’s a familiar sign, one that tells him you're moments away from a culmination that has been building.

"cum for me princess. let me feel you."

simon shoves two fingers in your mouth to silence you, not wanting another complaint from the neighbors.

with a muffled moan, you let go, feeling pleasure take over every fiber of your body.

shortly after, he empties himself inside of you, ensuring that it sticks and you finally give him the kid you two have been dreaming of.

“i am so incredibly proud of you, my love. You truly are nothing short of perfect in every way.”

you feel his soft, warm lips kiss your forehead before you're lulled to sleep by his touch.

another basic story lol i need suggestions

[twstwizard]

Clothes

Upon first day of your stay in twisted wonderland you realized you didn't have any clothes besides the ceremonial robe and a dusty uniform you were able to find in Ramshackle. Good thing you now have a few friends to borrow things from!

Type: Headcanons, SFW, Romantic or Platonic

Characters: Ace Trappola; Deuce Spade; Jack Howl; Epel Felmier; Sebek Zigvolt

AN: I'm surprised noone has addressed this yet... Unless we're walking around in Crewel's fashion dresses the entire time-

Ace Trappola

-The man is at first reluctant at sharing his clothes, calls you a hobo and teases endlessly, even insinuating that you secretly got rid of your clothes on purpose to have a piece of him. He's horrible as always.

-But as soon as you get fed up and are ready to turn to Duece for help, all of a sudden, the trouble maker has a spare T-shirt he can lend you. Afterwards the man is simply smug that you're wearing his panties. Expect lots of teasing.

- At some point it becomes second nature for him to lend you clothes, to the extent of you two sharing a wardrobe, which can lead to comical situations of him demanding a specific shirt back for an Unbirthday party.

Deuce Spade

-Unlike certain someone, Spade is happy to help his new friend. The man does get a bit flustered the first time he lends you a pair of slacks, but nothing else. There will be no judgment on his end, regardless of what article of clothing you may need.

- Main difference between his and Ace's approach to your problem is that Duece gives you "better" clothes, once he believes to be more comfortable and in better condition.

- Spade is a good friend above all. If it means sleeping without underwear, but you having a pair in turn, he's ready and willing to make such sacrifices.

Jack Howl

- The wolf is flustered (^_-). But much like Duece he's a good friend and will share his shirts and pants with you. Unlike Spade however, Jack will keep his underwear on himself, no matter if you have any or not, though he will help you at least to buy a pair.

- Beast man always lends you clean clothes, those neutral, easily usable in most situations. Jack praises himself on efficiency and fastness of his reactions, surprisingly that shows in the clothes too. All articles matching each scenario you might need in a very convenient timing.

-The young man also asks Ruggie for places which sell clothes cheaper or an easier way for you to get some. He's simply worried for you.

Epel Felmier

- Epel is of course a bit confused by your circumstances, but much like Duece won't rub it in your face. He's a country person, came from a place where people actually build strong communities, helping one another is simply a norm.

- Pomfior student will firstly lend you items he simply doesn't like. Perhaps an extravagant blouse here, a pair of shoes there. Now you look like a princess.

- Epel will also try and pull a few strings in his dorm to shake off some things off of his roommates and such. Are they fashion powerhouse or what?

- Secretly young Felmier will ask his grandmother to knit you a few things if the two of you do become close friends. It would be only fair you get to share the warmth only a family can provide.

Sebek Zigvolt

-HA! Don't be absurd he would never share cloth with a mere hu- Wait, you said Malleus takes midnight strolls near your dorm?! Cover yourself!

- Despite all the yelling and red face Sebek will lend you some clothes. Zigvolt lends you things he either outgrew or stopped wearing for some reason, they're surprisingly well kept.

- The longer the two of you are friends the more clothes he gives, soon giving you his newer items, at times, sevens forbid, socks.

- Despite how much he yells and claims it's all to shield Malleus's eyes from your from, it's balantly obvious he's genuinely worried for you. After all freshly bought clothing sets don't magically manifest in your dorm. Or do they?

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart)

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

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 2: 1000 notes. ✔️ NEXT

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

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

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

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

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really need to stop noticing these things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand freezes midair.

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

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

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

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

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

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

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

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

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

"Exactly."

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

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin gives him a look.

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

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

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

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

"But that was BEFORE—"

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

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

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

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait, why do I have to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Noona!"

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

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

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

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

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, this kid.

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

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

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

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

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungkook."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't answer.

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's when it hits you.

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

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not!"

"You are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

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

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

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

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

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

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

Totally not unhinged.

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

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

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

Yank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

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

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

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

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

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

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

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

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

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

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

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

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

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

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

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

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

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

"I—"

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

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

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

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

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

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

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

Oh god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Since... right now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

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

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

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

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

Or—

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

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

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

The dam breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

"You are."

"I'm not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches. "But—"

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

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

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

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

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

And then the door clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Mark ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Mark x f!idol!reader

summary: you and you boyfriend Mark are paired up for an interview, but do you even know you're texting each other? No.

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Mark got comfortable in the plush, pink chair of the Kode set with a shy smile, "Ah hello, I'm Mark from NCT." He pushes his earbuds into his ears and begins playing his music, "today I'll be known as Cheetah. Um, I couldn't really think of anything else and the fans already call me a cheetah so it was easy to think of."

On the opposite side of the wall, you settle into your own chair while smiling at the camera while introducing yourself, "I was so confused when I was asked to pick a wild cat as my screen name. It was such an oddly specific category, and even weirder when you told me cheetah was already taken. Anyway, I chose Tiger because they're the next prettiest."

Your music begins to play through your earbuds as your phone vibrates from the first message from your partner. "Yo?" you read in confusion, staring at your screen with pure confusion, "is that it? This is a man isn't it? Girls don't talk like this."

On the other side of the wall Mark laughs softly, covering his mouth as he reads the message. "This person is so happy. I've never seen anyone write hi with this many i's."

You and Mark text back and forth for a while, sharing your hobbies and sending memes back and forth until the both of your are giggling madly on your respective sides of the set. Of course, after nearly 2 years together you'd know how to make each other laugh, even without knowing you're texting each other. Your partner still doesn't give you any identifying traits or hints as to who they are. Well, besides clearly being a man based on how he texts.

Following the instruction of the staff, you send a screenshot of your home screen. You pout, feeling slightly bad for your partner. Just two days ago you'd gotten a new phone and hadn't yet had the time to make it yours. It was stuck with the boring default background and a handful of apps you considered to be essential. You explain as much with the text accompanying the screenshot.

And Mark's screenshot? Well, it might as well be just as boring as yours. He has the blur set on the photo so all you see is an indistinct mess of colors. Two distinct blobs which could be the shape of two people or two flowers or two guitars or two cats.

"Wow," you say as you typed out the word, "we are two very boring people. You really don't want me to know who you are."

Mark laughs out brightly while he reads your text, "me? You haven't even changed your own yet!"

"I told you I just got a new phone and haven't had time yet!" You laugh to yourself while typing out your message.

Your joking back and forth gets the two of you off track while you playfully poke fun at each other back and forth until the staff ask you both who you think you're texting. Mark looks at the camera while he tries to think, "I have no clue. It's a girl, surely but it could be anyone. Do you pick random people off the street to do these videos?"

On the other side of the wall, you blush softly, covering your face while your face cools down, "is it weird if I say it's my boyfriend? He just seems so much like Mark."

It's one of the few times you've ever referred to Mark as your boyfriend for any sort media. You and Mark had technically been a public couple for about a year now, since your respective companies had come out with their statements to reveal your relationship. How you'd been able to conceal a year of your relationship was beyond the both of you. Well, a lot of dark, oversized clothes and hats and masks to conceal your faces.

After the company statements, you and Mark seemed to be even better at hiding. You barely glanced at each other at award shows, and if you did, it was only friendly, nothing that could be interpreted as anything else. There were very few glimpses into your relationship beyond birthday and anniversary posts with obscured faces and sharing each other's most recent comebacks on your stories. Privacy was something you both valued and of course you were more than ok with doing any type of promotion with Mark, it just never worked out that way. Until now (not that you knew). Plus, it wasn't like this interview would give anyone any important details of your relationship anyway.

When the staff prompt you both to share a screenshot of your most recently listened to songs, you stare at your screen with a look of blank surprise, "this is just a mix of Drake and Justin Bieber. It's Mark, it has to be."

You zoom in on the picture, mumbling about how you see more music that is so distinctly Mark while on the other side Mark looks at the screenshot you send excitedly. "She's a fan! Of me! Wow, she's listened to Child and Golden Hour and 200! Ok, I have to chill out a bit," he tells himself even as he types out his message telling you that you have good music taste.

You snort at his message just as the staff laugh at the exchange at the same time. The head producer instructs you both to find your baby pictures to send to the other.

You look up from your phone, looking at the camera and the staff, "surely, you'd think a couple who have been together for this long have seen pictures of each other when they were kids, right?" The staff nods in response before you speak again, "well, we haven't! I've only seen what has been posted online. Same for him!"

Mark sends you a picture of him as a baby where he's a few months old and you coo immediately. You zoom in as close as you can drawing your phone closer to you face as you star adoringly at the baby on your screen. "He's the cutest little thing I've ever seen! I've never seen a cuter baby in my life! Oh, I just want to squeeze his cheeks and cuddle him," you gush over the adorable picture of the chubby baby boy with an adoring look on your face.

Mark looks at his phone, the camera, the staff, his phone again, the camera again with a look of pure and utter confusion as he looks at what he can only assume is a child covered in frosting. "You can barely tell this is a human, how is this supposed to help me figure out who I've been texting?" Mark asks, zooming in on the picture while the staff bursts out in laughter. When he finds out who he's talking to...

So when he staff ask for a final guess as to who you've been texting you say Mark's name confidently while Mark ultimately utters out, "Maybe someone from a girl group... maybe it's Yeri."

When the staff ask you both to stand and get ready to face each other to reveal yourselves. Instead of walking toward Mark, you find yourself behind the set so you're behind Mark.

Mark walks forward slowly, waiting to see when he'll spot his interview partner, but when he sees an empty spot, he faces the camera and the staff with a quizzical smile, "was I talking to a ghost?"

They laugh softly and murmur amongst themselves while you finally reach forward and tap his shoulder softly. Mark jumps, completely scared by the touch. He turns to you with his eyes wide with surprise, "you?!"

"Yes, me!"

After you're both seated at the high top table and calmed down from the surprise meeting with on another, you're both ready to talk to each other in front of the camera once again. You smile softly at your boyfriend, "I knew it was you."

Mark scoffs, "how?"

"Yo," you repeat the word from his first message with a poor imitation of his voice, "all the Drake, all the Bieber-- oh my gosh, Mark! Your baby picture!"

Mark laughs, taking your hand in his out of view of the camera, "speaking of baby pictures, what did you send me?"

Your brows furrow softly at his question, "I sent you a picture of me as a baby."

"There's no way that was you. You look like a little cake monster."

"It was from my first birthday..." you pout at Mark.

"Don't get pouty with me, you were completely covered, how could I have known? I can pout too! My face used to be your homescreen and now it's the plain default screen," Mark tells you with a playful pointed look.

"Mark," you deadpan, "you were with me when I got my new phone."

"Oh yeah..." Mark blushes with embarrassment.

"Anyway, who did you think I was?"

Mark squeezes your hand nervously beneath the table, his thumb rubbing at your knuckles a little anxiously, "I had no clue, to be honest. I knew you were a girl but I didn't know it was you."

When the staff ask Mark how he didn't know but you did, all he can do is blush and laugh out a nervous response. You turn to him with a playful accusatory look of your own, "yeah, how come you didn't know?"

"I don't really pay attention to how you text, just what we text about..."

You and the staff coo as you pinch his cheeks and cup his face lovingly, "you're so cute, but you were cuter as a baby."

"My mom says the same thing," Mark rolls his eyes.

Your conversation winds down and you both pose for the selfie at the end. You both pull silly faces, cheeks pressed together and eyes scrunched shut with your tongues sticking out.

Despite the stupid picture you both took, the screen fades to black with a completely different picture of you and Mark laughing while looking at each other with hearts in your eyes and bright smiles on your faces.

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, doggy style, creampie, blowjob, rough s*x

Summary: you and Bakugo went camping, and you couldn’t believe your new shorts were enough to turn the big guy on so quickly

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

As the golden hues of dusk began to settle over the campsite, the thrill of a shared adventure coursed through your body, amplified by the excitement that Katsuki, your usually so gruff boyfriend, had agreed to this escapade into the wild. 

It wasn't his idea of a perfect getaway, but the hint of adventure and the rugged trails appealed to his untamed spirit, and that was enough to tilt his decision.

Preparations for the trip unfolded over several days. You meticulously selected a new tent, sleeping bags, and all the essentials needed for survival in the embrace of nature. The excitement bubbled within you, and each item was a promise of the memories you were about to create together.

Upon arrival at the campground, a place chosen for its variety of trails, Bakugo’s eyes - those intense, crimson orbs - surveyed the land with a tactical gaze, as if plotting each step he would conquer on the morrow. 

You began setting up the tent, fumbling slightly with the steel profiles. "Kats, could you help me with these?" you asked, trying not to get distracted by his scrutinizing look.

With a gruff nod, Bakugo joined you, his hands adept and sure as he assisted with the tent. "Why don't you start on the fire?" he suggested, his tone brusque but not unkind. "Seems like something you can handle, babe."

You set about gathering dry wood, arranging stones in a careful circle to cradle the fledgling flames you would soon coax to life.

When Bakugo watched you light the fire with practiced ease, a rare smile broke across his face. "Well, well, look at you. I'm starting to think you're a pro at this," he remarked, the rough pad of his thumb brushing a smudge of dirt from your cheek as he approached you.

His compliment warmed you more than the fire, and soon you were searching through your backpack for marshmallows, a sweet treat to end the day. "Hungry?" you asked, glancing back at him.

Bakugo's eyes lingered on you, particularly drawn to the curve of your hips and ass accentuated by your new shorts. “I like your new shorts,” he commented casually, completely skipping the question you asked.

Your cheeks heated under his gaze, and you turned to face him fully. "Do you? They're just material shorts."

"Which hug your ass so nicely," he growled softly, his hand finding its way to your lower back and pulling you closer. 

You gasped, turning fully to face him, arms looping around his neck as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his hips for stability. "Did my shorts turn you on that much, babe?" you teased, feeling his breath against your ear.

His only response was a husky, affirmative grunt as he carried you towards the tent. 

Soon, you lay back on the sleeping bag, Bakugo hovering above, his lips tracing a path along your neck. His hands slipped under your t-shirt, discovering with a pleased murmur that you weren’t wearing anything underneath. "Aren't you being a naughty little shit today?" His voice was rough with arousal.

"You know I like it when you put me in my place," you murmured back, rolling your hips against his, your hands deftly working to remove his clothes.

Bakugo responded with equal fervor, his movements urgent as he shed his layers. 

Overwhelmed by a primal urge, you found yourself driven by raw desire, pushing him off yourself and kneeling between his spread thighs. Your tongue darted out, tracing fervent circles around the swollen tip of his penis, the taste of the faint bitterness of your boyfriend’s arousal causing you to moan in delight.

Katsuki began to guide the rhythm, his hips gently grinding forward. The motion coaxed your lips apart, accommodating him fully as he nudged against the welcoming gate of your throat. With each advance, you adjusted, your throat opening to invite him deeper, your initial gag reflex swiftly giving way to a consuming need to take him all in. The feel of his throbbing length, coupled with your swirling tongue, sent vibrations along his shaft, and Katsuki rolled his head back.

You yanked one leg around his one leg to improve your position and started grinding your slick pussy against his knee.

“Fuck, yeah,” the man growled. The sensation was nearly unbearable. Known for his fiery temperament and fierce control, here he was, surrendering to the pleasure you elicited with your little expert ministrations. His pace quickened. The sensation of sliding in and out of your snuggly throat, the slick, rhythmic tightness you provided, pushed him to the edge.

The build-up was intense, his body tightening, a crescendo of raw energy that demanded release. With a guttural cry, he reached the brink. Bakugo’s release was rich, a surge of warmth that he felt from the base of his spine to the tip of his cock while his creamy essence spilled forth in a rush of exhilarating release, filling your mouth and dripping from its corners to your naked neckline.

With a swift motion, he yanked your head off him by your hair and pushed you flat against the sleeping bag. He knelt behind you, spanked your ass a few times, and cupped your cheeks, spreading them to watch your gaping hole, slick with your juices. “Such a whore you are,” Bakugo mused, and aligned himself with your entrance, and the world fell away as he entered you with a single powerful thrust. His presence inside you was overwhelming, a perfect fit that stretched you deliciously.

Your breath caught in your throat, the sensation overwhelming. "Katsuki..." you gasped, your fingers digging into the sleeping bag.

He set a rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, his groans mixing with your gasps. "I love fucking my sexy girl raw," he confessed, his voice barely above a growl as his hips pistoned in yours. His rock hard cock plunged deep into you with a relentless rhythm. 

You met each of his thrusts with an eager push back, your vaginal muscles clenching around his cock in a delicious squeeze that drew a low groan from his lips. Each movement you made was synchronized with his, a dance of desire that had you both teetering on the edge of ecstasy. You played with the limits of sensation, allowing the tip of his dick to nearly escape your snuggly pussy before sliding back down, pressing your ass against his abdomen tightly. Your hips gave a gentle, teasing twerk, enhancing the friction and intensifying the pleasure that thrummed through every nerve of his.

Each powerful thrust forced a sharp gasp from your lips, his rhythm unabating, as if he were carving his desire into your very being. His movements weren't just fervent - they were meticulously measured to break down every barrier you possessed. Each retreat was only a brief prelude to another overwhelming advance, sending ripples through you. The slick, warm precum trickled out of your abused, swollen pussy whenever he pushed back.

Each thrust stole the breath from your lungs, reducing your voice to ragged gasps and involuntary whimpers, as you were rendered pliant under his commanding touch, your body moving with his like a leaf caught in a storm.

“Fuck yeah, just like that, I’m gonna cream your sweet cunt, bitch,” Bakugo's voice was a husky growl, vibrating through the dense air of the tent. His hand landed with a resounding smack against your ass, the sting blooming across your skin.

His words were crude but thrilling, spoken with the certainty of a man on the brink of conquering, his every word as impactful as his movements, promising a culmination that would leave you both shattered.

When the climax overtook you, it was with a shout of his name, your world bursting into a kaleidoscope of sensation. Even as waves of pleasure overwhelmed you, a part of your mind remained acutely aware, sensing the potent surges of Katsuki's climax deep within your abused pussy. You discovered muscles you never knew you had - working on your boyfriend’s cock, pulsing, squeezing and milking him dry.

His muscles ripped and his thrusts became sloppy. Soon, Katsuki shuddered and expelled bolts of thick, warm semen, giving you one of the best creampies you had ever had. “Take all of my seed, bitch,” the man growled, massaging the meat of your ass. “Such a good, little whore.”

After he withdrew, he once again spread your ass, observing your mixed cums leak out of your reddened, swollen entrance. A satisfied, almost wicked grin spread across his face, reflecting a raw, triumphant pleasure.

Afterward, as you both lay catching your breath, Bakugo's arm wrapped protectively around you, his voice was tender. "I love you, Y/N."

"Love you too, Kats. I think I should wear these shorts more often if this is how you react."

Bakugo’s laugh was a sound you’d treasure forever. “Just wait until I get my hands on you again. You’re mine, Y/N, and I'll show you just how wild I can get.”

@pixelcafe-network

[littlelovelunette]

Fuck it

what are some of YOUR favorite HCs for our ladies? Any subjects, just things you haven't been able to bring up or talk about through requests

I wanna hear your thoughts :3c

~💜

Oh my gosh, finally someone wants to hear me outttt, you're the sweetest, anon 💜, thank youuu

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika, Ambessa Medarda, Violet, Jinx)

Author's Choice

Sevika

Multilingual through and through but sometimes a little bit of this language slips in through a little bit of that language because there's just so much in her vocabulary that she can't get across by using one singular language (Am I projecting? Yes.)

Sensitive to South Asian stereotypes and butch lesbian stereotypes

Likely to beat someone up over it

Grew up in a mysoginistic society which made her feel that she was somehow below men in the past but she doesn't let that affect her now

Considers dyeing her hair because she's insecure of the gray

In her past relationships, her ex girlfriends always made her feel like she needed to wear the pants in the relationship, so she never really was the one being spoiled, spooned or even simply headpatted

Loves being able to show even the slightest bit of feminity when she can with you, but it's rare because she's so insecure of it

If you bring it up, she'll say "Ridiculous," with a scoff and a head shake

Immensely insecure ever since she lost her arm and struggles with body image issues. Please reassure her

Has anger issues and breaks things when she's angry

She's just a kitten when she's angry so hold her close and hug her. Tell her it's okay and coo praises to her

No matter what I've seen other authors say, I think Sevika does get sort of abusive when she's angry, but she doesn't hit you of course. Instead, she slams and breaks things in the house

Ambessa Medarda

Brings you expensive gifts just because she can

When you sleep next to her, Ambessa hums a song and you can't help wonder of her melodious voice, and that she should sing more

Makes honey tea for you with her own hands and goodness does it taste like heaven, she tastes better though

Kneels down and does your straps for you even if her ego is so high, she loves kneeling before you in front of people to flash the dynamic of your relationship with her

Likely to propose only if you share the same loyalty for family as her

Eye contact means everything to this woman whether it's a normal setting, intimate setting or simply sex— look into her golden eyes and whisper "I love you"s

Would figuratively die out of concern if you ever got hurt in any way possible, wouldn't let you out of the Medarda Estate in fear you'll get hurt again. It may take a while for her trust in the world to build again, but she's not all that controlling

Shockingly lets you wear whatever you want to wear when outside but don't expect her to coddle you and take her time stripping you form those clothes. She is feral, she'll tear them off

Her love language is providing all sorts of protection that you need from whoever even if it may be the most dangerous person on the planet, you're safe with Ambessa

Vows to keep you safe whenever you fall asleep, mumbling them to herself as a constant reminder that whatever happens, her loyalty was to you and her family

Her kisses are surprisingly warm, gentle and calculated. She doesn't want to rush, and takes her sweet time. Sometimes it's barely tongue, and she just enjoys the feeling of your sweet lips against hers

Violet

Although she claims she doesn't care for your commands, if you told her to sit she'll sit

Favorite part of your body is your boobs no matter if they're big/small. She'll bury her face in them and even use them as stress balls. Nothing lewd really, she just likes sniffing them. What a pervert but come on, it's Vi

Loves interlacing her fingers with yours, rubbing the top of your hand with the pad of her thumb

Always carries sanitary pads/tampons for you to be your saviour at times of crisis

Can't stand your pout or your tears. Crocodile tears or not, Vi is buying you whatever you want or beating someone up over something that you want. She can't stand seeing her princess all pouty

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Vi's sometimes afraid what impression she gives off to you

Worried because you may be exposed to Shimmer. She doesn't care what the living conditions are, but she doesn't want you to get addicted to any sort of substance that can cause your life to go downhill

Stares at you so much you're sometimes worried whether she's even listening to what you have to say, or when you're just casually conversing she's staring at you as if you've grown two heads.

In reality, Vi takes one long look at you, one that could battle a stare contest, and decides you're too good for her. But she'll never say that out loud in fear you're gonna leave her

Scared she's gonna lose her shit and hit you when she's angry because poor baby has anger issues

Very much capable of confidently arguing with a child and losing

Jinx

Has anxious attachment issues with you, she knows it and you know it. But you both silently acknowledge that

Perfect dates mean bombing and terrorising Pilties with her... Or, you both could decide on a sugar marathon. Whichever you prefer

Her love language is putting effort into remembering the things that you like, often stealing the best of it from Piltover. Jinx makes you your favourite weapons in your favourite colour, with little scribbles that say you belong to her

Blushes when you hug her and she awkwardly returns it back but when she gets comfortable she can't stop hugging you

If you ever left her, she'd actually lose her shit, she's way too attached with you

Overthinks the whole love confession thing before you both dated and she lit your yard on fire with the words "I LOVE YOU"

Cried in your arms after Caitlyn shot her middle finger off. She was so upset, you almost gutted the woman for doing that to your baby

Sometimes she loses her shit, hallucinates and you wake up tied to her chair, her knife poking at your heart. "Love me. Love me. Love me." She repeats, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. Jinx calms down eventually, unties you and asks you if she scared you. You always tell her no and give her headpats

Jinx is way too scared of relying on anyone emotionally and you can tell. You don't force her to trust you immediately but it is a slow process, she slowly starts to open up more

Swings her legs back and forth from the edge of the bed while you do her hair. Your arm workout is doing her hair

You motivate her to actually take care of herself, eat properly and shower. But you have to do it all with her

Surprisingly can pick you up

[crowborn666-writes]

think it would be cute if the upper moons(and muzan!) caught their love wearing something of theirs when they're sleeping? for comfort. im sure kokushibo's kimono is comfy to wear... he's a big & tall demon man!

(Omfg this is such a cute thing to think about— think I’ll limit it to Muzan and the first 3 upper moons for rn! If I get ideas for 4, 5, and 6 I’ll write those too!) (also first time writing some of these guys, so apologies if they’re a bit ooc!)

(ignore how i completely forgot this ask existed)

Sleeping With A Piece of Them

Upper Moons + Muzan x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romantic, Slightly suggestive in some parts

~~~~~~

Muzan

Muzan can most often be seen wearing his usual suit when out and about, but at home, he has a selection of clothes that embody the styles of eras from the past 1,000 years or so. Whichever one he wears at home depends on his mood, usually.

He had left you to do some business, and while he was away, you simply got lonely. The demon lord had been pulled thin in his schedule. Due to the meetings between demon or mortal, he could only see you for a few hours or so lately. Certainly not enough time to properly indulge in his favorite person.

So when he finally returned to you, no more meetings getting in the way for a good long while, he paused in the doorway of your extravagant shared bedroom.

All the blankets and pillows you could want, a large, plush bed to lay in, and he finds you have chosen his recliner, the yutaka he had previously worn wrapped around you. It seemed you had been reading, but had fallen asleep waiting for him. The demon king inhales, and then strides forward.

You startle awake at a sudden presence in your bubble, a pale hand setting your book aside before it carefully grasps your chin. He tilts your head up to kiss you, his other hand splayed out next to you and holding his weight as he leaned over you.

“I see someone missed me dearly,” he breathes, sharp teeth catching your bottom lip. “Allow me to fix that.”

Kokushibo

Kokushibo wasn’t one for extravagant outfits or items, as long as they were comfortable and functioned the way they were supposed to. For years, all Kokushibo truly needed was power.

But then you came along, and flipped a part of his world on its head.

You occasionally gifted him with things, things he wouldn’t get really get for himself or think twice about, but they came from you, so they became important to him.

He had gone to train for a while, checking in with you to make sure you wouldn't be left unprepared in his absence. Once satisfied with your condition, he was gone.

Well, physically he was.

You laid on the bed, dozing in the early evening quiet. Kokushibo had left behind one of his favorite kimonos, having changed into one you had gotten him for the day. The scent coming off the kimono invaded your senses, and the oversized material only added to the comfort.

When Kokushibo returned, he moved about quietly, able to hear your deeper breathing and slower heartbeat rooms away. He found his way to you, naturally, all six of his eyes blinking down at you in bed.

Odd. But not surprising.

He told himself he should’ve seen this coming, but alas, here he was. You were fast asleep, curled up on your side with your face tucked into the collar of his kimono.

After a bit of back and forth in his head, he set his sword aside, crawling into bed behind you. He was careful in how he moved you both, not disturbing your slumber as he wrapped himself around you, letting you curl into his chest.

“Sometimes I wonder if I spoil you too much.” He murmured, watching you closely. He was quiet for a few long moments. “No. Actually, I don’t spoil you nearly enough.”

Douma

Look. It was cold, you were lonely, and Douma had been gone for hours doing who knows what.

So of course you stole one of his shirts. Who wouldn’t?

You, you lucky little thing, had the privilege of hiding in Douma’s room whenever you pleased. Whether anxiety driven or simply of boredom, you were almost always welcome in there.

So when Douma couldn’t find you, his room was one of the first places he checked.

“Oh, how adorable!” He cooed upon seeing you, wrapped up in both his shirt and his blankets. “I see someone got lonely.~”

You stirred awake to find he had climbed into bed with you, your head on his chest and his fingers carding through your hair.

“Well, hello, precious dear,” he cooed to you when you lifted your head, “did you miss me that badly?”

At your sleepy nod, Douma couldn’t help but pepper your face in kisses. “Oh, I’m sorry! Let me make it up to you.~”

Akaza

Akaza doesn't really have much in the way of "shareable" clothes. (He'd argue none of his clothes are shareable. They're his, why would he share them?)

But occasionally, on nights where you wanted to go for walks with him, to keep him close for companionship and safety, he would wear a simple patterned yutaka you got for him once.

Course, he had to hide under a decent amount of makeup to blend in with the public, but if it meant seeing you smile, it was worth it. You both would walk the streets of a night market, looking at all the interesting things they had for sale.

He sets the yutaka down at the foot of the bed when you return home, mentioning something about washing off the makeup. You nod and wait for him, knowing he wanted to be back in his usual clothing as soon as possible. It wasn't that the yutaka was uncomfortable, he was simply too used to his usual outfit.

So he can only huff out a laugh when he finds you curled up in bed, having snatched up the piece of clothing and burrowed into his scent.

"What am I gonna do with you?" he hummed as you pulled him into the bed, mumbling something about early morning being soon. "Well, if I comfort you that much, I'll see about leaving you with some of my clothes whenever I have to leave."

[leighsartworks216]

I Want You

Sylus x gn!Reader

For all my folks who have been told they're not good enough to be wanted by anyone

Warnings: insecurity, kissing, alcohol, swearing, crying, embarrassment, not proofread

Word Count: 1,349

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Have you ever been with anyone?”

It’s a simple question, perhaps born from your uncertainty, here and now. Standing on a moonlit balcony, dressed nicely, dinner on a candlelit table behind you, already savored. It was all Sylus’s planning, of course. When he needed to go to another country, he’d invited you to join him, as a little vacation from your own work to help him with his. When he then invited you to dinner, well, you didn’t think it would be quite this… romantic.

You both stand side by side at the balcony railing, you with half a flute of champagne and him with his own glass of wine. With your elbows on the rail, the flute hangs loosely over the freefall to the ground below. Beyond that, an entire city stretches out into the dim horizon.

You laugh humorlessly. “No. Who would want me?”

“I want you,” Sylus answers quickly.

You don’t look away from the view. Instead, you swirl the champagne around the sides of your glass. The sardonic, deprecating smile slips slowly from your face. You don’t believe him.

He sets his glass on the railing and turns fully toward you. With gentle fingers, he holds your chin and guides you to look up at him. His eyes are sharp. “I want you,” he repeats, firmer this time. His hand slides up to cup your face, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. “What will it take for you to believe me?”

You divert your gaze again as you try to pull his hand from your face. “Look, you don’t have to pity me, Sy. I know I’m not desirable-”

“Not desirable?” He scoffs. “Now who ever told you that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just everyone, my entire life? I know nobody wants me, you don’t have to bullshit me on this.”

“When have you ever known me to bullshit something?”

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t let you pull his hand away. Instead, he cradles your face in both hands, chasing your gaze. “I want you. I want… your laugh when you hear me singing, and your eyes when you’re trying to get a plushie from the claw machine.”

“This isn’t funny anymore.” You set your glass down to hold both of his wrists, trying to pull your burning face from his hold so you can leave.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not joking, sweetheart,” he scolds lightly. “I want your smile when we go for joyrides, and your frown when the Twins are playing tricks on you.”

He leans in, tightening the space trapped between you. The night air is pushed out. It’s just him and you, and your shared breaths. He looks so intense, but not in a frightening way.

Your whole body is hot and uneasy. This still feels like an elaborate joke meant to insult you and make your faux-vacation a personal hell for you to relive every 3am for the rest of your life.

“I want your courage,” he whispers, deep voice slightly raspy at this volume. “I want your stubbornness.”

Your eyes are burning. You’re so embarrassed - you wish you could just hide under the table cloth until the end of the universe.

“I want to watch that triumphant little dance you do when you beat me in Kitty Cards. I want to hear your voice when you first wake up.”

A tear slips free. His face is blurred by the breaking dam. He brushes away each tear with his thumbs.

“I want… every little thing about you.”

You sniffle. You hold tighter to his wrists, torn between continuing to push him away and pulling him closer. He doesn’t shake you off, either way. “What about all the things you don’t want?” you ask, voice trembling and weak and utterly pathetic.

He brushes his nose against yours. Your breath stutters. “Like what?”

“My temper and my recklessness and how- how naive I can be sometimes…” You close your eyes. You can imagine any expression you want on him like this, and right now, you can just picture so perfectly the realization that would come across his face when he realizes you’re right. When he finally remembers just how insufferable and annoying you are. More tears fall as you squeeze them shut tighter. “My fat and my pickiness and-”

“All of it,” he cuts you off. “Anything you can possibly think of. Everything. I want it all.”

His tone leaves no room for argument…

But you’ve never listened to that anyway.

“Why? Why do you want… all of this? You- You can have so much more than me. So much more. Why do you want to settle for me?”

He scoffs. “I’m not settling for anything. You should know by now, kitten, I don’t go for anything less than the best.”

You sniffle again. You can’t imagine what you look like, all gross from crying. One hand finally releases your face, slipping out of your grasp. You hold onto the railing tightly in its place. Something soft and cool brushes away the tears. It’s silk; it feels just like the expensive bed sheets he has on every bed in his base.

“Will you open your eyes?” He cups your face again, the silk pressed in between his palm and your cheek. He brushes his nose more insistently against yours. “Please?”

Water sticks to your eyelashes as you force them open. Under your eyes feels raw and heavy, but your tears have dissipated enough that his face isn’t blurry. He smiles softly.

“There you are,” he whispers, fondly stroking your cheek again. “I want you. Nothing you think will ever change that. Nothing anybody else thinks will change it, either.”

“Really?”

One corner of his mouth quirks up slightly higher, becoming a smirk. “Do I need to prove it to you?”

Your face burns with more than just embarrassment now. You nod ever so slightly. This close, you can see the way his eyes darken as they glance down at your mouth. You can feel his pulse under your hand where you hold his wrist, picking up speed. You just barely hear the slight hitch in his breath as his lips brush over yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and he fully slots your lips together.

He kisses you slow and deep, holding your face firmly to keep you there, to keep you from drawing away from him. It’s insistent. He pulls away for a breath and dives back in. Each kiss is more determined and desperate than the last, until he’s breathing heavily against your mouth, tongue begging for entrance. Until your lips are swollen as you let him in. Until he finally, finally draws away, and watches with hooded eyes as the string of saliva connecting your mouths snaps.

You’re just as dazed as he is. You haven’t even opened your eyes yet, dumbly seeking out his lips again for one more kiss until your mind catches up with the quiet chuckle that fans across your face. Your chest rises and falls with passion, your cheeks are burning with desire, and you look up at him like he’s just pulled the moon down from the sky and handed it to you. He can’t resist nipping gently at your bruised lower lip. He’s glad he didn’t, when you let out a choked whine, begging for more.

“Do you believe me now, my beloved?” he rasps. The name sends shivers down your spine.

You release his wrist and reach up to hold his face. He’s all sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders, but when your fingers brush his hair, it’s impossibly soft. He’s impossibly soft right now, leaning into your touch and sighing as your fingers scrape along the fine hairs at the base of his skull. Gathering all of the courage that he admires so much, you whisper, “I think I need a bit more convincing.”

He laughs, already kissing you when he says, “It would be my pleasure.”

And, despite all the things you’ve been told all your life, you think you’re really starting to believe him.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

[munsonsmixtapes]

wearing a matching set for eddie smut?

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) body insecurity, body worship, nipple play

There's not really a reason why you bought the lingerie set. It was pretty when you tried it on and it just so happened to that pretty red that Eddie loved to see you in. You wanted to surprise him with it, putting it on top of the t-shirts he stored in the bottom drawer of the dresser you shared.

You're washing dishes when Eddie comes home from work, trying your best to act normal as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, murmuring a "hey, baby" as he passes by you to head to your shared room to change into some more comfy clothes.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you slowly follow him into the bedroom, leaning against the door frame as you watch him make the discovery, pulling the bright red, thin panties out of the drawer, whistling as he takes a look at them.

"Shit, baby, what are these?" He asks, as he turns towards you. "I'm assuming they're not for me, because," he holds them up to his body and they don't look quite right on him.

"They're for you," you tell him, your cheeks getting warm. "I mean, they're for me to wear for you." You enter the room and stand in front of him, reaching into the drawer to pull out the matching bra.

Eddie's never seen this side of you, but he has to admit that he finds it really hot. Sure, you've worn lingerie for him before, but you've never bought any to specifically wear for him. And that makes him feel special. It makes him feel…hot.

"And what did I do to deserve such special treatment?" He asks, fanning his face dramatically.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "It's for you being you." You press a kiss to his nose then take the underwear from him. "I'm gonna slip into these and you just sit there and look pretty, okay?"

You head into the bathroom and close the door, taking a deep breath as you gingerly take off your clothes, changing into the lingerie, suddenly not feeling as confident as you did in the store earlier.

The cups of the bra seem to be smaller than you remember, more transparent, your tits on full display through the sheer fabric. And the panties are more tight, hugging you in all the wrong places. The whole thing looks ill fitting and now you’re unsure of whether you should change or not.

You stare at your reflection as you fix one of the straps that’s fallen off your shoulder. You almost don’t want to go out there, the idea suddenly feeling stupid to you. But Eddie is waiting and you don’t want to disappoint him.

You slowly exit the bathroom, covering yourself up as much as you can with your hands and arms, but eventually give up, showing yourself to Eddie as he leans back where he’s sitting on the bed, another wolf whistles passing through his lips.

“Baby, you look fucking amazing.” He’s grinning ear to ear and you almost believe him. Almost. He’d never lie to you so you don’t know why you don’t believe him.

“Do I?” You ask genuinely and Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He always thinks you look amazing and is very quick to tell you so.

“Of course you do. Can’t stop looking at you. Hey, what’s wrong?” He notices your frown and rests his hands on his shoulder, his head moving in the direction of yours, trying to get you to look him in the eye.

“Nothing, Eds. Don’t worry about it.” You shake your head before turning it to the side so he can’t see how ashamed you feel.

“Do you not like it? Are you uncomfortable? You don’t have to do this for me. You can change back if that’s what you want. I love you no matter what you wear. You know that.” He wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it. He hates when you feel anything but happy and wants to do whatever he can to make you feel better.

“Is it too small?”

“Small? No, baby, you look perfect.” His hand moved to one of the cups of your bra, his fingers brushing over the lace. “This, this is nice, but I think I like what’s underneath it even better.”

Eddie pushes the strap off of your shoulder then presses a featherlight kiss to it. He backs you up to the bed as his kisses get hotter and rougher, his lips sucking on your skin as your back collides with the bed.

“Once I’m done with you, you’ll know just how pretty I think you are. Especially when you see all of marks I’m about to leave on you when you look in the mirror.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment and he’s quick to get off of you, rushing to the other side of the room and grabbing something before hurrying back to you.

He straddles your waist and brings a camera up his face, making sure that you’re in the center of the frame.

“Need a photo of my pretty girl so pose for me.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in a way that you think looks sexy, a pose that you’ve seen in the magazines he reads.

“That’s it,” he says then snaps a photo, the thing printing out of the camera. You take it and set it on the bedside table along with the camera before Eddie lies down on top of you once again.

He leans down and brings your nipple to his mouth, sucking on it through the fabric. You let out a whine and he takes that as an invitation to continue. His hands find yours and he pins them above you as he dives in for more, licking and sucking on the fabric as you moan underneath him, the sounds nothing but hot.

Eddie moves his hands underneath you and unhooks your bra, your tits coming into view and he feels his mouth watering as he stares down at your exposed chest and all of the things he wants to do to it. You’re right there on display for him like an all-you-can-eat buffet and fuck is he hungry.

He goes for your nipple, taking the whole thing into his mouth, flicking it back and forth as he sucks on it, wanting to get a full taste of it. He slides his hands underneath you, holding onto your bare back as he works, trying to giving himself more room, wanting to have his mouth on as much of you as he can.

You’re moaning and whining and he makes sure to press his rock hard cock against you so that you know just how hard you’re making him. That you know that he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of this as you are.

“Fuck,” you whine as he bites down on your nipple, arching into him as he bites down even harder, wanting you to moan as loud as possible so all of your neighbors know exactly how good he makes you feel.

You’re already reaching your orgasm and even though you’re embarrassed by it, Eddie is quick to let you know how good of a girl he thinks you are, how you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to.

“Oh,” you moan loudly as you grab onto him, your nails digging into the back of his shirt. “Oh my god, Eddie.”

“That’s it,” he encourages as he helps you ride out your high. “That’s my girl. Sound so pretty when you moan my name.”

As you’re coming down, he moves lower, loving on every inch of skin he can get his mouth on, nipping and sucking on the parts of you he loves the most, stopping once he gets to your cunt. He spreads your legs wide and you look ready for him, already sopping wet through your panties.

Eddie gets undressed and puts on the first condom he can find before lowering himself onto you once again as he slides into you, pumping in and out slowly, knowing that this is exactly what you need. You want him to make love to you, not fuck you like he always does. You want him to show you just how much he loves you with his body.

“Wish you could see how pretty you are,” he says as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Because if you could see what I see, baby, fuck,” he sighs as he picks up the pace just slightly, his fingers interlocking with yours as his face is buried in your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin.

“Can we do this more often?” You ask even though you’re kind of afraid to.

“What? Go slow?”

“Yes.” Your face flushes as you’re confession but Eddie just looks as you lovingly.

“Baby, you can have anything you want. All you gotta do is ask.”

“So we can do this all night as long as I ask?” Eddie pulls back to look at you as if you had just asked a silly question, and you suppose that you did.

“No question,” he shakes his head. “Now lie back darlin’, gonna show you just what I think of that pretty little thing you were wearing.”

And you do that the rest of the night and into the early morning, and afterwards, Eddie takes that Polaroid from the bedside table and puts it in his wallet so he can look at it anytime he wants. And after he does so, he pulls you into his arms and cuddles you until the two of you fall into a much needed sleep.

[hellotailor]

Apologies if you've already done a post on this and I've just missed it, but can I ask for your take on the pyjamas worn by the cast of interview with vampire? I mean technically they're not a 100% necessary item, but just from a quick look there seems to be a lot of variety and they do change over the series

ok, i’m delighted by the specificity of this question, and it turns out that i have a VERY extensive answer.

there’s a lot of sleepwear in IWTV due to the volume of bedroom/coffin scenes, and like any other outfit, these costumes are shaped by characterization and historical period. for instance claudia initially wears a long, modest, frilly nightgown - an old-fashioned style that plays into her girlish doll wardrobe purchased by louis and lestat. however her sleepwear matures over the years, including a trendy lace nightdress with bloomers in the 1920s (note the rectangular silhouette), and a pink padded jacket/pastel robe outfit in 1940s paris. she's following contemporary trends while charting a visible trajectory from child to adult.

when i wrote about the Théâtre des Vampires coven costumes, i noted that while their wardrobes share certain themes (ie. monochrome patterns and stripes), they each have specific personal tastes. that holds true for sleepwear. in the S2 finale we see the coven going to bed in their coffins, with Eglee in a gorgeous (maybe 1940s?) robe, Celeste in a striped pajama suit reflecting her 1920s-30s cabaret style, and Armand in a plain grey set of prison jammies because he's Suffering.

of course, the star pajama outfits all belong to Louis and Lestat, playing into their wealthy domestic aesthetic in S1. they receive multiple bedroom/coffin scenes, and Lestat's gold Leyendecker robe is obviously iconic.

touching on the historical side of things for a moment, pajamas (as in a matching buttondown top and loose pants) were popularized in the western world in the 19th century, as a repurposed south asian import - kind of like how banyans became trendy among the upper classes in 18th century england. this was when loungewear started to catch on as a concept, both in terms of dressing gowns and smoking jackets (which you could wear while socializing at home) and actual pajamas, which became unisex in the 1920s.

back in his human life in the 18th century, Lestat probably slept naked or wore a shapeless white nightgown (and possibly a nightcap, the sexiest of garments). but in New Orleans he adopts Louis' lifestyle, which involves a luxurious wardrobe of fashionable menswear. they're both into shopping and looking good, and i think they enjoy the ritual of getting dressed together each night.

(i also have a personal theory that Lestat may prefer to sleep fully clothed because his formative traumatic memory involves waking up naked in the dark. after all, he doesn't need pajamas to stay warm, and he doesn't have a recent habit of wearing them in his human life like Louis does. then again, maybe he just enjoys having a new outfit for every occasion!)

in Dubai, we only get one scene (iirc) with Louis and Armand in their pajamas, lying in bed wearing outfits that tie into the striped prison bar imagery of their bedroom. Armand is in warmer brown tones (like his Paris wardrobe) while Louis is in black and grey, like the rest of his Dubai outfits. i'd also note that this is the one place where they're genuine in private, meaning that they aren't putting on a show for Daniel. so this is potentially Armand's most relaxed costume in the present day.

the fact that they're wearing this kind of old-school sleepwear feels very appropriate for their whole deal, imo. in the 21st century, a lot of people just sleep in boxers and t-shirts or whatever. there's a slightly 20th century vibe to wearing a full set of buttondown pajamas, and Armand's outfit reads as more stylish (and possibly more wealthy) than your average millennial guy. which makes sense! they're old men.

i think we can assume that every single thing in their Dubai home is ferociously expensive, even when it doesn't need to be. considering the way Louis gives himself a modern makeover in the finale, i do wonder if he'll switch over to sleeping in t-shirts etc next season, or if he'll stick with variations of the same sleepwear he wore during his mortal life.

p.s. all of my iwtv design posts are available on this tag!

[returnofeternity]

butch!r helping the girls move!!! lugging around the heavy boxes while they sit and watch and say how well you're doing!!

after the fire, and after the wood isn't hot as fuck, trying to move the planks to search for whatever is left under the rubble. coming back with burnt pieces of clothes that are barely salvageable, but the girls all call you brave and thank you for looking ^^ being the one to build shelter during the winter while they all huddle together for warmth, working day in and day out basically, and you're rewarded with praise and whatever scraps of food they have left.

when spring comes, or at least when it gets warmer enough to move, you help all of them move into whatever place you all kind of agree to stay at. they all follow you while you carry heavy suitcases to the shelter, almost running into trees because of how hard they're staring 😭 they lowkey end up forming a circle as they sit and watch you bring their things back, calling out praises and flirty compliments as you set up their things. you don't think anyone besides you and van and maybe nat helped build the huts 😭 even van took long breaks to admire you while you chopped wood and set up the huts.

when you get done with it all, you realize you didn't make enough huts to include yourself. there's lottie's own hut, of course, nat gets her own too, so does shauna... taivan share their own. technically, there are two more huts, but there are already 3+ of them sleeping there. when they realize this, they allll jump at the opportunity to get you to bunk with them 😭 you're kind of passed around like a blunt between them, sleeping with lottie one night, nat the next, and shauna the other, etc...

when rescue comes, thinking of helping them carry all their things to the plane... also, thinking of being the one to carry lottie to the rescue plane because you know she probably fought to stay ☹️😭

[rifari2037]

They talked about cultural differences?? Really??? I laughed so hard 🤣

Do they realised that air and water are different too?? That their cultural are completely opposite???

Water tribe people killed animals for food, furniture, clothes, etc. That's their culture! Air nomads don't killed animals, even a fly, for any reasons, they're vegetarian. That's their culture!!

There's nothing wrong with both cultures, but if we think about it with sense, can two people with extreme cultural differences marry and accept each other's cultures easily?

No, it won't be easy. Katara and Aang got married without any problems about cultural differences because Bryke were the writers!

Do they know that Aang/Kataang stand was aware about it and wrote this???

Do they even realise that in canon Aang doesn't really like Water Tribe culture?? Yes, that's CANON!!

Katara : Bato, it looks like home! [Bato, Katara, Sokka, and Aang file inside.] Sokka : Everything's here, even the pelts! Aang : [Sarcastically.] Yeah, nothing's cozier than dead animal skins.

Katara : [Surprised and delighted.] No way! Stewed sea prunes! Bato : Help yourself! Sokka : Dad could eat a whole barrel of these things! Aang takes a bowl of stewed sea prunes and sniffs it, but looks away in disgust and sets it to the side.

Aang : Hey everyone! Sorry I was gone so long. Katara : [Turns to face him.] Hey, Aang, I didn't notice you left. Aang : Yup, but now I'm back. [Sitting down.] Sure could go for some delicious sea prunes! Aang quickly takes some bites of sea prunes, but chokes them back up, yet he pretends to enjoy them. Katara, Bato, and Sokka look at him strangely.

Hama : I wanted to surprise you! I bought all this food today so I could fix you a big Water Tribe dinner. Of course, I can't get all the ingredients I need here, but ocean kumquats are a lot like sea prunes if you stew them long enough. Aang : [Sticking his tongue out in disgust.] Great!

Aang : [Whispering to Toph.] I'd steer clear of the sea prunes. Toph : I thought they were ocean kumquats. Aang : Close enough.

Oh, btw, An ocean kumquat is a small, round fruit often consumed in the Fire Nation. That's close enough with sea prunes, water tribe cuisine.

When Aang doesn't like water tribe cuisine, I can imagine Zuko and Katara having dinner, sharing water tribe and fire nation dishes and they enjoying it because it taste similar. 😂

Fire and water are the opposite elements, that's why they are compliment each other.

Yin and Yang shows a balance between two opposites with a portion of the opposite element in each section.

Remember what Iroh said about the elements? Let's see if fire and water don't mix together, especially for Zuko and Katara.

"Fire is the element of power..."

"...The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want."

"Water is the element of change..."

"...The people of the Water Tribe are capable of adapting to many things..."

"...They have a deep sense of community and love that holds them together through anything."

Young Zuko : [Zuko is shown standing up.] You can't sacrifice an entire division like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation! How can you betray them?

Zuko and Katara would bicker and not get along well, they said?? Really??

Every time Katara is mad, Zuko just silent and listen to her. Even when they're still enemies!!

Oh, btw, Katara not 'always' threatened Zuko to kill him if he hurt Aang. It happened once. She is still mad at him not because of Aang, but because he betrayed her.

That's personal to her, she is mad not because he hurt someone else but he hurt her. I mean, if she really mad at him because of Aang, why is she connected her anger at Zuko to her mom, not Aang (again)?

And after this moment, after Katara by her own choice, forgives Zuko, do Zuko and Katara always bickering and not get along at all??? No, they're not!!

Zuko gives Katara advice, Katara listens. Katara gives Zuko advice, Zuko listens.

They reassure each other at a very important moment.

Lastly, I don't understand how Zuko and Katara, who they said would never get along, always save each other lives, even Zuko sacrifice his life to her?

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Even without an answer (perhaps the search will be enough)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)

length: 2.2k

genre: angsty hurt/comfort

warnings: non-sexual nudity, they're in the shower the whole time, injury / chronic pain talk, hmm trauma lasts forever and you have to live with it ig

a/n: I hope this makes sense I hope it's gooood I hope y'all like it <33

The ache that sets further in as you stand in the steam of your shower, you think, should be more familiar by now. The pain that surges through your back and your shoulder should feel a bit more like home. 

But as you stand with your head bowed under the spray of the shower, hot water cascading over you and tingling your skin as it throbs, you find that you've never felt quite so far removed from yourself. 

It's only the sound of the bathroom door opening, the quiet click of the lock and the shuffle of clothes on the other side of the fogged-up glass that makes you blink. But it doesn't make you move, and you stand, upright and trembling, as Damian slips into the shower behind you, hissing at the temperature of the water but stepping closer nonetheless to press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

"He shouldn't have said that to you," he murmurs softly, and as he traces his knuckles up your spine, you squeeze your eyes shut.

"He didn't mean anything by it."

"He's a detective," Damian continues, and there's a razor-sharp edge to his voice that feels so familiar. "He should've known."

"He's your father… I hope you didn't fight with him because of me," you say dully, and your voice is strained in a way that makes Damian put his hand on your shoulders and try to turn you around to face him. When you resist, though, keeping your head bowed, he sighs and squeezes your shoulders ever so gently. 

"I'll close my eyes if you don't want me to see you cry." And he offers it up so easily, holds it out to you like it's a simple allowance that you deserve. It's enough to make your head snap up, and when you turn to face Damian in his arms, your eyes are red-rimmed and sensitive from your tears.

"You've seen me cry before, Dames," you say softly, smoothing your fingers over his soaked, dripping hair.

"That doesn't mean I have the right to see it every time," he responds patiently. "And I'd rather you cry whenever you need to than have the privilege of seeing it every time you do." You hum in understanding at that, looking down at your palms as you press them against Damian's chest, ignoring the ache in your shoulder as you watch streams of water splash down his skin and onto yours. 

"Bruce is… incredibly aware of the toll that this work can take on your life and your body," he continues quietly. "He's made mistakes and learned from them so that we don't have to. For the others who learned to fight under him, it's…"

"It's ok, Dames," you say softly, the rush of water in your shared space nearly drowning out your voice. "I know the difference between me and the rest of you. Bruce reminded me of that."

"He shouldn't have."

"He just said the truth." 

You'd known that in the moment, as well - of course you had. When you'd ventured back into the Cave after a long night of patrol, rolling your shoulders and fighting against the onslaught of an old injury, you'd known that his words came from a place of help - of healing.

"You need to be careful with that," he'd said, and his voice, through the cowl, had made your hair stand on end in a way that only the Batman could. "It's your rotator cuff, isn't it? Easy to wreck if you don't pay attention to taking care of yourself."

"It's… fine," you'd replied hollowly, frozen and shifting on your feet in the face of being caught. 

"There's no use pretending you're not in pain when you are - you'll just make it worse," he'd sighed. "Anyway, there's nothing you can do to fix it now, not when the damage is already done. And it's not your fault that you weren't taught properly. But you need to learn how to take care of yourself out there. You're no use to anyone in Gotham if you wear your body into the ground. You need -"

"That's enough, Father." Damian's voice had been clipped as he strode between the two of you, his eyes narrowed at Bruce. You're sure he had more to say than that - sure that you'd caused some kind of conflict between the two of them, but you'd been too concerned with slipping out of the Cave and away from it all to really care. And Damian, with worry-clouded eyes, had let you go - let you run away once more. 

"Where'd you go, beloved," Damian's voice brings you back, his forefinger tapping gently against your nose as you blink the memory away. 

"Hm?"

"Your mind went somewhere else," he says softly, understandingly in a way that makes you bristle. "I'd prefer if you take me with you, wherever you're wandering off to."

"Bruce was wrong," you say stubbornly, looking up at Damian as he smoothes a hand up and down your spine.

"I know he was. I told him -"

"It is my fault."

"Oh…" he frowns. "No… it's not, my love."

"It is," you continue, plowing over whatever reassurances were about to be offered. You're not sure you could handle it if they really were. "It's my body, it's my problem, it's - I should've…" But you're not sure, really, what you could've done - a child puppeteered by something bigger than you, a soldier fighting a war that should not have been your own. 

"Does that make it better?" Damian asks kindly. "If it's your own doing? Does it make it easier to think that it was self-inflicted?" Your mouth snaps shut at his words, your eyes wide as you stare up at him with an exposed sort of understanding.

Damian takes your hand in his, smoothing your palm over a scar on his abdomen. You remember the incident in which he'd gotten it, of course - it had been some slip-up while he was training, all those years ago with the League of Assassins. His mother had called it a lesson, had declared that the scar should be a reminder of what he'd done wrong. 

"Our scars may be different shapes, beloved," he continues, his voice too kind for someone who's bled so much. "But they come from the same war. It is not your crime that you were controlled as you were. It is not your burden that you were used in such a way."

Your shoulder throbs as Damian speaks and you find yourself crumpling, just a bit, leaning into him and pressing your forehead against his chest as you begin to weep again. He stands, through it all - just as he always has, and you feel a pang of guilt at having shoved him back in the way that you did. 

"Damian, I-"

"It's ok," he soothes, quieting your wavering voice. "I'm right here." And as you sob into his chest, one of his hands coming up to the back of your head to press you more firmly against him while his other hand rubs up and down your back, Bruce's words echo in your head over and over and over.

The damage has already been done. The pain has already been inflicted. The scars have already been carved.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it," you choke out, heaving in a shuddering breath against Damian's chest.

"With what?"

"With all the things that are wrong with me now," you say as you breathe deeply, closing your eyes and forcing calmer exhales past your lips. 

"There is nothing wrong with you, my love," he says, and he offers it up so willingly, voice hushed and earnest like a prayer. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"My body is broken," your voice wavers as you speak, fresh tears building in your eyes. "My -  it doesn't work the way it should, or… or the way it used to. And it's not my fault, I didn't  - I didn't want this and - it's not my fault, I swear -"

"I know it's not," Damian interrupts your rambling, shushing you gently and pulling you closer with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, his skin warm against yours. You bring your hands up to dig the heels of your palms into your closed eyes as you lean into him, matching your breaths to the steady rhythm of his own as the heat of the shower continues to dull the pain in your back and shoulder ever so slightly. 

"I don't know what we're supposed to do now," you admit slowly. "I don't know… How are we supposed to just live with this? How are we supposed to go the rest of forever trying to, I don't know…" You sort of trail off at the end, but you've found that, at this point, there are few words that really need to be spoken between the two of you. You let your fingers trace over the scar on Damian's abdomen and he hums in understanding. 

How are you supposed to live like this? As relics of a war that never should've happened - as altars to something that you'd never wished to pray to?

"I don't… know," he says haltingly, and you feel a bit guilty for asking him such an impossible question. But as you begin to shrink back from it, Damian cups your jaw in one of his hands, his palm warm and calloused against your cheek, and when he dips down to press a kiss firmly to your lips, you find that it's all a bit easier to deal with.

"I don't know, my love, what we're supposed to do with this. But we'll do it together, won't we? Whatever it is, we'll find a way together?"

"You don't have to ask that, love," you reply with another kiss, quick and gentle and promising. "Of course, it'll be together. It always is, isn't it?"

Always," he assures. "Although, I am sorry."

"For what, Dames?" you ask, a frown tugging at your lips as you reach to wipe a trail of water off his brow before it makes its way into his eyes. You can't imagine, in moments like these, when he holds you and shushes you and curls around you in such a way, what he could possibly be sorry for. 

"For not having an answer," he says simply, like he should know what's written in the stars, like he should be able to pluck the impossible from the heavens and lower it down to the earth for you. 

"You don't have to have all the answers," you assure, but a frown pulls at his lips all the same.

"I hate that you're in pain. I hate that… Beloved, you don't deserve it." You hum at that, pressing your lips together as more tears prick at the back of your eyes. You hate it, too, he knows, the dull pain that lives in you inescapably. It wears on you, too, he sees, the way that some days every movement is an ache.

"It's not your job to have all the answers," you say soothingly, and he shoots you a look, like he's pleading with you, asking you to stop comforting him so that he can comfort you. One day, you think, he'll realize that it goes both ways.

"I wish I had just this one."

"Yea," you laugh, and something flutters in his chest at the sound. "I'm sure you do. But this is all I ever need from you, you know. I'm not…" you trail off, shifting your stance as you look away. Damian lets you - always, lets you hide in plain sight in whichever ways you need to. 

"I don't know how we're supposed to live, most of the time," you continue, the uncertainty of it all rocking your stance just a bit, and Damian's arm tightens around your waist as if he knows. And, really, you're sure he does, somehow. "But I - I have always only ever wanted it to be you that I figure it out with. Even if… even if we never really get there."

"We will," he assures, and when you shoot him a long-suffering look, he brings your hand away from the scar on his abdomen and up to his face instead, pressing kisses along your knuckles. "There's nothing else we haven't been able to figure out, my love. This, I'm sure… even if it takes our whole lives, we'll figure this out, too.

"But if we don't -"

"We will -"

"But if we don't -" you continue, "I'm… I'm happy, at least, just to be right here with you. Even with all the damage that's been done. Even…" But you don't have to say it aloud, don't have to speak any of it into existence. Damian knows, and the proof is in the tender way in which he holds you, smoothing a hand over your hair and anchoring you against him with that hand on your waist. He knows. Even without an answer, perhaps the search will be enough.

[notitlesapply]

Okay I had a lovely and very horny idea late last night, and I figured I would share.

Basic premise is that clones have no sense of body shame (because they grew up where 95% of everyone around them looked the same) and Jedi, for the most part, have no body shame because of the whole "luminous beings we are not this crude matter." I mean sure for both groups there are exceptions, but for the most part Jedi and clones don't care about nudity. They also don't care about being shy about sex. Sex is natural and feels good.

Mandos on the other hand, like to cover up like Victorian maidens and they have matching sensibilities about nekkid time.

(more under the cut for spice 🌶️🌶️🌶️)

Okay, so in this fic, Jango is alive because I wanna scar Jango. I love him so much but I want him to be punished for his crimes 😈

Anyway, basic set up, things are like canon, Jango is the clone template, a bounty hunter, morally dark gray asshole, hater of Jedi yadda yadda, but also at some point he got control of Mandalore again. He's Mand'alor, ruling the sector, and didn't die. Like canon, Mandalore wants nothing to do with the war, but just like in canon keep getting dragged into shit.

BTW Satine is not gone in this AU because I love her. I think she and Jango have a very loveless political marriage for the stability of Mandalore. Satine is head advisor, and in reality she's the one actually getting shit done in Mandalore's government. Do you think Jango gives a shit about infrastructure? About economics, land rights, keeping the peace between clans, or setting and collecting taxes? Does Jango even know how to fund hospitals, schools, and roads? HELL NO! He leaves that to Satine, who's doing the actual work of running the government, but Jango always gets the final say cause he's the absolute ruler and whatnot. Yes Jango and Satine butt heads and sometimes he fucks up her projects, but for the most part, he leaves the bureaucracy to her.

Anyway, back on track. So at some point Mandalore has to make nice with the Republic. They're going to make a treaty. The Republic sends Obi-Wan and the 212th because 1) Obi-Wan is the Negotiator and 2) Obi-Wan can actually speak Mando'a and is familiar with their leaders and culture.

Of course as soon as Jango hears it's Obi-Wan on his way, he cockblocks Satine. He knows they have a history. He's not going to take the chance that Satine will go soft on her old flame. He's going to deal with the Jedi himself.

Meanwhile Satine is laughing at him on the inside because if he thinks he can handle Obi-Wan Kenobi better than her, he's even more of a meathead than she thought.

Anyway, Obi-Wan and the 212th touch down on Mandalore. Jango, being an absolute ass, goes with a power play right off the bat. He issues a single room for Obi-Wan and his soldiers. To be fair, it's a barracks room, so it can fit quite a few of Obi-Wan's entourage, but even though Obi-Wan informs Jango how many people are coming, Jango only provides half the number of beds required. So when Obi-Wan comes down, there's barely enough space for all the men.

Obi-Wan and the men play it cool. They'll just double bunk. No problem. (Cody, of course, volunteers instantly to be Obi-Wan's bed buddy. No one is surprised.)

Jango is a little irritated at how calm they are about the arrangements, so he decides to double down on the assholery. He orders his staff to turn the heat up in the guest barracks.

This was his first mistake.

His second mistake was barging into the room early in the morning with his advisors in an effort to surprise the Republic dogs. The 212th are half asleep. And every. Single. One. Is. NAKED.

The Mandos brains short out. That's a LOT of nekkid men sharing beds or laying on the bare floor. Sure the room is hot, but don't they have the decency to wear light sleep clothes?! (Jokes on them, the Republic doesn't provide pajamas.)

Jango is not about to be beaten though. He's red as a chilli pepper under his helmet, but he's going to power play like a BOSS. He demands to be pointed in the direction of Kenobi. (A sleepy soldier points to the back of the room and promptly passes back out on his brother's sweaty stomach.)

The Mandos march to the back, struggling not to look at all the exposed body parts. (The advisors are horrified to realize they now know what their Mand'alor looks like naked.)

Jango is sure the Jedi at least will be clothed (don't Jedi wear like 10 layers of robes?) but to his horror, Obi-Wan is lounging nude on his bed, working on a data pad. Commander Cody is sprawled out next to him in the bed fast asleep, also nude, and (to Jango horror) sporting morning wood. (The advisors are now crying under their buckets because now they've seen their leader's erect cock, how scandalous!)

"Good morning, Alor, how may I help you?" Obi-Wan asks politely in a quiet voice so as not to disturb Cody's sleep. Jango sputters, his brain rebooting.

"Cover your dicks!" Jango finally growls out. This wakes up Cody, who opens one glaring eye. Cody mutters under his breath before rolling over, pressing his hard on into Obi-Wan's side to cover it, then hitching up a leg to cover Obi-Wan's groin.

"Happy now, Prime?" Cody grumbles. He doesn't wait for an answer before promptly closing his eyes. (The Mandos have blue screened. Mando.exe error)

Obi-Wan looks fondly at Cody before looking back at Jango expectantly. Jango sputters some BS nonsense and keeps staring resolutely at Obi-Wan hair line before making the basic pleasantries to leave. Cody mutters "Finally" before rolling back over, exposing his hard dick again. The head is suspiciously shiny and there's a bit of wetness against Obi-Wan's side. Jango firmly Stops Thinking About It before basically sprinting outta there, his advisors following in his wake. He orders more bedding for the Republic envoy pronto and to lower the AC in the room. Make it chilly.

Now Jango is not one to give up. He's going to one up the Jedi. He does his trick of barging in unannounced, his advisors with him. They're all going to be clothed this time because now it's cold in here.

No such luck.

The 212th have made a giant cuddle pile in the center of the room to keep warm. While yes, a few soldiers are wearing their thermal blacks and wrapping up in blankets, most of them are butt ass naked in a giant pile snuggling for warmth and comfort. And since it's no longer hot, more than a few of them have decided to let off some steam with sexy times. (None of the Mandos wanted to know what Jango's O-face looked like, but apparently they get to know now!)

But to give Jango credit, he's not willing to back down. He asks to be shown to Kenobi. (A clone points him to the far edge of the pile before going back to pound a fellow trooper into the mattress.)

Red faced, Jango and (most) of his advisors march over to the Jedi. (One poor advisor was just like "Nope!" and dipped.) Luckily it looks like Kenobi is one of the ones who kept clothes on. Yes Cody is sprawled on top of him, dozing, but they're both wearing their shirts and a blanket is over them for warmth.

"How may I help you, gentle beings?" Obi-Wan asks politely. He's petting Cody's hair. It's disgustingly domestic and Jango HATES it. (But at least they're not doing anything risque, because Jango thinks he'll die if he ever saw one of his clones fucking a Jedi.)

Jango starts in on his well practiced speech of all the demands Mandalore has for the Republic. He goes on and on, sounding angrier and angrier. He's desperately trying to ignore the wet sloppy sounds behind him and the moans. Another advisor flees. Jango takes note to prepare discriminatory action.

Finally, Cody opens one baleful eye and calmly says, "Shut up."

Cody sits up on Obi-Wan's lap. The blanket falls, revealing that while they had their shirts on, they had kicked off their lowers at some point. Cody apparently was warming Obi-Wan, because the Jedi's prick is firmly wedged in his Commander's ass.

Cody proceeds to rant at Jango about how this is not the time to talk politics and demands. They have a goddamn schedule, remember?! Their meeting is later. The 212th has rest time for at least another 2 hours, this is a private space given to them, and the Mandos being fucking rude for bothering them.

As he continues berating the Mandos, Obi-Wan starts softly moaning underneath him. Cody has decided to lightly bounce on his Jedi's lap because he's a multi-tasker, and he's fucking horny after warming his Jedi for half an hour. Jango and his advisors are staring and dying a little inside. It's like watching a speeder wreck. They can't look away.

Cody wraps up his little rant before turning his attention solely on his panting Jedi.

"You cum when I say you can," Cody orders firmly before riding Obi-Wan in earnest. The Jedi cries out in agreement, his hips bucking. Cody starts groaning out filthy praise, "Oh oh your dick is so perfect! Long and fat and filling me up so good! Good boy..."

Jango books it outta there, his advisors trailing after him.

Later, when they have the official meeting, Jango wants this to be over with pronto. He agrees to everything Obi-Wan says. He just wants the Jedi and the clones gone. He can't look Obi-Wan or Cody in the eyes. Satine is giving Jango the side eye, but also smirking a little. She doesn't know what happened, but whatever Obi-Wan did, it rattled Jango and she's laughing at him for it.

She also offers to let Obi-Wan and the 212th stay longer as her personal guests so Jango can't just throw them out. Jango is horrified to know that these horny degenerates are going to be on his planet longer. Obi-Wan gracefully accepts her offer. Satine suggests that the 212th explore the city. The 212th heads out and more than a few hook up with some locals. Sooooo many Mandos now know what Jango looks like naked. Jango is nicknamed "Mand'alor the Lover" and "Mand'alor the Big Dick". He's dying.

[obito-in-disguise]

| 100 million |

Husband Megumi x germaphobe reader.

Megumi glances down at your hands, cold from your shower. He takes one of them in his own, interlocking his fingers with yours and slowly rubbing them between his palms to warm them up.

“Why do you always take so long in there...and you always have the water freezing cold too” he grumbles, his warm hands working against yours.

You smile at his sweet gesture, ignoring the sass in his tone. "Thank you gumi"

He gives you a stern look before ultimately cracking a small smile back.

Raising your hand to his lips, he blows warm air onto your skin, rubbing gently to bring some life back into them. He knows you’re a germaphobe, and using his mouth probably isn’t your idea of hygienic, but he doesn’t really care in the moment.

You watch him blow air from his mouth unto your hands, making a face subconsciously.

He sees the scrunched up look on your face and chuckles, knowing exactly why you're doing that.

“What? worried I’m gonna infect you with my cooties? You do know we're married right? we're enshrined into each other now, I kiss you all the time, I've been inside y-”

"Christ gumi!" you cut him off, mortified. He was so reserved in public, but in private? had no inhibitions when it came to saying the wildest things.

He laughs, your reaction so entertaining to him. You still got so embarrassed, despite how long you’d been together. He releases your hands, crossing his over his chest.

“What? I’m just saying what’s true. I do all of those things to you and you’re worried about me breathing on your hand? Come on”

You huff, unclenching and clenching your now warmed hands. "I know, I know...it's more of a psychological thing"

He hums in mock understanding, letting his mind wander to all the silly rules you'd set throughout the course of your relationship.

No eating from the same silverware. No drinking from the same cup. No putting of eachother's dirty clothes together. He hadn’t seen someone so adamant about not sharing anything with anyone before.

“We’re supposed to be sharing everything. You’re just ridiculous. Why the hell can’t you eat with the same fork I just ate off of?”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself before shouting at the top of your lungs. "A MILLIMETER OF SALIVA CONTAINS A 100 MILLION BACTERIA"

He doesn’t miss a beat, mirroring your volume. "WE GO TO POUNDTOWN EVERYNIGHT, THAT IS THE LEAST OF YOUR WORRIES"

You can't stop the giggles that escape your lips as you immediately jump to slap a hand over his mouth, you had neighbours.

He chuckles too, prying your hand off to continue embarrassing you. "We do far worse things than sharing silverware!"

You laugh harder "That's different!"

He rolls his eyes, deciding to humor you. "Pray tell, how is it different?"

"Going to poundtown is an in the moment thing..." you explains ridiculously.

Megumi doubles over with laughter, the sheer absurdity of your logic breaking him completely. He can never handle the things that come out of your mouth sometimes. They're just so bizarre.

“What the hell, I can’t even argue with that”

"That's right" you grin triumphantly. You hold up your finger as you begin to lecture him.

"You see Fushiguro, when we...get down, I don't have time to think about how much bacteria we're swapping." You shudder "but when we're eating?!! there's all the time in the world!"

He scoffs, shaking his head. He found your reaction to the very thought of sharing silverware with him, your husband, completely baffling.

“What a load of bullshit" he deadpans.

His eyes are filled with fondness as he watches you throw your head back and laugh at that, with that smile that always sends his heart racing.

Your germaphobe shenanigans were the bane of his existence but there was no one he would rather share the rest of his life with, your silly quirks and all.

oh how I love to daydream about married life, don't disappoint me universe 🤞🏻

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