#cutting-edge electronics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heeluvv · 28 days ago

Text

˗ˏˋ05. MY EYES ONLY

pairingᝰ.ᐟ park sunghoon x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted. (not proofread)

statusᝰ.ᐟ 5/9 completed!

the room was dim, swallowed in the soft hum of electronics and the faint ticking of the wall clock, the only source of light spilling from sunghoon’s laptop screen. the blue glow stretched across his face, casting sharp shadows beneath his cheekbones and deepening the tired circles under his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. his back was hunched slightly, elbows braced on his knees, jaw clenched as his eyes tracked every detail on the screen like he was hunting something. across from him, sunoo sat cross-legged on the couch, a half-finished drink sweating beside him, his phone forgotten in his lap as he stared curiously at the concentrated look on sunghoon’s face. the way he scrolled—slow, deliberate, almost too precise—sent a quiet tension crawling across the room, unspoken but growing heavier by the second. “what’s up with you?” sunoo asked finally, brow lifting as he tried to break whatever trance had settled over him. but sunghoon didn’t blink, didn’t glance up, didn’t even shift. “i have to find who the fuck these idiots are fighting about,” he muttered, voice flat and clipped like he was reciting something he'd already said in his head a hundred times.

sunoo blinked, thrown off by the answer. “who?” he asked, the single word dragging out slightly in confusion as he leaned forward a little. sunghoon inhaled through his nose but never took his eyes off the screen, his fingers clicking and scrolling with rhythmic precision. “jay and heeseung,” he said, quieter this time, like it was a secret he shouldn’t be repeating. “i stopped by a few nights ago… and they dropped the biggest shit ever.” he paused, jaw flexing again. “they’ve both worked with the same girl. collabed with her. and now they’re catching feelings—acting like they’re not, but they are.” the words came out heavier now, more bitter, more laced with something he hadn’t processed yet. “when i asked who it was, they shut down. wouldn’t even give me her username. like they didn’t want anyone else finding her.” he finally leaned back a little, eyes narrowed at the faint trail of usernames and blurred thumbnails in front of him. “so now i’m finding her myself.”

sunoo sat up straighter, his interest finally piqued, a quiet hum leaving his lips as he leaned over to peek at the screen. “you think they’re in love or something?” he asked, half-joking, trying to cut the tension—but sunghoon didn’t laugh. he didn’t even smile. “i think they’re obsessed,” he said instead, cold and steady, his thumb tapping at the trackpad with slow pressure. another scroll. another refresh. then suddenly, the screen shifted, and a thumbnail caught his eye. a soft frame. blurred background. skin in low light.

@babydollxo.

he clicked it before sunoo could even process what he was doing, and the profile loaded with a stuttering hum. there wasn’t much to it—no profile picture, no bio, just two videos stacked neatly under the username. the first one had thousands of views. the second had just been posted within the last hour. “that’s her,” sunghoon said, almost to himself, almost reverent, his voice lowering like he was speaking in church. sunoo tilted his head, brow furrowing as he studied the screen. “how do you know?” he asked—but he didn’t need an answer. because just then, a soft pink glow rippled across the edge of the screen. a gift notification. and another. and another. they rolled in silently, one after the next, usernames sunghoon knew by heart: @heefreakshow. @jayafterhours. and then—surprisingly—@jakeoncam.

sunghoon stared, unmoving, unreadable. not surprised, not shocked, not even angry—just silent. like something deep inside him had clicked into place. like something that had been itching under his skin had finally found a name. sunoo shifted again, lips parting, but the tension was too thick now. it sat heavy in the middle of the room, settling in the hollow between their breaths. “damn…” sunoo whispered, almost out of awe. “she must be something else.” and still, sunghoon said nothing.

and then the page refreshed.

you’d posted another one.

the refresh hit soft—just a faint shift in the page’s layout, the timestamp on your profile jumping forward by a single digit. sunoo blinked first, sitting up straighter as the new thumbnail loaded slowly, a hazy image pulled from a dim-lit angle that showed more of your legs this time. the camera was closer now. more intentional. angled from the foot of the bed, a little lower, aimed just high enough to catch the way your thighs spread, the edge of your fingers pressing into your waistband. sunghoon didn’t speak. didn’t ask if they should watch. he just clicked. the screen flickered once, then dipped into darkness, and your voice bled through the speakers again—quieter than before, softer, more intimate, like you were whispering to someone just out of frame. “missed you,” you said, breathy and wrecked. “wanted to be good tonight.”

sunoo exhaled sharply, but didn’t say anything, and sunghoon’s jaw flexed as he leaned in even closer, pupils blown wide and locked on the way you tugged your panties down your thighs with slow, teasing fingers. the fabric slipped inch by inch, delicate and soft, pooling at your knees as your bare heat pressed to the sheets beneath you, your hips rolling faintly like you couldn’t help it. you were on your back now, the curve of your stomach rising and falling with each breath, your fingers drifting up between your thighs with a kind of practiced slowness that didn’t feel fake—it felt familiar. like someone had already told you how they liked it. like this wasn’t for everyone. the way you moved was purposeful. trained. like you were doing it for someone specific. and that’s when sunghoon’s throat went tight. because he knew it—he fucking knew it. this video wasn’t meant for just them this time.

it was meant for someone new.

your fingers moved slow at first, two of them dragging up through your folds before circling your clit in soft, measured patterns, hips twitching like you were already close. the lighting cast shadows across your skin in gold and pink, and even though your face still wasn’t in the shot, your mouth was—barely in frame, parted with every breath, lips glossy and full as you whimpered something too soft to catch. “do you think about me?” you asked the dark, and sunghoon swallowed hard, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth. “i think about you… all the time.” sunoo didn’t even move now—frozen beside him, mouth slightly open, locked in the same quiet daze. sunghoon was burning. his chest was tight, his hands tense in his lap, his legs spread wide for balance like he was trying not to fall forward and crawl into the screen. he wanted to know—wanted to know who the fuck you were talking to. wanted to know if it was them.

your moans got higher, shorter, your hand working faster now, legs flexing as your hips rolled against your palm. the camera didn’t shake. the audio didn’t glitch. it was clean, steady, deliberate—every second meant to be watched, replayed, consumed. sunghoon didn’t blink. not once. the jealousy that sat low in his stomach during the first video had cracked wide open now, bleeding into something hotter, meaner, more possessive. they’d seen this before. maybe not this exact video, but they’d seen you like this. they’d had this. heeseung. jay. jake. he thought about their usernames flashing across your gift notifications, about their silence when he asked who you were, about the way they kept your name like a fucking secret.

but now he had you in his hands.

and he wasn’t giving it back.

the video ended in silence, the last frame freezing on the slow rise of your stomach and the soft part of your lips, skin glowing in that muted, bedroom gold. the room felt smaller now, darker, as if the air had thickened with the weight of what they’d just seen. sunoo leaned back slowly, blinking like he’d come out of something heavier than he expected, shoulders sagging with a deep exhale. “well… shit,” he muttered, voice light, but not casual. “i get it now. i mean—i really get it.” his head tilted toward sunghoon, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief. “not surprised they’re obsessed. honestly, i’d want more too.” sunghoon didn’t respond—not right away. he just sat there, still leaned forward, watching the blank video like it might start on its own again, like it might show him something he missed the first time.

then, after a few long seconds, he finally leaned back, lips curling into a quiet, unreadable smirk as he shut the laptop screen with a soft click. “lock the door when you leave,” he said, voice low and even, already rising to his feet with the laptop tucked under one arm. sunoo raised his brows slightly, caught somewhere between amused and curious, but didn’t argue. sunghoon didn’t wait for a response—he was already halfway down the hall, the soft pad of his footsteps disappearing into the darker part of the apartment. when he reached his room, he closed the door behind him, not slamming it, but with enough finality to feel like a barrier being drawn. and then, slowly, he sat down again. opened the laptop. let the glow wash over his face all over again. your profile filled the screen—only two videos, no bio, no face—and still, it was more than enough. he clicked play.

and this time, he didn’t have to share you with anyone.

sunghoon sat in the center of his bed, back resting against the headboard, legs parted loosely as the soft click of the laptop echoed once in the stillness of his room. the screen flickered back to life, and there you were again—frame perfectly centered, thighs spread, voice barely above a whisper as you circled your fingers against your clit like you were inviting someone to watch you fall apart. he just watched, slowly sinking into the pull of it, his breath growing heavier with every second that passed. his hand slid down to his waistband, not frantic, not greedy—just needing to match the pace of what you were giving him. he palmed himself through the fabric, eyes trained on your trembling legs and the way your back arched with every soft moan you let out. his thumb dragged over the head of his cock, slow, steady, the friction just enough to make him twitch.

his jaw tightened as the video went on, your pace quickening, your free hand gripping the sheets beside you as your breath hitched and your thighs began to shake. you were close—he could see it in the way your hips rolled deeper into your palm and your chest lifted with each ragged gasp. sunghoon stroked himself now, slow and firm, matching your rhythm like it was instinct, his hand slick with precum as he let out a soft curse under his breath. “fuck…” he muttered, eyes never leaving the screen, body tensing as he imagined your mouth wrapped around his name instead. it twisted something low in him—the thought that you had done this before for them, that you had said their names when you came, moaned for them while they watched like kings behind their screens. heeseung. jay. jake. they’d already touched this—already had the pieces of you he was only now learning how to crave. and still… he couldn’t stop. wouldn’t. not until he made sure you belonged to him too.

his strokes grew faster as you cried out softly, fingers fluttering over your clit in the way he knew you had done a hundred times before when no one else was watching. but now he was. and he swore he could feel the tension in your voice when you moaned—like you needed someone to answer it, to fill it. sunghoon’s lips parted, a quiet groan slipping from his throat as he imagined his hands replacing yours, imagined pinning your wrists down while your hips bucked against his, slick and needy and desperate to be claimed. his hips jerked forward into his own fist as you whimpered again, this time louder, and he felt the heat building in his core like a fuse burning down, slow but inevitable. his free hand gripped the bedsheet tight as his back arched slightly, tension coiling through his spine. white streaks painted across his stomach, his hand slowing as he rode it out, and the video ended just as he collapsed back into the pillows.

but he didn’t close the tab.

he just let it replay again.

―

you wake up with the kind of silence that feels still and heavy, like the morning hasn’t quite begun yet—soft light pressing at the edges of your curtains, your blanket twisted loosely around your legs, your throat dry and warm. your phone buzzes once on your nightstand, but you don’t reach for it yet. your limbs are still too heavy with sleep, your body sinking deeper into the mattress as your mind starts to catch up with where you left off. the video. the upload. the way your hands moved over your skin under low light, the camera angle just right, just personal enough to feel like you were whispering into someone’s ear. you didn’t name anyone. you never do. but you knew what you wanted it to feel like—close, unfiltered, like whoever was watching had slipped into your room and caught you in the act of missing them. eventually, you roll onto your side, blanket slipping down your bare hip as you reach for your phone and blink the brightness away. your lock screen is full—messages, follows, gifts—but you ignore most of it. just scroll.

until one username catches your eye.

@hoononrepeat

you hesitate before tapping it, your thumb hovering over the alert, not because you recognize it—but because it’s clean. plain. no emojis, no flirty tag, just a smooth, simple handle and a single notification waiting for you. it’s not a tip. not a comment. it’s a private message. and for some reason, your chest tightens just slightly when you open it. the text is short—two lines, spaced perfectly, no punctuation.

hoononrepeat: you looked so soft like that. i can’t stop watching.

that’s it. no hello, and somehow, it lingers longer than any paragraph you’ve ever been sent. you read it again. and again. and your hand goes still against your chest as you stare at the screen, wondering why this one feels like it was meant for you—not just for your content.

is that all you wanted to say?

his reply comes immediately.

hoononrepaet: nohoononrepeat: i want to see you, want to see what more you've got to show.

―

you don’t even bother with a jacket. the air’s still warm and your heart’s already racing, too hot in your chest as you lock your door behind you and start toward the street. you spot him immediately, leaning against the driver’s side door, one foot braced against the pavement like he’s been there for a while, arms folded across his chest as his gaze lifts to meet yours. the moment your eyes connect, his posture shifts—subtle, but there’s something unmistakable in it, like he hadn’t fully believed you’d come out until now. his stare doesn’t drop, doesn’t flicker, doesn’t do any of the things guys usually do when you walk up in person—and it makes the air around you thicken, your nerves prickle with something a little too heavy to be just shyness. “hi,” you say, a little breathless, and it feels stupid immediately because why are you nervous? but he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile big—he just opens the passenger door for you, eyes still locked on your face like he’s memorizing it one blink at a time. “you’re even prettier in person,” he says under his breath, quiet enough that it feels meant for no one but you. you duck your head slightly as you slide into the passenger seat, the scent of leather and something faintly woodsy wrapping around you while he walks around the front and climbs into the driver’s seat like he didn’t just drop a confession between your feet.

he doesn’t start the car right away. for a moment, he just sits there, his hand resting on the gearshift and his eyes roaming your features like they’re trying to trace every shadow and light across your skin. you shift a little in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of how dressed down you are—just jeans, a hoodie, your hair barely styled, and no camera between the two of you this time to hide behind. “i brought stuff,” you say, voice quieter, fingers fidgeting slightly with the zipper of your hoodie. “for the shoot, like outfits and stuff… if you wanted me to change.” but he shakes his head slowly, gaze heavy and unmoving. “no,” he says, lips tilting just barely. “you look perfect like this. soft. real.” the words hit different—warm and strange and intimate in a way you hadn’t expected—and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re here for a video anymore, or something else entirely.

he finally turns the key, the engine humming to life beneath you, low and smooth like everything about him so far. the lights from the dash flicker against his skin, catching the shape of his jaw, the cut of his cheekbone, and you realize he hasn’t looked away once. he pulls off from the curb with a practiced ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting between the console, fingers tapping out some rhythm only he seems to know. “i know where we should go,” he says after a few moments, his voice low and calm, like you’ve done this before. “somewhere quiet. somewhere just for us.” you nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat, and your eyes stay on the road ahead as he drives you deeper into the kind of night you don’t come back from untouched.

you don’t realize how far you’ve gone until the sound of the city fades behind you, traded for the quiet hum of the tires against worn pavement and the rhythmic crash of distant waves. the roads grow darker the closer you get to the water, the tall brush lining the narrow path catching the headlights and glowing gold for a second before disappearing behind you. neither of you speak much. not because there’s nothing to say, but because everything already feels thick with meaning—like if you speak now, it’ll all spill out too soon. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers drumming against the fabric in a slow, measured beat that somehow keeps time with your heartbeat. occasionally, he glances over at you—quietly, not intrusively, but like he can’t help it—and every time, he looks away with that same small smile that never quite reaches his eyes. you sit curled in the passenger seat, your fingers tracing the hem of your jacket as your eyes dart to the faint outline of the ocean just past the treeline, the sound of it getting louder now. finally, he slows the car, turning down a dirt path, and you realize where you are.

“we’re here,” he says softly, and you nod like you’ve just woken from a trance.

the car rolls to a stop, the tires crunching against gravel, and for a moment, neither of you move. the engine shuts off, leaving only the steady pulse of the ocean and the soft creak of your seatbelt as you unbuckle it. he reaches behind the seat first, pulling out a small tripod and a bag you hadn’t noticed before, slinging it over his shoulder as he steps out of the car. the air hits you first—cool, sharp, salt-soaked—and you wrap your jacket tighter around your frame as you follow him down the barely lit path, the sound of waves pulling louder and louder with each step. the moonlight spills silver across the sand once the trail clears, the entire stretch of beach empty, undisturbed except for the tide. he walks slowly, not too far ahead of you, occasionally looking back to make sure you’re still behind him, and something about the way he waits for you, quietly, makes your chest ache. there’s something intimate in how unhurried he is, how his steps match yours once you reach the soft sand. when he stops, it’s in a small, nestled alcove, half-shadowed by a dune wall, protected just enough to make it feel like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you. he lays down the bag carefully, crouching to pull out a blanket and an extra battery pack, then adjusts the tripod and tests the angle, his fingers working with silent ease.

you stand there for a moment, watching him, heart pounding for reasons you haven’t sorted through yet.

"this is definitely going to be a first for me…” you murmur, your voice soft and slightly shaky as your arms wrap loosely around yourself, your eyes drifting toward the dark stretch of waves behind him. “i’ve never done anything public.” the words feel heavier once they leave your mouth, hanging between you and the ocean air, caught somewhere between nervous excitement and the unknown. he looks up from where he’s crouched in the sand, his fingers twisting something on the base of the tripod, and for a second, the moonlight catches his expression—soft, calm, but unmistakably intrigued. “i’m glad to be the first, then,” he says, his voice low with a subtle edge of teasing confidence, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he rises slowly to his full height. his body is close now—too close, the heat of him bleeding into your space as his figure looms above yours, the sharp difference in your heights making you tilt your chin up just to keep his gaze. his eyes don’t wander, not yet; they stay fixed on you with a sort of quiet intensity, like he’s already begun memorizing your features under moonlight. “are you ready to go for it?” he asks, his voice dipping just slightly lower, and the way his tongue darts across his lower lip leaves a shimmer behind that catches the light. your stomach flips as his eyes linger on your face, not impatient, not forceful—just waiting, just watching, like whatever happens next is yours to decide.

you nod slowly, breath caught somewhere between nerves and anticipation, and he catches your hand with such care it almost makes your chest ache—his fingers curling gently around yours like you’re something precious, something fragile, and he guides you down to the blanket he’s laid out across the sand. the moment you sit, you feel the coolness of the fabric beneath your legs, the way the grains of sand shift underneath, grounding you as the breeze tugs lightly at your clothes and the sound of the ocean murmurs just behind you, low and steady. he lowers himself with you, crouching at your feet with a kind of focus that steals the air from your lungs, his hands trailing deliberately along the shape of your calves, then your ankles, then the delicate curve of your heels as he slips your shoes off and sets them to the side like they might interrupt what’s about to happen. his touch lingers longer than necessary, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet, and when his eyes lift again, they don’t just look at you—they study you, flicking between your mouth and your eyes as if he’s already imagining what they’ll look like when you fall apart under him. your hair moves slightly in the wind, a few strands sweeping across your cheek, and he reaches up without thinking, brushing them away with his knuckles before sitting back for a single second—just enough time to press the record button on the camera, the soft mechanical click echoing beneath the hush of the waves. he comes right back to you after that, like he couldn’t bear the space for long, his hand rising to cradle your jaw as he leans in, the warmth of him close enough to make you dizzy before he’s even touched your mouth. and then he kisses you—slowly, deeply, with so much deliberate tenderness that your toes curl into the blanket, his lips soft and searching as he tilts his head just slightly to fit you better, like he’s done this before in a dream. his hand moves to the back of your neck as the kiss deepens, his body shifting closer until his knees brush yours and his breath is all you can taste, all you can feel, all you can want.

his hand slips from the nape of your neck down to your waist, warm and steady as it curves along your side, pulling you gently toward him until your chest presses to his and the kiss shifts—deeper now, hungrier, like he’s been waiting far too long to taste you. the blanket crinkles beneath your knees as he guides you lower, your bodies sinking into the soft give of the sand, your thighs brushing his as he shifts to straddle you, but never once breaking the kiss. you let out a soft breath against his mouth when his hands begin to roam again—one trailing up your back beneath your hoodie, the other brushing the exposed strip of skin above your waistband, like he’s mapping out every part of you he’s about to memorize. the ocean crashes in the distance, closer now, the waves folding over each other in slow, thundering rhythm that somehow mirrors the pace of his hands and the rising flutter in your chest. his lips finally leave yours only to trail down your jaw, then your neck, kissing a path across your pulse like he can feel it jumping under his mouth, like he wants to taste just how nervous and ready you are. you tilt your head to give him more room, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt at his back, anchoring yourself to something solid as his mouth moves lower, warm and open and reverent. his hand dips beneath the hem of your hoodie, pushing it slowly upward until the cool night air licks at your skin, goosebumps rising under his touch as he pulls it over your head with careful fingers. his eyes flicker back up to yours then, and he pauses—not because he’s unsure, but because he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, his chest rising and falling as he whispers, “fuck… you’re even better in person.”

his fingers curl gently at the hem of your jeans, eyes flickering up to your face before he moves, as if waiting for one final breath of confirmation before he takes what’s already his. you nod faintly, lips parted and chest rising with uneven breaths, and that’s all he needs — his touch dips lower, thumbs pressing lightly into the creases of your hips as he begins to peel the fabric down, inch by inch, dragging it over the swell of your ass with reverence. the night air rushes to greet your newly exposed skin, cool and soft, brushing over your thighs like a phantom touch that makes you shiver, and you swear you feel the sand shift beneath you from the strength of your heartbeat alone. he kneels lower as he pulls them past your knees, his knuckles grazing the inside of your calves with a feather-light touch that makes your toes curl, his eyes never leaving yours as he carefully discards the jeans beside the blanket. he stays there for a second, crouched between your legs with the surf murmuring behind him, and even in the dim glow of moonlight, you can see how tightly his jaw is set, his breath visible when it leaves his lips in soft puffs. his hands trail back up slowly, his palms warm and sure, sliding along your bare thighs like he’s mapping them for the first time, and he exhales a quiet, reverent “fuck” when his thumbs ghost the edge of your underwear. “you’re really letting me see you like this…” he murmurs, almost to himself, and there’s something in his voice—hunger, wonder, something deeper—that makes your heart thud even harder in your chest.

he doesn’t touch you at first. not yet. his hands fall to the hem of his own shirt, his fingers curling into the fabric as his eyes stay locked on yours, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll look away first—but you don’t. you watch him, frozen in place on the blanket, the sound of the waves folding over each other behind you like the earth is holding its breath for what’s coming. the shirt lifts slowly, exposing the soft ridges of his stomach first, pale skin dappled with faint moonlight, the muscles flexing faintly as he pulls the cotton up his chest. he’s not performing, not trying to make it seductive—it just is, naturally, inherently, like the act of undressing in front of you is something sacred and instinctive at the same time. his arms stretch as he tugs it over his head, messing his hair slightly in the process, the tousled strands falling over his forehead once the fabric is tossed aside, forgotten in the sand. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush—he just reaches down to the button of his jeans, the sharp pop of it parting sounding louder than it should in the stillness of night. you can feel it in your body before you even understand it—the tightening in your chest, the ache blooming between your thighs, the flicker of anticipation rising like a slow burn. and then he’s lowering the zipper, the metal teeth dragging open with quiet friction, and you swear you could count each inch by the way your breathing staggers.

he pushes them down with a single movement, hips rolling forward just slightly as the denim slides past the curves of his thighs, pooling around his ankles in a wrinkled mess of fabric and heat. the ocean breeze kisses across the bare skin of his torso, but he doesn’t shiver—he just looks at you, like you’re the only warmth he needs, his chest rising and falling with the slow build of something that’s no longer just lust. even in the dim lighting, you can see how hard he is through the thin fabric of his briefs, the outline prominent and unmistakable, straining against the dark cotton with every breath he takes. but he doesn’t move to touch himself—not yet—he just steps out of the jeans and kicks them aside, the hush of the sand shifting beneath his feet grounding the moment in something painfully real. he’s gorgeous in a way that almost hurts to look at, like he was carved to be seen only in moonlight, the lines of his body sharp and soft in all the right places, his collarbones shadowed and neck flushed faintly with color. when he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his underwear, his eyes never leave yours—not even for a second—and it makes your breath catch in your throat with how deliberate it all feels. it isn’t performative, not for the camera, not for a paycheck—it’s intimate, personal, almost reverent, like undressing in front of you is a privilege he doesn’t want to take for granted. and then, slowly, he starts to lower them.

he doesn’t climb on top of you right away—he kneels first, bare knees sinking into the edge of the blanket as his hands settle at either side of your thighs, his breath steady but deeper now, heavier. his eyes sweep over your body with a kind of hunger that’s been aching behind every look since he first saw your face, but now it’s raw, unhidden, his gaze softening only when it lands on your mouth. “come here,” he murmurs, voice low, almost hoarse, and you do—you lean forward instinctively, pulled by something magnetic in the way he’s looking at you. his mouth finds yours before you can say anything, slow and warm, lips molding to yours in a way that feels like he’s been craving it, like he’s imagined it too many times to hold back anymore. the kiss deepens gradually, never rushed, just sinking and sinking until his tongue grazes the seam of your lips and you part them for him without thinking. his hand cups the side of your neck gently, thumb pressing just under your jaw, not tight, just there—reminding you that he’s in no hurry to stop tasting you. you moan faintly against his lips, and that sound makes his hand twitch against your skin, a soft growl curling at the back of his throat. his other hand slides slowly down your waist, tracing the curve of your hip until it dips between your thighs.

his fingertips brush the inner seam of your panties, featherlight at first, just enough to make you shiver as the kiss deepens again—slower now, wetter, your lips parting around his with every sigh that spills between you. the pad of his middle finger presses gently over the damp fabric, circling once, and your breath catches in your throat the second he realizes how soaked you already are. “fuck…” he whispers against your mouth, the word hot and thick with disbelief, like it makes him crazy to know you’re like this for him. he pulls back just enough to look at your face, his thumb still tracing under your chin as his other hand slips beneath the fabric, the waistband stretching just slightly around his wrist. your thighs twitch when he makes contact, his fingertip dragging up your slit slowly, softly, gathering every bit of slick before circling your clit with unhurried pressure. your hips lift in response, a quiet whimper falling from your lips before you can stop it, and he groans quietly as if your reaction alone is enough to undo him. “you’re so fucking soft,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his eyes locked on your mouth again like he’s tempted to kiss you until you fall apart in his hands. his fingers slide lower again, dipping into your entrance just barely—just enough to tease—before pulling back to circle your clit again, slow and tender, like he’s learning every inch of you by touch alone.

his hand doesn’t rush. it slips lower with the kind of care that feels rehearsed—not out of boredom, but out of deep, deliberate control, like he’s been thinking about this moment for too long to mess it up now. his fingers skim the waistband of your panties first, not pulling, not yet—just stroking along the edge, like he wants to feel every last barrier before taking it away. his mouth stays on your neck, soft and unrelenting, lips brushing just below your ear as he breathes you in, the pads of his fingers finally curling beneath the thin fabric and grazing over your bare skin. you twitch—just a little—and he notices, because of course he does, and the low chuckle that leaves his throat vibrates against your jaw like it’s meant to settle under your skin. “you’re already so warm,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, as his hand flattens between your thighs, cupping you fully, letting the heel of his palm press in just the right way. the friction is light—barely there—but it makes you gasp all the same, your legs shifting open without him having to ask. he draws slow, deliberate circles with his middle finger, not dipping in yet, just tracing over your clit like it’s his to learn, his to memorize, his to keep. your body starts to respond without thought, hips rolling into his touch, breaths coming in little stutters every time he drags his fingertip in tighter, more focused motions.

his kisses grow slower the more your body reacts, like he’s savoring each moan he pulls from your throat, like they’re all proof that you want this just as much as he does. he presses a kiss beneath your jaw, then trails down again, lips brushing your collarbone, soft and open-mouthed, like he’s marking a path only he’s allowed to follow. his free hand comes up to slide beneath your bra, thumb brushing your nipple with practiced ease as the other hand stays between your legs, his fingers never stopping, never breaking the rhythm he’s set. the ocean is a distant sound now, replaced by the soft rush of your breath and the quiet slick noise of his touch working you open. “you feel that?” he whispers, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your stomach flutter. “you’re so fucking wet already…” your moan is breathless, not quite a plea, but it makes his jaw flex anyway, like he’s holding himself back, like if he doesn’t pace himself, he’ll lose it. his fingers slide lower for just a second, parting your folds to gather more of your arousal before circling back up to your clit, slick now, gliding smoother, deeper, more precise.

his touch builds pressure in waves—gentle, controlled, then a little firmer when you roll your hips just right, when your body pulses against his palm like it’s begging for more. he watches your face the whole time, eyes sharp and dark, soaking in every twitch of your brows, every soft drop of your lips, like he’s collecting your reactions to keep for later. your thighs tremble, and he moves with it, adjusting his angle so his finger presses a little tighter, a little faster, like he knows exactly what you need without having to be told. his lips find your shoulder, then the base of your throat again, his voice low and thick when he speaks next. “don’t hold back, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “let me hear how good it feels.” his words shoot straight through you, and you do—you let your moan slip out freely this time, soft and high, your chest arching into him as his fingers work tighter, faster, pushing you closer to the edge. he’s not even inside yet and still, you feel like you’re going to break, like his touch alone could ruin you if he doesn’t stop—or if he doesn’t give you more.

his hand shifts, just enough to change the rhythm, his fingertips pausing at your entrance like he’s waiting for you to twitch, to gasp, to show him just how ready you are. and when you do—when your breath hitches and your hips shift forward just slightly—he rewards you with a slow, gentle push, slipping one finger inside you with a smooth ease that makes your entire body go still for a second. the stretch is light but firm, deliberate, like he’s testing the way you open for him, the way you take him in. his breath fans across your cheek as he presses in to the knuckle, and you swear you feel him smile just barely against your skin, his lips grazing your jaw like he’s proud. your walls clench around the intrusion and he groans quietly in response, a low sound that makes your thighs twitch where they’re spread in the sand, your back arched slightly into the curve of his chest. his finger curls slowly, just once, then again, dragging along the front wall with precision that feels far too confident for a first time. “so tight…” he murmurs, almost reverent, his eyes locked on the way your lips part and your lashes flutter shut. “so fucking good, baby.”

he doesn’t rush the second finger—not yet. instead, he draws the first one out nearly all the way before sliding it back in, slow and deep, letting the motion settle into something you can’t help but grind down into. his thumb never strays far from your clit, brushing it just enough to keep you gasping softly, to keep your body trembling as he sets the pace. the ocean behind you is nothing more than a backdrop now, white noise to the heavy rhythm of your breath and the quiet squelch of his finger gliding in and out of you, slick and steady. your hands clutch the blanket beneath you, fingers curling into the fabric, desperate to ground yourself as he keeps you hovering, not too fast, not too much—just enough to make your thighs ache. he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear again as he adds the second finger with the same slow care, easing it in beside the first and pausing once it’s buried to the base. “you’re taking me so well,” he breathes, voice low and full of awe. “fuck, you feel even better than i imagined.”

the stretch is fuller now, his two fingers working you open in slow, deliberate pumps that have your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, your hips rocking down against his hand in search of more pressure. you feel full but not overwhelmed, the friction deep and purposeful, his fingers curling inside you with each thrust to press against the spot that makes your knees twitch. your mouth falls open as he picks up the pace, just slightly, his thumb pressing tighter against your clit now, circling in tandem with the rhythm of his thrusts. every movement is fluid, synced, like he’s orchestrating your body without ever taking his eyes off you. “you’re doing so good for me,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple now as his other hand cradles your jaw to guide your face toward his. “look at me, baby. i want to see you fall apart.” your eyes flutter open, hazy and glassy, and his expression darkens the moment you meet his gaze—like he’s feeding off your pleasure, like it’s pulling something out of him too.

his fingers push deeper, firmer now, each thrust met with the sound of your arousal slicking down his hand, your legs trembling against the blanket as you start to clench harder around him. the moans slipping from your lips are higher now, breathier, no longer controlled, and his lips find yours in the middle of one—swallowing the sound like he needs to feel every second of it. the kiss is slow at first, just like everything else, but it deepens fast, your mouths open and hungry, tongues brushing in time with his thrusts. the hand on your jaw keeps you close, keeps you steady, while the other works your cunt with dizzying precision, two fingers stroking inside you like they were made for it. every roll of your hips brings a low grunt from his throat, and you feel the tension building deep in your core now, coiling tighter with every passing second. “you’re gonna cum for me like this, yeah?” he murmurs between kisses, his voice hot and rough against your lips. “fuck—i want to feel it. want to see how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

your body’s already answering before your mouth can—hips stuttering, thighs trembling, breath catching in your throat as your walls begin to flutter around his fingers. his thrusts don’t stop, don’t slow, but his thumb presses harder now, circling fast and tight over your clit, dragging you toward the edge with no mercy. your moans pitch higher, breathier, as your body bucks forward, helpless against the wave building inside you. “that’s it, baby,” he whispers, mouth at your jaw again, pressing kisses between his words. “just like that… fuck, you’re so perfect.” the tension finally snaps, heat exploding low in your belly and rushing through your limbs as you cum hard on his fingers, your back arching and your mouth falling open on a sharp cry that gets lost in the crash of the waves nearby. he keeps moving through it, working you down slowly, his pace easing as you shake and gasp and grip his wrist like you need something to hold on to. your skin is flushed, your hair wild, your chest heaving as your thighs twitch with aftershocks.

you’re still reeling, breath stuttering in your throat and thighs trembling from the aftershocks, when he pulls his fingers from you with a slow, deliberate drag. they glisten in the faint moonlight, slick with your release, but he doesn’t even glance at them—his eyes are on you, completely locked in, like he can’t look away even if he tried. his chest rises and falls with a heavy rhythm, and you feel the heat from his bare skin as he leans in closer, the muscles of his stomach flexing with each breath. you barely notice the shift in his hands until he reaches past you, fingers brushing the tripod beside the blanket—still rolling, still catching everything. but he doesn’t hesitate. doesn’t even think twice. “fuck this shit,” he mutters, voice hoarse and low, as he taps the button to end the recording, the red light fading instantly as he tosses the remote into the sand like it means nothing. and then he’s on you again—no more angles, no more planning, just his lips crashing into yours like he needs you more than air.

the kiss is messy, deeper now, tinged with the urgency that’s been simmering beneath his skin all night, and you can feel the way his body trembles when your fingers slide down his sides. his hands roam with less restraint now, no longer careful or tentative but hungry, dragging up your thighs, over your hips, gripping the sides of your waist like he needs to anchor himself before he sinks too far into you. your name slips from his mouth between kisses, ragged and breathless, as he guides you back into the sand, the blanket doing little to cushion the heat of his body on yours. every movement is rougher now, more instinctive—the way his mouth latches onto your neck, the way his hips grind against yours like he’s already buried inside you. he settles between your legs with practiced ease, the tip of his cock dragging through your slick folds, catching at your entrance but never pushing in just yet, just teasing. “look at me,” he says suddenly, voice low but clear, his palm flattening over your cheek as he holds your gaze. “don’t look away, baby. not tonight.”

he pushes in slow, all at once, the stretch thick and satisfying, and your mouth drops open on a gasp as your body tenses beneath him. his groan is guttural—deep, broken—his forehead pressing to yours as he bottoms out, hips snug against yours, like he’s finally found something he didn’t know he was missing. he doesn’t move for a second, just stays there, buried inside you and breathing like he’s just run a marathon, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you can feel the tremble in his fingers. “fuck… fuck, you feel too good,” he whispers, almost in disbelief, like your body wrapping around him is something he can’t quite believe is real. his cock twitches inside you as you clench, your legs tightening around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, closer, like your body already knows how to beg for more. and when he finally starts to move, it’s slow, deep thrusts that drag every inch of him along your walls with unbearable friction, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. “this… this is better,” he breathes, mouth ghosting over your jaw, “better than anything we could’ve filmed.”

his rhythm stays steady at first—measured, deliberate—but the tension in his body starts to crack with each roll of your hips against his, and soon his pace turns rougher, more desperate. his hands splay across your thighs, holding you open as he fucks into you harder, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every thrust until you’re arching into him, gasping for air. the sand clings to your skin, sticking to the sheen of sweat along your back, but you can’t feel anything except him—his breath in your ear, the slap of skin against skin, the guttural sound of your name as he groans it like a confession. “you don’t get it,” he pants, voice cracking around the edges, “you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger—but this… this is mine.” and he means it—not with jealousy, but with something sharper, something closer to worship, like having you under him like this is a prize no one else deserves. your hands dig into his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks behind as your next moan breaks apart in his mouth, and he kisses you through it, lips bruising against yours with every thrust.

his hand slides up your waist without slowing down, fingers pressing possessively into your skin as he lifts your hips just slightly—angling you in a way that has your breath hitching hard in your throat the moment he thrusts again. the new position lets him reach deeper, hit harder, and he feels the way you clench around him with every movement. your thighs tremble around his waist, barely able to keep your hold as your body starts to unravel beneath him, but you don’t dare let go. his mouth finds your jaw, then the sensitive spot beneath your ear, teeth grazing over the salt-slick skin before biting down just enough to make you cry out. the sound you make goes straight to his head, and he moans into your neck—low, rough, almost pained. “say it,” he rasps, his voice jagged and wrecked, the rhythm of his thrusts growing harsher, more erratic. “tell me it’s mine.”

you nod before you even realize it, head falling back against the blanket beneath you, hips arching up to meet his with helpless desperation. but it’s not enough. he stops. he’s buried deep inside you, cock pulsing, but he doesn’t move—his palm comes up, fingers curling tight under your jaw to force your gaze back to his. your heart stutters in your chest at the look in his eyes—dark, wild, possessive in a way that makes your thighs squeeze tighter around him, like your body already knows it belongs to him. “say it,” he growls again, this time softer, like he’s pleading even as he commands. “say no one else gets you like this. say it’s only me who gets to feel you. see you. fuck you.”

“it’s yours,” you whisper, voice cracking, lips trembling beneath his. your throat feels raw from moaning, from gasping, from the burn of everything he’s pulling out of you—but you say it again anyway, louder this time, firmer. “it’s all yours—fuck, only you. only you.” the second you speak the words, he exhales like they’re the only thing holding him together, and then he’s moving again—thrusting back into you so hard you feel it in your teeth, in your spine, in the way your body curls up into him like you can’t bear a second of distance.

the sound of your skin slapping together echoes in the cool night, and your moans fall out of you with each thrust, getting louder, messier, as you near the edge. his weight presses you down, burying you into the blanket beneath, into the sand, and it feels like you’re being claimed. he kisses you like he’s starving, mouth devouring yours, his tongue tangling with yours as his hips roll with purpose—grinding against your clit every time he bottoms out until your back arches off the ground and your whole body trembles beneath him.

you come so hard you forget to breathe. your legs lock around him, your nails dig into his back, and you cry out his name like it’s the only word you remember. the pleasure blinds you, rips through your core and steals every thought until all you can feel is him—his cock still driving into you, his name groaned into your mouth, his hands holding you down like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

he follows right after, hips jerking as he moans your name like it’s sacred, like it hurts to say. he spills inside you with a shudder, his body trembling above yours, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in the heavy heat between you.

but then his hand slides down, slow and deliberate, palm dragging across your thigh like he’s still hungry. his cock twitches inside you, not softening, and when he lifts his head to look at you again, there’s something dangerous behind his eyes—something greedy, aching, barely satisfied.

“not done,” he whispers, almost apologetic. “can’t be done. not when you feel like this.”

before you can speak, he’s moving again—rolling his hips into yours with slow, deep thrusts that make your breath hitch all over again. you’re still sensitive, your body still fluttering from the last high, and it makes every drag of his cock feel too good, too much, too soon. your fingers curl into the back of his neck, your back arching without your permission as he begins to build a rhythm, slower this time, more focused.

“you drive me fucking insane,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing the spot just below your ear, biting down softly when you gasp. “look at you—already trembling for me, still soaking wet, still so fucking perfect.”

he pulls almost all the way out just to watch your face, then slides back in with a groan that has his eyes fluttering shut, like your body is the one place he can breathe. every thrust is drawn out, measured and deep, making you whimper as the oversensitivity turns into something more potent—something sharper, hotter, harder to hold back.

his hand slides under your thigh again, lifting it higher around his waist, and the angle has you gasping, your nails dragging down his back. “gonna fuck you again just like this,” he pants, voice fraying at the edges, “right here, right now—until you forget anyone else even exists.”

his thrusts fall into a rhythm again, slower but deeper, more possessive now, like he’s not just fucking you—he’s reminding you. of who he is, of what you just gave him, of the way your body fits around his like it was made to. each stroke pulls a breath from your chest, a broken sound from your throat, and he swallows them one by one with kisses that land messy and hot against your jaw, your mouth, your throat.

you’re already too sensitive—every movement lights you up, makes your legs tremble and your hands scrabble for something to hold on to. he doesn’t let you run. one of his arms hooks under your lower back and lifts your hips, keeping you locked against him as he drives into you, over and over, deeper, harder, more sure. his body is heavy against yours but it feels grounding, anchoring, like he’s the only thing holding you to this earth.

“you feel that?” he breathes against your lips, his voice hoarse and wrecked, and you nod helplessly, nails biting into his skin. “feel how good you take me? how perfect you fuckin’ take me?” his hand snakes up between you, fingers pressing down on your clit with just enough pressure to make your whole body jolt. your hips buck, and he groans like you’re killing him, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that’s more teeth than lips, more desperation than control.

you’re close again—too close—and the way he keeps grinding into you with that thick, unrelenting rhythm, the way his hand doesn’t stop moving, it’s like he knows exactly how to pull you apart. “come for me,” he says, voice shaking. “let me hear how good i fuck you.”

you do. you can’t stop it even if you tried. your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, ripping a scream from your chest as your body seizes around him, back arching, mouth falling open. your vision blurs with stars that have nothing to do with the sky. your pussy clenches tight around him, pulsing hard with every throb of pleasure as he fucks you through it, chasing his own high like a man possessed.

his name falls from your lips over and over—no control, no shame, just pure need.

he cums again with a growl, hips slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you all over again, the heat of it spilling out between your thighs. his head drops to your shoulder as he groans your name like he’s praying, like he’s begging, like he’s offering you something he doesn’t even know how to put into words.

you’re both still gasping for breath, tangled together in the heat of the aftermath, his body heavy against yours as the waves continue to whisper nearby. your chest rises and falls beneath him, heart racing, your skin dewy with sweat and speckled with grains of sand that cling stubbornly to every curve. for a moment, neither of you speaks—just the quiet hum of the ocean and the way his hand lazily traces up and down your side, smoothing over your ribs like he can’t stop touching you.

“you okay?” he finally murmurs, voice husky and low, warm against your cheek as he nuzzles closer. you nod, eyes still fluttered half shut, and you feel the smile that curls against your skin when he presses a kiss there. he doesn’t rush. his hand glides down, then hooks behind your knee, and before you can react, he’s lifting you up—effortless, like your weight means nothing in his arms.

you let out a soft squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck as he stands with you pressed against his chest, still completely bare, still glowing with the flush of what just happened. “what are you doing?” you laugh, your voice breathless and high, but it makes him grin even wider. “washing off the prettiest girl,” he teases, eyes sparkling as he starts walking toward the shoreline, feet sinking into the sand with every step. “can’t have you all sticky and messy, can i?”

you hide your face in his shoulder, body warm from both the afterglow and his touch, and you feel the rumble of his soft chuckle beneath your cheek. he wades into the water with you held tight, only stopping once the waves are lapping at his waist. the ocean is cooler than the air, and it makes you shiver when it first hits your skin, but he holds you tighter, anchoring you against him like a human heater. one arm stays under your thighs while the other curves behind your back, fingertips gliding in slow circles.

he dips you down a little, just enough for the water to kiss your shoulders, and then lifts you again, like he’s cradling something precious. you meet his eyes, and they’re so soft now—nothing like the fire from earlier, just quiet awe, like he can’t believe you’re real. he leans in to kiss your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck—so many kisses, each one slower than the last, lingering, lips wet and warm from the sea. “you’re perfect,” he mumbles between them, words brushing your skin like poetry, “so fucking perfect.”

you’re not even sure what to say. your fingers twist in the hair at the back of his neck as your heart thumps hard again, but for a different reason this time. this isn't lust—it’s tenderness, intimacy, something that makes your chest feel too small to hold it all. he keeps kissing you like he’s trying to memorize every part of your face, even as the water laps at your skin and the stars glitter quietly above.

“stay right here with me,” he whispers, voice carried by the breeze. and you do—you melt into him, let the tide sway around your bodies as he holds you like you’re the most important thing he’s ever touched.

you let him hold you, let yourself rest your cheek against his shoulder while the tide rocks around you like a lullaby, and for a while, it feels easy. his breath is warm on your skin, and his arms stay wrapped tight around your waist like he’s scared the ocean might steal you away. the kisses don’t stop—soft little presses against your neck, your temple, the curve of your shoulder—and he’s humming something under his breath now, barely audible but comforting all the same.

it’s sweet. too sweet. dangerously sweet.

you blink up at the stars, jaw tightening as the weight of it all starts to sink in—the way he’s looking at you, the way your body fits into his, the way your heart is beating a little too fast, too full, and none of this was supposed to feel like this. not here. not now.

he says something again, something playful and light about how you look good in the moonlight, but it barely registers. your throat tightens. you laugh, but it’s thin. and when he leans in again, you shift your head away just slightly, not enough to be obvious—but enough to breathe, to remind yourself this isn’t forever.

what the fuck is wrong with you?

you were supposed to have fun. that was the plan—go in, enjoy it, play the game, collect your wins, keep your heart locked behind your teeth. and yet here you are, getting carried into the sea like a scene from a dream you were never meant to be in. you’re getting too soft. too attached. and not just to him.

your stomach twists as the reality lands hard: this is just one night. one boy. one body. but your soul keeps making it something more, and if you’re not careful, you’ll end up falling for all of them.

your eyes flutter shut. you force a smile back on your lips and nestle into his shoulder like nothing’s changed. like your whole chest isn’t aching.

three more. that’s what you tell yourself. just three more times. and then you're done.

but even as you say it, you know you’re lying. and worse—you don’t know who you're lying to more.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hey…hey….>.< okayyyy not as long as my other ones but don’t you worry, next chapter will be !!

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virtualrealitynewstoday · 2 years ago

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Apple Vision Pro 將於2月2日在美國上市，空間計算時代來臨，預購將於1月19日開始

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frostgears · 4 months ago

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officer's ball

If there was one thing that eventually turned you against the aristocracy, it was the yearly humiliation of you, your handler, and your entire ground crew being forced into beribboned beyond-antique pre-starflight fashion every year for the Officer's Ball. They insisted. They said the nobles needed the human element. They said it'd justify your funding.

"Ammo doesn't grow on trees," the woman who directed your every combat action said. "And if it did, they'd be found growing only in First Landing family gardens. I hate this. I hate these people. Every fucking year, just to keep the program running. Don't they get bored?" and then she burst into tears and you had to do her makeup again, from the beginning.

You didn't mind it so much for yourself. The entitled fat old perverts of every gender trying to grab your ass and catching a handful of hoopskirt were entertaining. So was being forced to sample a continuous mix of canapés, sherry, cocaine, chocolate, PL-2141, and further canapés. If you really worked at it, you could approximate a slight buzz, the faintest echo of what interface drugs did on an average mission day.

But your poor mechanic wasn't used to being groped by the nobility or plied with anything stronger than hangar coffee. By two hours in, she was looking green around the edges and ready to puke in the nearest potted palm. Your avionics specialist, parted from her usual headphones and overlay glasses, was rigid with sensory overload and unable to dissociate because some third son of some electronics bureau minister had her cornered about a harebrained idea and wouldn't let go.

Your handler was worst of all: thoroughly miserable in her tightly corseted dress and constitutionally unsuited to any kind of discomfort inflicted upon her own person, rather than yours. She jumped at the slightest touch, gritted her teeth even more noticeably with every introduction. Your signed or whispered attempts to quietly reassure her that the "mission" was on track and would be over soon caused her to twitch and on one occasion even yelp, startling the admiral responsible for your fuel allocation. You smoothed it over as best you could, insinuating something about "combat nerves" — the old fool might have actually thought she was a pilot! But you didn't feel the need to explain, not that night.

The next day, as you hunted down a rebel tactical element in the hills above Seyan's Folly, she was still hung over. Not hung over enough to not notice when the pinned-down rebel lieutenant started in on an honest-to-God "you're not so different, you and I" speech, but hung over enough that she told your comms operator to cut the audio feed to Command, not your cockpit speakers.

"We're listening," you boomed over external PA speakers, forwarding her orders. "Wait? We're listening? Apparently we're listening."

"Shit. I mean. We're not that different, really, but obviously there's, uh, you're part of a system, and there's, redemption is on the table, I guess, maybe you'd like to, uh… honestly, I was just buying time."

"Don't get cocky, I've had your reinforcements bracketed by smart mortars for the last two minutes," you said. "You never had any time to buy. But… tell me about your side's command structure. Does it have a yearly ball?"

"Are you fucking joking?"

Things got complicated after that, with the improvised extraction, but what the hell, your team already worked well together.

You've had to work for every round and every joule and every mole of active nanomachinery since (much of it wrested from lesser units sent from your homeworld to drag you back) and you share a tiny, noisy cabin with your handler above the large bay of a rebel assault transport.

Maybe you're on the right side. Maybe there isn't one. But they're still letting you pilot, and your handler has happily returned to a tank top, fatigue pants, and what's left of her battered leather jacket, restoring her confident growl over the tactical link. The liaison officer they've got watching you has assured her that there's not a single brocade ball gown in the entire fleet. □

#mech pilot #fluff #microfiction

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himbodruid · 4 months ago

Text

Neon Steam

Sylus x Reader

A new nightclub has opened up, and Tara drags you along for a fun-filled night. What you weren’t expecting was to run into Sylus there…

Sex is not described but heavily implied, so as a result;

INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI

Fully recommend listening to Young Medicine- Winter Soldier for this one, it’s the reason this fic happened lol

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°⭑ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩⭑

“Lets go dance!” Tara’s enthusiastic jumping did wonders to dispel the tension you felt about being in such a crowded place. Clubbing wasn’t really your thing, but Nightshade had just opened, and Tara wanted to check it out.

And that’s how you found yourself in the middle of the dance floor, people on every side of you, and tiny little Tara twirling in front of you while laughing. You let yourself feel the beat of the bassy electronic music, closing your eyes to the flashing neon lights and the fog-clouded lasers. You let yourself be lost to the crush, feeling the stress flowing from you with every beat drop.

A few songs in, Tara found herself a new dance partner of the male variety. You tried not to feel hurt at her abandonment, forcing your smile to relax as she turned to dance with him. She made sure to stay close, and even her partner had a mind to keep an eye on you. Others tried cutting into the space between you and her, but whoever you couldn’t sidestep, he managed to do so for your sake. All to keep you in close proximity of Tara, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for this stranger.

A prickle of awareness came to you when a synth-filled song began. It was slower than the pounding bass of the previous songs, but something about it still made your heart thunder. Or maybe that was the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. People around you turned to glare when you stopped dancing, but you ignored them while turning in a circle, trying to find the source of this sudden awareness.

And then there he was. Towards the back of the club, standing and leaning against the bar in his riding leathers. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew Sylus’s gaze lingered on you. He brought his glass to his mouth, tossing back the shot without looking away. When he pushed off the bar and began making his way towards you, the crowd parted around him. It was as if they could feel the dangerous aura he exuded, an aura you’d once fell victim to when you first met him. An aura that now sent a thrill through you whenever you were in close proximity to him.

You heard Tara call for you, somewhere at the edge of your consciousness. Calling you back to her, confused and concerned by your sudden distraction. And yet, you continued forward, your eyes locked to his. Following his every move like a moth to a flame. Electricity crackled between you when you were finally within arm’s reach. That same electricity sizzling through you when his hand landed on your waist, pulling you close. Your hands flattened against his chest, sliding up to rest at the nape of his neck while he drew you into a sensuous swaying dance. Heat poured into you from him, from every point that your bodies touched. Focused on him, the crowd around you all but disappeared, just blending into the background with the metal synth mix of the music thrumming through your blood.

You were all too aware of how close his face hovered over yours, how his lips were just out of reach. Of how all you had to do was lift onto your toes and those damned cupid’s bow lips would be yours. When you forced your gaze away from his mouth for the millionth time, you found his eyes still locked on you. Those crimson pools, half lidded in a sultry stare that sent a bolt of desire straight to your core. It was all you could do not to climb him like a tree in the middle of the club.

Instead, you distracted yourself by moving one of your hands, bringing it around to cup the side of his face. He closed his eyes, turning his face into your touch. Heat seared through you, settling across your face as a blush. You were glad that the club was dark, save for the neon streams that flashed across the crowd, else you’d be lit up like a beacon from the inappropriate thoughts rolling through your head.

His lips found the palm of your hand, and then your wrist. Even if you wanted to pull away, you couldn’t, as his gloved hand came up to grasp yours, to keep it in place while he drifted kisses across your exposed skin. Nothing could distract you from zeroing in on the motion, could make you tear your eyes away from the way he nuzzled into your hand, not even your phone buzzing in your pocket every few seconds.

He was intoxicating. Or maybe that was earlier’s cocktails catching up to you…ah, no, it was definitely him. The way his full attention was on you, the way his body moved to the beat against yours, his breath fanning across your wrist. You drew in a shaky breath, the sound drawing Sylus’s attention. His gaze snapped back to yours, and for a beat you both stood still, staring. Questions briefly drifted through your mind, thoughts like why are you here, or how did you know I was here. But words were lost to you the moment you saw his eyes flick to your lips and back.

If this moment were in a film, you would have laughed at how cliché it was that the two main characters kissed the moment the music reached a crescendo. But you supposed that made you and Sylus cliché, since that’s exactly what happened. An explosion of sounds and sensations pulsed all around and inside you the moment his lips found yours.

It was a testing kind of kiss, unhurried and chaste. At least, that’s what it started out as. He pulled back barely an inch, and the expression he wore told you that he was just as intoxicated as you were- and not by the whiskey you tasted on his lips, either. With a groan you could barely hear over the din of the club, he crashed his mouth back into yours. Hunger and desire poured from him, drowning you in his very essence. The hand that cupped his cheek slipped upward, clinging to the nape of his neck. Your fingers filtered into his silky hair, tickled by the fine silvery strands.

Completely disregarding the crush, and the public nature of your display, he coaxed you open so he could tangle his tongue with yours. He devoured you, right there on the dance floor with writhing bodies swirling around you, and you were lost to him. Nothing else mattered except the man that held you tightly in his embrace. The two of you had danced around your attraction to each other for months leading up to this point, and you could almost taste the primal craving from him. It was wholly unplanned, but you knew you wouldn’t be going home alone. Even if it meant dragging Sylus- who was nearly two heads taller than you, and far bulkier- into your bed. Judging by the way his body pressed against yours, though, he was far from unwilling.

The spell was broken when a stray elbow collided with Sylus’s arm, knocking him into you. He steadied your stumbled step, circling his arms around your waist completely and sweeping you to the side. The elbow’s owner slurred a drunken apology before returning to their hapless twirling. Sylus turned his quirked brow to you, amusement dancing in his eyes with an unvoiced question. Electric tension still crackled between you, but the sudden reminder of where you were settled in with a dose of panic. The subtle clench of your jaw didn’t go unnoticed, and Sylus began to silently lead you from the dance floor. You took that moment to shoot Tara a text, not registering the messages she sent in the group chat with other friends from work.

I’m gonna head out, I’ll text you when I get home!

But you’d forget to text her, for a long while after leaving the club. The duration of the ride home on the back of Sylus’s monster of a bike, you were incapable of keeping your hands to yourself. You could feel his evol coiling around your wrists, tightening every time you made a deliberate pass at his groin. Adrenaline coursed through you, both from the ride and the game of cat-and-mouse you played with him.

And when you got home, none of the hunger he exhibited at Nightshade had abated. He devoured you the moment your door closed behind him, and you fell into him with equal fervor. Clothing was shed every step to your room while hands and mouths explored. You clung to him while he sent you to soaring heights, bodies colliding desperately with a cacophony of raised voices.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning when you finally thought to check your messages. Sylus lay behind you, crushing you to him while he snored softly against the back of your neck. You had been on the verge of following him into the realm of sleep, but that niggling guilt at forgetting about Tara roused you just enough to pick up your phone from the side table.

You opened the group chat to Tara, Simone, and two other women from the office shouting about you leaving with ‘some hottie’. When you scrolled up, you found that Tara had sent a handful of candid photos of you with Sylus amidst the crowd.

With your back to the camera, the photos showcased the expression that Sylus wore as he looked down at you. Hunger, adoration, and everything in between somehow showed in every micro-expression between each photo. And, damn, that kiss. Tara somehow framed it perfectly despite the crush, and you couldn’t help but to save it to your phone. Something inside you bloomed, a warm fuzzy feeling, and you snuggled further back into the warmth radiating from Sylus.

With a surge of boldness, you opened your front camera and snapped a quick photo. You made sure Sylus’s face was hidden, instead only showing your smile downward, with his sculpted arms wrapped tightly around your blanket-covered torso. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sent the photo to the group chat and added a message that you knew would fuel the gossip fire.

Hey guys, sorry, got a little distracted with Skye. But I did make it home safe! See you Monday~

#lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads fic #love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #sylus fic #sylus x you #sylus smut #sylus x reader #lads smut #lads x reader #l&ds fic #l&ds x reader #sylus steam

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pankowcrumbs · 3 months ago

Text

You Owe Me, Sweetheart X Eddie Munson

18+

Plot: Eddie helps you and now you owe him a favour of his choice.

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

I’d been standing at the edge of the car park for a good five minutes, clutching my books to my chest like they might somehow shield me from the situation I’d stupidly landed myself in.

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across Hawkins High. Most people had cleared out already, the corridors quieting down to a dull hum.

And there he was Eddie Munson. Perched on the bonnet of his van like he didn’t have a care in the world, cigarette dangling from his lips, boots scuffed, a battered notebook balanced on his knee.

Everyone knew Eddie’s reputation. The Freak. The Dealer. The Outcast.

But that wasn’t what I saw.

I saw the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he played guitar with a kind of raw passion that made my heart stutter, the way he spoke like he meant every word, no matter how outrageous.

And God, I saw the way his rings glinted on his fingers big, strong hands, veined arms poking out of a torn Hellfire Club shirt.

I’d had a crush on Eddie Munson for longer than I cared to admit.

And now, thanks to a frankly horrific twist of fate involving a botched science project, a missing lab partner, and an unforgiving deadline, I needed him.

I shifted from foot to foot, anxiety gnawing at my gut.

He hadn’t noticed me yet or if he had, he was doing a bloody good job of pretending otherwise.

I could still back out. I could still turn around, figure something else out.

But then his head lifted, slow and deliberate, and his dark eyes locked onto mine.

A smirk tugged at his mouth, cocky and knowing.

Like he could read every panicked thought racing through my brain.

"Well, well," he drawled, flicking the cigarette away with a casual snap of his fingers. "If it isn't little Miss Good Girl herself."

I flushed, heat crawling up my neck.

"I..." I cleared my throat, hating how wobbly it sounded. "I need your help."

He leaned back on his hands, stretching out long legs, rings catching the last bit of sunlight. He looked so at ease it made me dizzy.

"If you need somethin’, darlin’," he said, voice slow and syrupy, "all you gotta do is ask."

My knees nearly gave out.

The way he said it rough, teasing, commanding like it wasn’t even a question but a foregone conclusion.

I squeezed my books tighter.

"It’s for the science fair," I rushed out, words tripping over themselves. "My partner bailed on me and I heard you’re good with electronics and I just..."

He raised an eyebrow, cutting off my nervous rambling with a lazy grin.

"You want me to help you build your project?"

I nodded, cheeks burning.

He tapped his chin, pretending to consider. "Hmm. What’s in it for me?"

I blinked, panic spiking. "I could pay you?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that did wicked things to my insides.

"Don’t want your money, sweetheart," he said. "Tell you what. You owe me a favour."

"A favour?"

"Yeah." His grin widened. "Could be anything. A ride somewhere. Help with homework. Carrying my gear. Whatever I feel like cashin' in."

The way he said it casual, almost lazy made my heart skip a traitorous beat.

I should have been wary. I should have said no.

But instead, I found myself nodding.

"Alright," I whispered. "A favour."

His eyes lit up, mischief and something darker flickering behind them.

"Deal," he said, hopping off the bonnet with a thud. He sauntered towards me, stopping way too close, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of smoke and leather clinging to him.

"Lead the way, princess," he murmured, voice curling around my brain like smoke. "Let’s get to work."

Eddie’s van was a mess papers, guitar picks, cassette tapes everywhere but somehow it suited him.

He insisted on blasting Black Sabbath as he soldered wires together, tongue poking out slightly in concentration, muscles flexing under his ratty T-shirt.

I sat on the floor, trying not to stare, trying not to let my mind wander.

It was hopeless.

Every time he made a snarky comment, every time he shot me a grin over his shoulder, every time he brushed past me, my heart threatened to break free of my ribs.

I was utterly, pathetically, hopelessly infatuated.

And he knew it.

I caught him smirking to himself more than once, like he could feel the tension crackling between us, like he was revelling in it.

At one point, he crouched down beside me to explain a connection, our knees bumping.

He pointed to the circuit board, his hand brushing mine, slow and deliberate.

"You’re shaking, sweetheart," he murmured, voice practically sinful. "You nervous? I don’t bite."

Not unless you ask me to, I thought wildly, biting the inside of my cheek.

"I’m fine," I squeaked instead.

He chuckled, dark and delighted.

"Liar."

By the time we finished, it was nearly dark.

The project looked... incredible. Way better than anything I could have pulled off alone.

I stared at it in awe, hands trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline.

Eddie stood back, arms crossed, watching me.

"So," he said. "Was I worth the risk?"

I blinked up at him.

"What?"

He shrugged, casual. "You didn’t want to ask me, right? Thought I’d laugh in your face. Tell you to piss off."

I swallowed hard. "I never thought you were a freak."

His eyes softened, just a fraction, and my chest squeezed.

"Yeah?" he said, voice almost gentle.

I nodded. "Yeah."

For a moment, the air between us felt heavy, charged.

He took a step closer, eyes never leaving mine.

"You ever need anything again, darlin’," he murmured, voice low and rough, "you come to me. Understand?"

I nodded again, helpless.

"Good girl," he said, and the praise hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath.

Before I could recover, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering just a second too long.

Then he stepped back, smirking.

"I’ll be cashin’ in that favour soon, sweetheart," he said, backing towards his van. "Don’t you forget it."

I watched him drive away, heart hammering against my ribs, knees weak.

And I knew deep in my bones that whatever favour Eddie Munson wanted, I was absolutely, hopelessly doomed to say yes.

It had been three days since Eddie Munson helped me with my science project. Three days of me replaying every word, every smirk, every brush of his fingers through my hair like some hopeless sap.

And three days of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I thought, maybe stupidly, that he’d forget. Maybe he was just winding me up about that "favour."

But when I opened my locker Friday morning, a scrap of notebook paper fluttered out and landed at my feet.

‘You owe me, sweetheart. Meet me behind the gym after last bell. Don’t be late. -Eddie’

I stared at it, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Behind the gym? What the hell was he planning?

I spent all day jumping at shadows. By the time the final bell rang, my palms were sweaty, my stomach a mess of nerves.

He was already there when I arrived lounging against the brick wall, battered leather jacket slung over one shoulder, chain on his jeans catching the sunlight.

When he spotted me, his grin lit up his whole face.

"There she is," he said, voice warm and teasing. "Was startin’ to think you’d chickened out."

"As if," I muttered, crossing my arms to hide how bloody shaky I felt.

He pushed off the wall and sauntered towards me, lazy and loose-limbed.

"Ready to cash in that favour, princess?"

I swallowed. "What exactly does it involve?"

He pretended to think, tapping his chin. "Hmm. Let’s call it... a not-date."

"A what?"

He laughed, grabbing my wrist gentle, but firm enough that my breath hitched and tugging me after him.

"You’ll see," he said. "Come on. You’re burnin’ daylight."

Turned out, Eddie’s idea of a "not-date" was driving half an hour out of town in his rattling van, windows down, music blaring.

He didn’t say where we were going. Didn’t even give me a chance to protest.

He just kept throwing me these sideways glances, smirking every time he caught me sneaking a look at him.

Which, honestly, was often.

How could I not? The way the wind ruffled his curls, the way he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music it was like something out of a dream.

Eventually, he pulled off onto a dirt road, tires kicking up dust.

"You’re not gonna murder me and leave me in a ditch, are you?" I joked, only half teasing.

He shot me a wicked grin. "Depends. You scream a lot?"

I made a strangled sound, and he laughed like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

We finally stopped at a little clearing tall grass, wildflowers, the whole lot. At the edge was a battered old blanket spread out under a tree.

My mouth dropped open.

"You set this up?"

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Thought you deserved a break after all that sciencing."

He grabbed a cooler from the back of the van and sauntered over to the blanket, plonking himself down with a dramatic sigh.

"Well?" he said, patting the space beside him. "You gonna stand there gawkin' all day, or you gonna come enjoy my five-star hospitality?"

I couldn’t help it I laughed. Really laughed.

And before I knew it, I was sinking down beside him, the late afternoon sun warm on my skin.

He’d packed sandwiches slightly squashed, but somehow charming and two cans of warm soft drink.

We talked about everything and nothing music, books, how shit Hawkins was and I found myself relaxing more with every passing minute.

Eddie was easy to talk to. Eddie was dangerous.

Because the more I laughed at his ridiculous jokes, the more I caught him looking at me like I hung the bloody moon, the deeper I sank.

And somewhere between arguing about the best Metallica album and watching the clouds drift lazily overhead, the air shifted.

I caught him watching me properly watching me and my stomach twisted itself into knots.

"What?" I said, half laughing, half terrified.

He shrugged, but there was something serious under the easy smile.

"You’re not what I expected," he said.

I blinked. "You expected me to be a bitch?"

He snorted. "Nah. Expected you to be... I dunno. Too good for the likes of me."

My heart cracked right down the middle.

"You’re not a freak, Eddie," I said, voice fierce.

He smiled, slow and soft, and God help me, I wanted to kiss him.

Maybe he saw it on my face. Maybe he was feeling the exact same thing.

Because a second later, he leaned in achingly slow, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.

I didn’t.

His lips brushed mine, tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

But when I sighed into him when I fisted my hands in the worn denim of his jacket he groaned low in his throat and kissed me properly.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

It wasn’t neat or perfect, but it was real.

He cradled the back of my head in one hand, the other gripping my waist, pulling me against him like he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of space.

When we finally broke apart, gasping, he rested his forehead against mine.

"Still not a date," he whispered, breathless.

I laughed, giddy and dizzy and completely lost.

"Definitely not a date," I agreed, voice shaking.

But we both knew we were lying.

The sun dipped lower, casting everything in gold.

We lay tangled together on the blanket, Eddie tracing lazy circles on my hip with calloused fingers, making my whole body shiver.

His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, skimming over bare skin light, teasing touches that left me aching.

I turned my head, catching his gaze.

He looked so wrecked hair wild, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen from kissing.

"Can I?" he started, voice rough.

I answered by tugging him down to me, desperate for more.

His hand slid higher, cupping my breast through the thin fabric of my bra, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

I gasped into his mouth, arching into him.

He kissed down my jaw, my throat, scattering rough, reverent kisses that made my toes curl.

"You’re so fuckin’ soft," he murmured against my skin, like he was drunk on it.

He kissed lower, pulling my shirt up to mouth at my stomach, each kiss making my muscles jump.

I buried my fingers in his hair, tugging gently, and he growled low in his throat.

He kissed along the waistband of my jeans, teeth scraping lightly, and I whimpered.

"Eddie," I whispered, desperate and shaking.

He lifted his head, eyes dark and burning.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice a low rasp.

I shook my head, pulling him back up to kiss me again, harder this time.

Clothes were pushed aside, touches growing more frantic, and when he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t hurried or rough it was slow, deep, aching.

Like he was trying to memorise every second. Like he needed it as much as I did.

Afterwards, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, Eddie’s fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare back.

"You still think this wasn’t a date?" I mumbled against his chest, too blissed out to move.

He chuckled, low and smug.

"Nah, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to my hair. "This was definitely a date."

I smiled, tucking myself closer against him.

For once, I didn’t care about reputations or gossip or any of the bullshit waiting for us back in Hawkins.

All that mattered was Eddie warm, solid, real holding me like he never wanted to let go.

Keeping things quiet sounded easy in theory.

In reality?

It was bloody impossible.

Especially when Eddie Munson was involved.

It started small. Little things.

The way he'd find me in the corridors between classes, brushing his fingers over mine when nobody was looking.

The way I'd catch him staring at me during lunch, this soft, stupid smile on his face, like he couldn't help himself.

The way he'd mouth something utterly filthy across the room something that turned my face scarlet and made me nearly choke on my sandwich then wink like the cocky bastard he was.

We were awful at hiding it.

Like, truly pathetic.

It didn’t help that Eddie was absolutely no help whatsoever. If anything, he enjoyed the risk of getting caught.

He’d catch me in the library, brush past just a bit too close, then smirk when I dropped my pen.

He’d mouth "Later, sweetheart" as he sauntered past my desk in science, leaving me a flustered, stammering mess.

And he always looked so bloody pleased with himself afterwards.

The rumours started before the week was out.

I heard snippets in the girls' toilets.

"Did you see the way Munson looked at her?" "Swear I saw them sneaking off together behind the gym." "She could do better, surely?"

It should've made me nervous.

Instead, every whisper made me feel a little giddy, a little more reckless.

Because for once, I didn't care what people thought.

I liked Eddie Munson. And he somehow, unbelievably liked me right back.

I should've known he wouldn't let it lie.

It was a Tuesday, halfway through lunch, when he did it.

I was sitting with some of my friends, pretending not to watch Eddie across the room even though he was making it impossible by looking over every thirty bloody seconds.

I was mid-sip of my drink when suddenly, bang the screech of a chair dragging across the floor made me jump.

Everyone turned to look.

And there was Eddie standing on the lunch table like a man possessed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

I nearly died on the spot.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, loud enough to shake the rafters:

"Alright, Hawkins High! Since you’re all so bloody nosy" (I buried my face in my hands.) "let me clear a few things up, yeah?"

A few people laughed. Others were just gawping, forks halfway to their mouths.

"I am head over heels for Y/N," Eddie declared, voice ringing out, proud and utterly shameless. "Completely, stupidly, hopelessly in love with her."

The cafeteria exploded.

Cheers, whistles, people banging on tables.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

But then he looked at me properly looked all soft eyes and secret smiles, and something in my chest just melted.

"Y/N," he said, over the noise. "Come up here, sweetheart."

I shook my head furiously, laughing.

"No way!"

"C’mon," he coaxed, reaching out a hand. "Don’t leave me hangin’."

People started chanting.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Before I could lose my nerve, I scrambled up not very gracefully onto the table, gripping his hand tight.

He pulled me close, grinning like a lunatic.

"You ready to really give ‘em somethin’ to talk about?" he whispered.

And then he kissed me.

Right there, in front of everyone.

It wasn’t a quick peck, either. It was full-on, dizzy, toe-curling, I never want to stop kissing.

The cafeteria went mental.

Wolf-whistles, clapping, someone actually started banging a tray like a drum.

When we finally broke apart, breathing hard, Eddie was beaming.

"We’re so bloody busted," I panted, half laughing, half terrified.

And right on cue

"MR MUNSON! MISS Y/L/N!" A furious shout from across the room.

Mr. Clarke, the science teacher, red-faced and charging towards us.

Eddie grabbed my hand, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief.

"Run!"

We leapt down from the table nearly sending the lunches on it flying and tore out of the cafeteria, hand in hand, both of us laughing so hard we could barely breathe.

"GET BACK HERE!" Clarke bellowed behind us.

"Not a chance!" Eddie yelled back, cackling like a madman.

We sprinted down the corridor, past the lockers, past the stunned faces of other students peeking out of classrooms.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline singing through my veins.

We finally burst through the side doors into the sunlight, collapsing against the wall, gasping for air.

Eddie looked at me, flushed and breathless and utterly beautiful.

"You’re mad," I wheezed, still laughing.

He grinned, wide and wicked. "Yeah, but you love it."

And bloody hell, I really, really did.

I grabbed his jacket, pulled him down, and kissed him again fierce and giddy and completely, utterly in love.

From inside, we could still hear Clarke shouting.

"Think he’s gonna kill us?" I murmured against his lips.

Eddie just laughed, wrapping his arms tight around me.

"Totally worth it, sweetheart," he said.

And I believed him.

Every bloody word.

234 notes · View notes

wonyology · 2 days ago

Text

Behind the Mask (m!reader x Babymonster's Ahyeon)

Summary: Two highschoolers. A city full of secrets. And a double life that's getting harder to hide, especially from someone who matters the most.

tags (?): fluff, oneshot, my spin on an alternate more realistic world with superheroes (?), i don't even know man

AHYEON x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~9.6k

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

GANGNAM-GU - NIGHT TIME

A gentle breeze rustles through your jacket as you stand near the edge of a rooftop. Below, Gangnam is buzzing with cars crawling through busy intersections, people enjoying themselves on a Friday night, skyscraper LEDs looping advertisements and K-pop music videos into the sky… Classic Gangnam.

Your fingers hover over your newly handmade web shooters strapped to your wrists, the latest version. It looks sleeker, more stable than the last two versions. The first one exploded before you even tried it. The second one jammed on your second test. This one… you trust. Hopefully. You made all of this from parts you found in electronic junk yards, tiny details bought at Yongsan electronics markets and… some stolen chemicals from school.

You haven’t even tried swinging at a low-level tall building yet. You don’t know where the courage came from to climb up here, but here you are. You crouch a little, fingers flicking across the small screen to adjust the pressure. Trigger activated. Cool down time set. Okay. You’ve run the simulations. You’ve trained enough. You know the math - calculated arcs, practiced swinging in abandoned garages at 3AM, agility tests. But this is different. That building across the street is about 40 meters (?), maybe 20 stories tall. Perfect height.

You can do this, Woochan. You can do this.

You exhale.

You run.

One, two, three strides. You leap, firing your web shooter mid-air.

Oh shit.

No… no.

No.

I don’t wanna die like this.

Thwip.

The web finally comes out, cuts through the night, and latches onto one building with a satisfying sound. You’re suspended for one second, then-

Oh.

Gravity yanks you down. Your stomach flips. Memories flash in front you as you plummet down - too fast, too real. Your fingers tighten instinctively around the line. Then-

Snap

You pull. You’re slingshotted forward, your body catching the tension as you forget how to breathe. You’re not falling anymore. You’re finally swinging. The city rushes beneath you with headlights blurring into streaks, buildings flashing past in your peripheral vision. Someone screams. Your legs dangle for a second.

Shit, tuck in.

You shift your body mid-air, wobbly but it still works. Not clean, not flashy. But at least it works. You’ll practice it later.

Thwip.

This time the web comes out with no hesitation, connecting better. You swing again, faster. It feels insane. You want to laugh, throw up and scream. All at once.

You then land on an empty rooftop with a rough tumble, shoulder scraping across gravel.

Fuck it hurts.

Your chest is heaving. Hands burning. Knees shaking. You’re alive. You slowly sit up, blinking at the Seoul skyline, glowing and maybe unbothered by the fact that you almost became a statistic. You let out a shaky laugh.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Glancing down at your wrist, you see your web shooters are still intact, pressure holding, cooldown ticking. You did it. And then it hits you again - that feeling. The buzz in your bloodstream. You swung, successfully. You look out over the rooftops, eyes scanning for your next target.

I’m doing this again.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Two months ago, you were just an overachieving high school student in a school uniform, lucky enough to have a chance to tour the Samsung Heavy Industries facility with your class. It was supposed to be boring. Instead, you got bitten. By a strange looking spider - something from one of those sealed off labs they pretended weren’t there. Eight legs. Red and blue. Its fang pierced deep into your skin. That afternoon when you got home, you immediately passed out in your bedroom.

The next day? You woke up with vision so sharp you didn’t need glasses. Your reflexes were 50 times faster than the average human. Your body was suddenly toned. You saw everything differently - mentally and physically. However, a trip to the hospital that day with your parents showed nothing wrong with you. It felt new. It felt… impossible. That weekend, you put on a hoodie and jumped from a building. You sprained your ankle. But you found out you could climb walls. You had superhuman strength. Your body just knew how to move on its own. The weekend after, you tried again. With the help of math.

Now, two months later, you’re all over the news and SNS. Blurry CCTV footage, Tiktok edits, discussions on theqoo… They call you “The Red Mask”. Mainly because you chose the most casual outfit ever to fight crime in: jacket, jeans, sneakers, a red homemade mask taped with sunglasses lens and a black beanie. You didn’t tell anyone.

The world has changed a lot in the last few years. The US has been pouring everything into the weird high tech sector, urging every country to follow. They eventually did. Then, vigilantes and heroes started to pop up all over the globe. People with powers, masks, codenames. Governments didn’t say much, but the people knew why. Some call them heroes, others call them threats.

In Korea? It’s not much different. Samsung owns everything - the streets, the press, three-fourths of the government. The police here only care if a politician’s kid gets their car scratched or a chaebol’s dog goes missing every two weeks. For the rest of Seoul - for normal people like you, they don’t bother to show up. Unless it’s to arrest someone.

That’s why you chose to do this, someone has to stand up. Because you’ve seen everything - the extortion, the tech leaks, the lab incidents they pretend aren’t happening. Because if no one else is going to help the city, you will.

SEOUL INTERNATIONAL HIGH SCHOOL - LUNCH BREAK

Back to reality, you are now at school. The chatter around you fades into soft blur - chopsticks clatter, friends filming Tiktoks, someone discussing how to skip hakwon… But you’re somewhere else. Your chin rests on your hand, elbow on desk, food untouched. You’re staring out the windows, thinking about last night. Your fingers twitch slightly. You can still feel it. The wind. The arc. The tension. That split second of fear before the web finally came out. You want to go out again. You’re so deep into it you don’t even notice her walking over.

Poke.

A finger jabs your cheek, unexpectedly hard.

“Ryeo Woochan. Hello~” Ahyeon said, grinning at you. You were startled out of your thoughts.

“Oh, Ahyeon-ah.”

She slides in into the seat next to yours without asking, not that she ever needed to. The two of you have been close since the start of middle school. You don’t remember how it happened, only that one day she was just there - sitting next to you in art class, borrowing your pencil while shyly smiling at you. You’ve been falling ever since.

Ahyeon has always been the type to see good in everything with her positive attitude - even back when you were all braces and oversize sweaters. Now you’ve grown, literally. 20cm taller than her, maybe slightly better looking than before. She’s in the school art club. She dances and sings like she was born doing it, sometimes under her breath when she thinks no one’s listening. But you always are.

You glance at her now, trying not to stare for too long. Her smile hits you deep in the heart - eyes curving into crescents, nose scrunching just the way you love. That smile could ruin your whole day and still makes it worth it. She notices you looking and suddenly does that thing she always does when she sees something unbearably cute, pretending to bite the air. This time, she leans closer and playfully bites near your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh.

“What are you biting?”

“You.” she says with her cheeks tinting pink. “Not really.” she scrunches her nose again and looks down at her tray, flustered. You smile, it’s always been like this.

Ahyeon naturally has a lot of aegyo, it just comes out with no effort. The little pouts, the playful teasing, the habit of playfully nagging at you when she wants attention. She always denies it, insisting that it’s not like her at all. But you’ve known her long enough.

And it’s so adorable.

Like a squirrel. That’s what you called her back in middle school. It started as a joke, but everyone started to see it too. The chubby cheeks when she’s eating, the way her hands fidget with whatever’s nearby, how she lights up when she’s excited. She hated it at first. Now she just rolls her eyes whenever you bring it up but never tells you to stop.

“What are you thinking about, dummy?” Ahyeon asks, cutting your trance of thoughts.

“Just… thinking of building new tech stuff. New gadgets.”

Hey, it’s technically not a lie. You are planning on building a new version of the web shooter. The current one heats up too fast. There are plans for a new suit too. She narrows her eyes at you.

“You always sound like you’re in a scifi movie when you say stuff like that, Woochan-ah.”

You shrug, picking up your chopsticks.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’re such a nerd.” She smiles again, soft and bright.

“You hang out with me. What does that make you, dummy?”

“Patient.” She grins, too hard. You roll your eyes but you’re smiling too. Things have always been like this - teasing, easy, comfortable in a way that no one can explain. She picks up a piece of rolled egg with her chopsticks and chews for a bit then says.

“Yah, come over to my house tonight.”

“Huh?”

“My house. My mom asked. She said it’s been like forever since you came over.”

She glances at you. “She misses you, y’know.”

“Your mom misses me?” you raise a brow.

She shrugs. “I guess. She just said ‘What happened to Woochanie? That boy doesn’t eat here anymore.’” She deepens her voice, mimicking her mom with surprising accuracy. “‘Did you two fight? Should I call his mom?’”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” you laugh.

She bites her chopsticks while asking.

“So… you free?”

You glance down at your tray. You technically are free, unless something in Seoul explodes. But right now, with Ahyeon eyes looking at you like this.

“Yeah, I’ll come.”

She beams - the nose scrunch, the spark in her eyes. It makes you feel like a normal highschooler again. Even if it’s only for a little while. Then-

“Don’t you disappear on me this time, okay?” her voice softens a little, enough to make your chest tighten.

“You’ve been… weirdly busy lately, at night.” she says. “And you don’t reply to my text. Or Tiktok. Or reels.”

Ahyeon’s not pouting or nagging. She just sits there and plays with her chopsticks. A frown on her face - the kind she tries to hide when something actually bothers her. And your heart twists at the sight. You want to tell her everything. About the bruises. The close calls. About the reasons why your phone stays unanswered while Seoul sleeps. About how you made all of those devices.

But you can’t.

So instead, you offer her the only truth you can give her right now.

“I’ll be there, Ahyeon-ah. I promise.”

Ahyeon looks at you for a second, deciding whether she should trust you or not. Then, she slowly nods.

“Okay.”

A moment of silence passes. She then perks up suddenly, pulling out her phone and shifting her mood to something lighter.

“Ooh! Wait, have you seen this one yet?” she says, leaning closer to you and swiping quickly. You take this chance and lean your head closer, enough to touch hers. Ahyeon doesn’t pull away. Her hair smells nice. There’s a tiny smudge of ketchup near the corner of her lips. Her eyes squint a little when she’s concentrating on scrolling. She hums to herself, that one song of Blackpink. You’ve heard it a hundred times by now. For a second, you forget about everything, focusing only on her.

“Red Mask guy. He was in Gangnam again. Rora recorded it last night, it’s all over Tiktok now.”

You already know what it is. A shaky video of you darting through the air, landing on the edge of a building for split seconds to catch enough momentum before swinging and vanishing into the night. The caption reads: “he’s real, i finally saw him omgg #theredmask #vigilante #korea #redmasksightings #viral #fyp”

Ahyeon laughs softly, her hair brushing your nose.

“Isn’t he cool?” her voice dreamy.

“Is that so?” a smirk appears on your face while you try to bite back a smile. She catches it and gives you a look.

“What? Are you jealous?”

You shrug. “Why would I be jealous of a guy who swings around Seoul in a ski mask?”

“Red mask.” she corrects. “Maybe he’s super hot under there.”

You laugh, a bit too hard.

“Maybe he’s a 42 year old creep and stalks people in his free time.”

Ahyeon snorts. “Ew! Stop.”

“Just trying to protect you.”

She wipes her mouth with a napkin, giggling.

“Don’t act like you know who he is. He might be hot. I’m just saying, if he showed up at my windows, I wouldn’t scream.”

“I would.” you said, trying to say calm.

“Jealous?” she grins.

“Nope. Just saying.” you look at her. Deep down, somewhere, the part of you that wear the mask hopes that she really meant it. Before either of you could say anything, the bell rings. It’s time for class again.

“Ugh, I’m so done with you already.”

“You say that everyday and still sit with me.”

“Because I’m patient.” she huffs, bumping her shoulder into yours. You both fall into steps as the whole cafeteria hurries to clean up. Trays are stacked, chairs scrape against the floor and students flood the hallways again to drag themselves back to class. You walk side by side, like always.

I hope today ends well.

The sun hangs low by the time school ends. The sky is painted with warm gold and light blue. You and Ahyeon walk together. She talks about something funny Rora said, you nod along, listening and smiling at her cute speech. But your phone suddenly vibrates. You pull out your modified phone - a notification from an app you made, wired to CCTV systems and intercept police comms, emergency dispatch signals.

ALERT: WANTED PERSON - DONGDAEMUN, JONGNO-GU.

LAST SEEN NEAR EXIT 5. MATCHING 75% TO DATABASE FOOTAGE.

Your heart sinks. You were supposed to walk home with Ahyeon. Dinner at her family’s place. But if the alert is right, someone could be hurt. You are the only one fast enough to stop it. You quickly slip the phone away, swallowing like your throat hurts. Ahyeon looks at you, still cheerful.

“You okay?”

You force a smile.

“Ah… actually, can you head home first? My mom just texted. She needs me to run some errands. Like now. Urgent.”

Her smile falters immediately.

“Oh.”

You hate the way that sounds. Maybe Ahyeon expected it, and she is disappointed, again. You then reach out and take her hand. She looks up at you, surprised.

“I’ll be there, Ahyeon-ah. I swear. I just need to do something for my mom first, okay?”

You squeeze her hand. “Don’t start without me, okay?”

She stares at you for a second longer, expression still sad. Then she nods.

“Okay… But don’t forget, Woochan-ah.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

And with that, you turn and head in the opposite direction as fast as you can. You duck down a side street, slip behind buildings and change into your vigilante clothing.

DONGDAEMUN, GANGNAM-GU

You swing forward past traffic, over rooftops, between signs and utility poles. The wind roars in your ears. Your body moves on instinct now, swinging and landing much smoother. You then land on the side of a building, fingers and foot gripping the edge. It’s muscle memory at this point.

Down there, Dongdaemun is busy. But somewhere in that mess, danger is always moving.

Thwip.

You continue swinging near the subway area, gliding over honking traffic and landing briefly on the roof of a small supermarket. Your phone pings again.

NEW LOCATION: SIDE ALLEY BETWEEN HARDWARE SHOP + BAR. 40 METERS AWAY.

No time to waste now. You spot the alley ahead - narrow, dark. There he is. Too tall, heavy with his hoodie up. His hand holds a knife, the other presses against an old man’s chest, pinning him to the wall. The victim’s bag is already on the ground.

“You think this is a fucking joke, old man?”

You swing in fast.

“Hello~”

Thwip.

“What the fu-”

Your web hits his wrist, yanking the knife clean out of his hand. It clatters to the ground. You land hard on him.

“Let him go, man.”

“You fucking id-”

You drive your knee into his chest mid sentence - hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He staggers back with a grunt but doesn’t fall. The old man now grabs his bag and takes his chance, disappearing without a word. You refocus as the thug lunges at you, angrier this time. You sidestep, land a quick jab to his ribs, then a clean elbow to the side of his head. He stumbles.

“Woo, you okay, man? You’re wanted and still do dumb shit like this?”

He stays silent. You decide to move in to finish the job, but he’s hiding something. A second knife flashes from his sleeves, low and fast. Slash.

Oh fuck.

Pain tears across your side - just under the ribs. You dodge on instinct just before it goes deeper.

“God damn, I thought we agreed to do this fair and clean.”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m gonna kill you if that’s the last thing I do as a free man.”

You grit your teeth, hand flying to your side. Warm. Wet. It’s deep enough to hurt like hell when you move. He charges again.

Thwip.

You shoot. The web strikes him stronger this time, launching him backward into the wall.

“I’ve had enough with you. This is my favorite sweater too.”

You shoot a few - pinning his arms, then his legs. One more to seal his mouth shut.

“Be nice until the police come to pick you up, okay?”

He’s done.

You stand there to catch your breath. Blood is already soaking the side of your sweater fast, hot and sticky.

Should’ve worn my jacket.

You jump to the top of a nearby building and tear open the emergency gauze roll from your backpack. You slap it on and tape it down. It will do for now, not elegant but it will hold. You were too cocky this time. You were deep into playing the hero and forgot about doing it the safe way. Dumbass.

The city blurs around you in bright lights and noise. Then it hits your mind.

Ahyeon. Still waiting.

You hurry before it is too late. You pull on your beanie and check your web shooters one last time before launching into the air again. You swing around until you land behind a closed convenience store a few blocks from her place. You peel off your vigilante outfit and stuff it into your backpack. The gauze on your waist still holds but is already a little warm. You throw on your school uniform, a hoodie underneath your blazer to hide everything. You then hurry to the flower shop next door and pick a small bouquet - white daisies and pink roses. Ahyeon’s mom would love this. You run up the steps to her family’s apartment, heart thudding harder than it should. The pain flares near your ribs but you straighten your posture and knock.

AHYEON FAMILY’S APARTMENT

The door swings open. Ahyeon stands there - eyes wide.

“You came!”

Her mom appears behind her.

“Woochanie! Look at you! You grew again, didn’t you?” She smiles while wiping her hands on her apron and tells you to come in. You hold out the flower bouquet with a sheepish grin.

“For you, Ms.”

She takes them, clearly touched.

“Aigoo, such a sweet boy. Come on, come on. Ahyeonie, help him with his backpack, honey.”

You step inside, the comforting scent of home cooked food grazes your nose immediately - smells like something spicy. Her family’s apartment is warm, familiar. Ahyeon then gently comes and takes your backpack from your shoulder. Her fingers stay on your shoulder longer than needed. You try not to react but a small ‘ouch’ comes out as the weight shifts, flaring pain along your side. She doesn’t say anything but her eyes notice the way you wince when she takes your backpack. Like something’s off but she hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Told you I wouldn’t miss it.”

She looks at you, nose scrunching in that lovely way that you adore more anything.

“Took you long enough. I was about to be mad at you.”

You laughed quietly.

“I would’ve deserved it.”

From the kitchen, her mom calls.

“Come on, kids! Wash your hands and come eat before the stew gets cold.”

Ahyeon gives you one more look before grabbing your wrist and leads you to the sink. You wash your hands with your side still aching, still manageable. After drying your hands, you follow Ahyeon to the dining table. The table is already set. You both take your usual spots - Ahyeon beside you, across from her mom who’s just finished placing the last dish on the table. She claps her hand together.

“Look at this. Just like the old days.” She then glances to the empty chair beside her and says.

“Your dad had to run to some urgent meeting. Government contracts and all that. But no worries, more food for us.”

You offer a polite smile while bowing your head.

“Thank you for the meal, Ms.”

“Eat up, Woochan-ah. You’re too thin these days. I cooked extra just for you.”

You dig in, trying not to move your left side too much. The stew is hot, flavorful and comforting - everything you didn’t know you needed. It has been so long since you last visited her family and nothing’s changed. Not only the food but also the way her mom fusses over you like you were part of the family. The meal goes by peacefully with Ahyeon’s mom quietly putting more rice into your bowl every time it dips below halfway.

“So? How are midterms looking? Does Ahyeon still bother you at school?”

You glance sideways to Ahyeon.

“Mom!”

“Everyday, Ms.”

Ahyeon then scowls at you but her mom just grins proudly.

“That’s how you know she likes you, Woochan-ah. She only pesters people she likes.”

Her mom adds with a teasing tone.

“Should Woochanie come over and tutor you again, honey?”

That gets her. “No, mom! Stop doing this.”

“I’d love to spend more time with her, Ms.”

Ahyeon’s face flushes a shade too pink while glaring at you, cheeks puffing slightly.

“You’re unbelievable.” she mutters.

“Aigoo… kids these days.” her mom just laughs, shaking her head fondly. The rest of dinner goes by with comfort. The table empties little by little with Ahyeon helping her mom carry the dishes to the sink. You offer to help only to be waved off with a smile. Once the table is cleared and dishes are stacked in the sink, her mom turns back to the both of you.

“Woochan-ah, go play or do something in Ahyeon’s room for a bit. I need to call her dad before he gets on the subway back.”

She then gives you a wink. “”You know where everything is.”

Ahyeon tugs at your sleeves wordlessly, cheeks still faintly pink. You follow her down the hall, past familiar furniture and into the room that hasn’t really changed in years. She closes the door gently behind you two. You stand there for a second, taking it in before the silence between you starts to stretch. You turn to her. She’s watching you. Her arms cross loosely, not defensive but uncertain.

“You.” Ahyeon says, that tone of her make you turn around.

“You’ve been really weird.” Her voice is soft with a hint of anger.

“For the past 2 months, you’ve been… different.”

Oh shit.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. She steps a little closer.

“You’re always tired. You zone out. You disappear at night and don’t text back. You always play with that weird phone of yours. Even tonight, you flinched when I took your backpack, like something hurts.”

You try to hold her gaze but your stomach knots up. You can feel the weight of her words pressing into your heart. She swallows. Just like that, a tear slips down her cheek. So you reach up, your hand trembling slightly as you swipe the tear from her cheek with your thumb. Your thumb linger and slowly curve to cup her cheek. It feels warm, soft. Ahyeon doesn’t flinch or pull away. You hold her there, hoping she will forgive you.

“I’m really angry at you.”

Her voice cracks and with it, more tears fall.

“You… You could've told me everything. You just kept… shutting me out. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Her breathing grows uneven. Fast. Shallow. Full of everything she’s been holding in for weeks. The frustration, the worry, the sadness of being pushed away by the person she’s closest to.

And it hits you. Harder than anything.

You step forward and wrap your arms around her. At first, Ahyeon stiffens. But then she just collapses into you, she’s been holding in too much now. Her fist curls into your hoodie under the blazer, forehead against your chest. A choked sound escapes her lips as she cries quietly, her body trembling with every breath. You hold her tighter.

Like she might fall apart completely if you let go.

Like she’s the only real thing anchoring you to your normal high school self.

Your hand rests on the back of Ahyeon’s head, fingers weaving gently into her hair. You close your eyes for a second. A thousand things go by in your mind. The nights you spend swinging around and fighting crimes. The fights you barely walked away from. The times you looked her in the eyes and lied, saying you were fine and just tired. The times you watched her smile falter.

And now she’s crying in your arms, it’s your fault. Your jaw clenches as you pull her in closer like that could somehow solve every problem. But you know it won’t. So you breathe in slowly and let the decision settle inside you.

No more hiding.

You lean down just a bit and whisper against the top of her head.

“Hey, come sit with me.”

She looks up and nods - her eyes glassy, face flushed. You gently take her hand and guide her to her bed. Neither of you says anything as you sit side by side. Everything feels quiet now. You take a second to calm down before speaking.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

She blinks, still trying to understand everything.

“But you have to promise me something first.” you look at her, voice soft but serious.

“Stay calm. Don’t scream. And don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Ahyeon doesn’t say anything. She sniffs once, confused while trying to process everything. Her brows pull together, lips parting as if to speak but nothing comes out. So you gently cup her face, thumbs brushing both sides of her cheeks and lean your forehead against hers.

“Promise me, please.” you say again, more firmly this time. Ahyeon’s cheeks now bloom with color. She is caught somewhere between shock and something softer, love? She finally nods. You smile a little.

Then, you reach down and pull up your sleeves. She watches closely as you reveal the web shooters strapped to your wrist. She doesn’t know what it is - unlike anything she’s ever seen before. You raise your arm up to the ceiling.

Thwip.

A line of web shoots clean into the ceiling. In one smooth motion, you're launched up with legs swinging. You stop mid air, turn perfectly upside down until your face hovers just centimeters from hers.

“Hey…” you smile.

Ahyeon gasps. Her hands immediately fly up to her mouth. And then she does exactly what you thought she might do. She opens her mouth to scream. Your hand quickly covers it, your voice calm with a teasing tone but still firm.

“I told you to promise me, dummy.”

She blinks rapidly, her breath shaky beneath your palm but she doesn’t pull away. Her heartbeat is going crazy. Your enhanced senses can feel it. 20 seconds go by and she calms down just slightly, hands still trembling. Your hand then decides it is time to drop from her lips. Ahyeon’s staring at you now. Eyes locked.

Disbelief. Curiosity. Amusement.

Something else is also flickering in her eyes.

Without a word, you lean in and kiss Ahyeon.

It’s soft and hesitant at first. You’re not sure what her reaction will be but you’ve been waiting for this moment for too long. Her lips are warm, still parted from shock but she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she kisses you back. Slowly. Carefully. Your heart feels like it’s about to punch out of your chest. It’s not from the rooftops, not from the danger. It’s from her this time. Her hand comes up and lightly grips your face like she’s afraid you will fall down from the ceiling.

When you pull back, her eyes are still wide, breath uneven. She doesn’t speak. Instead she stares at you, trying to piece everything together while her world shifts under her feet. You lower yourself from the web and land easily in front of her. Her hand, which had been holding your face now lingers in the air before landing on your chest. She looks up at you - flushed and confused. You lean in closer and lift your hands instinctively to cup her cheeks again. Ahyeon now leans into it unconsciously.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur. “I’m really sorry for hurting you.”

Her brows knit together. Seems like she wants to be mad - she should be - but she’s still caught in the haze of everything. It’s all moving too fast for her.

“You’re… that guy.” she finally lets out, voice small.

“You’re the Red Mask guy.”

You nod. “Yeah, in the flesh.”

Your lips twitch into a smile.

“The guy who swung around Gangnam in a mask last night and got caught on Tiktok.”

She lets out a sound - a mix of laughter and gasp before covering your hands with hers, still resting on her cheeks. She’s overwhelmed right now. Her fingers are warm and a little shaky.

“Oh my… I can’t believe this.”

Her voice cracks at the end, breathless. You feel her thumb trace the edges of your hand. Her smile then fades gradually as her gaze drops to your hoodie - the darkened fabric is stained by blood. A slow, creeping realization settles over her face.

“Woochan-ah.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Right.

You glance down. You’re only just remembering now. The pain doesn’t hurt as much now but it still stings. The gauze you slapped on earlier has long soaked through. Crimson seeps into the hem of your hoodie, like a reminder of what you did earlier in the evening.

“It’s fine.” you say.

Ahyeon stares at you, eyes wide, hurt and panic crashing all together.

“You call that nothing?! You idiot.”

“Just a scratch.” you reply, attempting a smile.

She immediately stands up in one fluid, almost panicked motion.

“Scratch?! Are you kidding me right now?”

“Uh…”

“Sit. Down.”

You flinch at her tone. You’ve seen Ahyeon flustered, pouty, even fake angry when you tease her. But not this. This is the first time you’ve seen her genuinely upset and shaking. So you sit on her bed without a word. She pulls her drawer open and yanks out the first aid kit. It rattles in her hands as she turns around, drops to her knees in front of you. Her brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a trembling line as she zip it open.

“Take off your blazer and hoodie. Your shirt, too.”

You hesitate. The way she said that so bluntly, now she’s avoiding your eyes. Still, you obey. You peel off the blazer first. Then, the hoodie - careful not to aggravate the wound. You can feel Ahyeon’s eyes flicking up for a second then darting away just as fast. Then goes the shirt. It sticks lightly to the dried up blood near your side.

And that’s when it happens. Her breath catches. You glance at her from the corner of your eyes. Her eyes move across your torso, the bloodied gauze, the lines of muscle before she forces herself to look away, cheeks flushing a deep pink.

“Y-You’re an idiot.” she mutters under her breath.

She’s still mad but her hands tremble just slightly as she reaches forward to clean your wound.

“Uh… sorry.”

“Don’t ‘sorry’ me. You kept a secret from me for 2 months, you show up looking like you just fell off a building-” she mumbles, still dabbing your skin carefully. “-and then have the nerve to kiss me while hanging upside down.”

“I…uh, technically… It was supposed to be a stab but I dodged it.” you say, trying not to sound defensive. She stops cold and stares at you. The soaked gauze in her hand drops right onto the floor.

“You what?”

“Dodged it.” you say quietly, hoping it would sound less dangerous. “Y’know… it grazed me.”

Ahyeon stands up so suddenly the kit falls from her lap. Her voice raises, not loud but enough to put fear in your brain.

“Woochan-ah! You’re such an idiot. That’s not something you just casually say! You were almost stabbed! Are you even listening to yourself?!”

You start to say something but she cuts you off.

“I’ve been worrying about you for weeks. You vanish at night. You don’t answer me. And now you show up at my house bleeding, smiling like none of this matters?!” Her voice cracks, pain spilling through the anger. You reach for her wrist and she pulls slightly but doesn’t step back. You get up and take her other hand.

“I’m sorry, Ahyeon-ah. I didn’t want to lie… I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

She looks at you, eyes simmering but locked on yours. You move closer and slowly reach up to her cheek.

“But I trust you. More than anyone. That’s why I chose to tell you.”

Her breathing goes unsteady again, cheeks warm under your palm but she doesn’t look away.

“...You’re still an idiot and I’m still mad at you.”

You smile faintly. “Forgiven?”

Ahyeon exhales, finally relaxing just a little in your hands. She doesn’t answer, just gives you a glare and nudges your chest lightly with her fingers.

“Sit back down before I get even madder at you.”

You obey. She kneels again in front of you, scooping up the first aid kit with a sigh. She cleans the wound with cool pads and dabs disinfectant around the edge when you wince.

“Ooh… careful there.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Her voice is flat but you can sense the underlying worry underneath the sass.

You try to lighten the mood. “At least you’re best friends with a street hero now!”

“You’re lucky I’ve known you for a long time.”

She tears a strip of medical tape and presses it down a little too firmly.

“Yah!”

“Serves you right.” she mutters, finally sitting back on her heels. “You could’ve died.”

You look at how she presses her lips together like she’s trying not to cry again.

“But I didn’t.” you say gently.

“Don’t set the bar at that!” she finally snaps, finally standing up to tower over you. “Tell me everything right now. No more secrets.”

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling deeply while trying to remember everything correctly.

“Okay…” you murmur. “Sit. I’ll tell you everything.”

She doesn’t sit. Instead she just crosses her arms and stares at you like she’s seconds away from killing you right then and there. So you start talking.

“Remember that school trip to Samsung Heavy Industries facilities? I got bitten there, about three or two months ago.”

She raises her brows. “Bitten?”

“By a spider. Not a normal one. It was from one of the restricted labs we weren’t supposed to go near. I was messing with a sensor door because I thought it was harmless.”

“You broke into a restricted lab?”

You try to skip through that part. “That’s not important.”

“It is extremely importa-”

“Anyway, it bit me. It was weird, it didn't look like a normal spider at all. I passed out when I got home that same day. I woke up the next day and my glasses didn’t work anymore. My reflexes were insane. I can climb walls and stick to stuff. Oh… uh, superhuman strength too.”

She just stares at you, eyes wide.

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Yeah, I know. It sounds kinda crazy.”

She lets out a breath out of disbelief and frustration.

“Wanna see?” you ask, voice playful.

“See what?”

“A little demo.” you tilt your head toward the ceiling.

“Woochan, are you crazy?”

Instead of answering, you step forward and gently wrap your arms around her waist. She gasps immediately.

“What are yo-”

“Hold on.”

Before she can pull back, you bend your knees and jump. In a split second, you’ve flipped the two of you up toward the ceiling. Your feet land softly above, sticking with ease. Your hands press flat on either side of her to steady you both. Ahyeon lets out a tiny gasp, her body clinging to yours in pure instinct, both arms wrapped tightly around your neck. Her face is pink with eyes wide as she looks down at the floor.

“Woochan! What the- Let me down!”

You lean in slightly. “Still the Red Mask is hot?”

Ahyeon squirms in your arms, but her grip never loosens. “This is insane. What if we fall?”

You smirk, keeping your balance easily. Your hands are still braced on the ceiling around her.

“I asked you a question?” you tease. “Still think he’s hot?”

Ahyeon glares at you. Though it doesn’t work as she looks too cute for it to be effective.

“I- That was… before I knew he was you.”

“Oh, so knowing it’s me ruins your fantasy.”

Ahyeon is flustered but can’t come up with a comeback. You grin wider as you know exactly what that means.

“Admit it. You still think I’m hot.” you lean in closer, forehead nearly touching hers.

Ahyeon groans and hides her face in your shoulder. “Ryeo Woochan.”

You chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Put me down.”

“Say I’m hot and I will.”

She lifts her head, eyes narrowed. “I hate you.”

“And?”

“And yes, I find you hot. Happy?” she whispers, shy and defiant all at once.

“Very.”

Then you flip the both of you back to the ground with her arms still wrapped around you and land gently like it’s nothing. She stumbles when you let her go, face still hot and hair tousled.

“You’re never allowed to do that again.” she says breathlessly.

“No promises.” You barely have time to gloat before Ahyeon’s eyes drop again to your side - to the fixed up wound still bleeding a bit through the gauze. She snaps out of it instantly.

“Your side, Woochan-ah!” She reaches out and presses her fingers gently near the tape. “You’re literally injured and swinging around like you’re invincible!”

You laugh it off. “It’ll be fine in one or two days. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse?!”

“Yeah.” you nod. “I sprained my ankle jumping off a five story building when I first discovered my powers. It healed in a day!”

Ahyeon freezes, then she points at you while trembling in anger. “You. You tell me everything that you’ve done the past two months. Everything this time. Right now.” she pauses, voice breaking just enough to hit you right in the chest.

“Or you and I are done, Woochan.”

Time stops, or at least that’s how you feel. Her eyes are glossy again, hands clenching into a fist at her side. This isn’t just about being angry. You see the fear and worry in her eyes. And she means it.

“Okay… you deserve to know.”

You both sit down on her bed and begin, no more holding back.

“I’ve stopped like twenty muggings. An arson in Seongbuk. Pulled a family out of a crashed car before it exploded. I stopped a robbery at a convenience store last week. One time I even held back a runaway city bus when the brakes failed.”

You laugh slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “That was exhausting, but it showed me how strong I could be.”

You exhale, voice becoming more quiet.

“I don’t do it for attention. I do it because no one else will. You’ve seen what Seoul is like. The cops only care about rich people and politicians. Someone has to look out for everyone else.”

Ahyeon looks at you in stunned silence, eyes locked on yours.

“... And I always wanted to tell you, honestly.” you say while rubbing the back of your neck. “But the longer I waited, the harder it became. And then I see you get sadder and sadder every time I say I’m busy… And today you got mad and cried… I, uh- I realized I never wanted to lose you over this.”

You looked at Ahyeon.

“I’m sorry, Ahyeon-ah. But that’s everything. I promise.”

Ahyeon’s lips tremble as you finish speaking. Her fists are still clenched on her lap and you expect her to yell again, maybe call you reckless or selfish. Instead, her voice comes out shaky.

“Just… stop this, Woochan-ah. Live normally.” Tears begin to well in her eyes again. “What if something happens to you?”

The pain from your wound isn’t as sharp now but the ache from your heart, from seeing Ahyeon like this, it only grows.

“I know… I know it’s dangerous.”

She shakes her head and looks away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You could get hurt.” she says. “You did get hurt. What if one day it’s worse than a stab and a sprained ankle? What if you don’t come back?”

Your hand reaches out and gently covers hers.

“I’ve thought about that too. But there are people out there who need help. People who don’t have anyone else looking out for them.” you admit.

Her lower lip quivers. “Then what about me?”

You squeeze her hand, firm and full of affection.

“That’s why I told you. Because I need you too. I trust you. And if I have to do this, I want you with me. From now on.”

Ahyeon stares at you, stunned.

“You want me… with you?”

“I promise I’ll be more careful. I’ll be smarter. But I can't stop, at least not now. So if you’re going to be mad at me, I understand. But if you want to stay by my side, I won’t keep you in the dark anymore.”

Ahyeon’s breathing becomes harder. And suddenly, her arms wrap around your neck, hugging you tight.

“You idiot.” she whispers, tears falling even more now. “You’re mine. So from now, we will do everything together.”

Your heart thuds.

“Together?”

“Together, me and you. Don’t you dare do that to me again.”

You can’t help but smile and wrap your arm fully around her. You rest your chin lightly atop her head and whisper.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

She sniffles into your shoulder, still clinging on to you. You lift a hand and gently part her head, fingers brushing through her hair. Without thinking much, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

“Yah” you mumble. “Wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

She tenses a bit.

“Like… officially as boyfriend and girlfriend, I mean.” you add, heart skipping. “It’s the weekend, so…”

Ahyeon slowly pulls back, cheeks already glowing. Her eyes glance up at you, still glassy from tears. “Y- You’re really asking me out now, you dummy?”

“Took this dummy long enough, huh?”

She shyly hides her face in your shoulder again before muttering, “Maybe.”

You chuckle. “Wear something pretty, or cute, or… anything you want. You’re beautiful the way you are.”

She tilts her head up.

“Just… uh, not a skirt or a dress. Y’know, in case we have to swing.”

Her lips twitch. “You mean because you’re planning to swing me across the city like some kind of monkey?”

You mutter. “I don’t want you flashing the whole of Seoul, okay?”

She rolls her eyes, cheeks warm. “Fine. Pants and something ‘pretty’, you jerk.” she then smacks your arm lightly.

“You’re the worst.”

“But you’ll come, right?”

She hides her face again, voice soft and shy.

“Only because I like you.”

AHYEON FAMILY’S APARTMENT - THE NEXT MORNING

The weather casts a gentle glow over the rooftops of Seoul. You slip your mask on, web shooters perfectly fitted around your wrists with a newly selected outfit - a gray sweater, dark brown Carhartt jacket along with clean fit jeans. You swing past rooftops, soft breezes tugging at your mask. It’s early, but not too early. Just the right time to show up.

You land next to her room window, sticking quietly. The curtains are open, and you can see Ahyeon - she’s twirling around in front of the mirror, her hair flairs out with every movement. The black zip-up top clings to her as she sways her hips side to side, mouthing the lyrics to the song blasting from her phone. Her black jeans fit snug, allowing her to move freely. She spins effortlessly and lets out a quiet giggle at her reflection. Her glasses slide down her nose just a little with her movements but she doesn’t bother fixing them. There’s something so effortlessly adorable about Ahyeon like this, dressed so cool but moving around in her room like a cutie. In that moment, she’s completely in her own world - confident, playful, real. You can’t help but smile. That girl is now your girlfriend.

You lean your head slightly against the window frame and knock once - knuckles against glasses. Ahyeon freezes mid dance, her head instantly whips toward the window. You give her a small wave through the glass.

“AHHHH-” she screams, jumping back a full step. You laugh at the scene.

“Ahyeonie, what happened?” You can hear her mom’s voice from inside the apartment.

“NOTHING, MOM! Just a spider!” she shouts back, frantically running to the window. The latch clicks and the window finally slides open.

“Are you insane, Ryeo Woochan?! You can’t just- just- Ughhh! What if my mom comes in?”

You tilt your head. “But I wanna see my girlfriend.”

Her glare twitches. She tries, really tries to hold it. You can see her lips clearly threatening a smile.

“Dummy. Get in before anyone sees you.” she mutters, grabbing your arm to help you in.

“Nuh uh.”

“What?” she asks.

You grin under the mask, letting go of the window frame.

“I’m going to the front door. Gonna greet your mom properly and ask her if I can take you out on a date, like right now.”

Her jaw drops. “Woochan! Are you insane?”

You’ve already released your grip on the wall, sticking only by foot as you get ready to drop down.

“You said you wanted to do this together right?” You smile at her through the mask. “That includes being a good boyfriend.”

She stares at you, lips parted. Her face turns red.

You give a small salute before dropping down. “Wish me luck, girlfriend.”

Ahyeon lets out a quiet gasp as you disappear from the window view. Seconds later, she runs out of room, almost tripping on the way. Her mom, halfway through cutting fruit in the kitchen, hears all the commotion.

“Honey, what’s going on?”

“N- Nothing, mom!”

But then, the doorbell rings.

“Is someone here?” her mom raises a brow.

Ahyeon tries to stop her but it’s too late. Her mom already reaches the door and opens it. There you are. Backpack on, wearing that slightly sheepish but still confident grin, your hair a little messy from the wind. No mask. Just you, standing properly at her door this time.

“Hello, Ms.” you bow slightly.

“Woochanie! You came again. Oh my, come in. Ahyeon’s right here.”

Her mom’s voice lights up with genuine delight as she opens the door wider.

“You didn’t have to ring the bell, sweetheart! You’re practically family now.”

You smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “I figure I should do things properly today, Ms.”

Ahyeon’s mom tilts her head curiously. “Oh? What’s so special, Woochan-ah?”

You glance move toward Ahyeon - standing just a little behind her, blushing like she wants to disappear. You then clear your throat.

“I wanted to ask if it’d be alright… if I take your daughter out. On a real date. Just the two of us.”

Her mom blinks once and slowly breaks into the warmest smile you have ever seen.

“Aigoo… you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ms. We’ll stay close by. We’ll be back soon, and I promise I’ll take good care of Ahyeon.”

Ahyeon groans softly behind her mom. “Mom, he didn’t have to make it this dramatic…”

Her mom just brushes her off and reaches for your wrist, patting it affectionately.

“You sweet thing. Of course you can take her out. I was starting to wonder when you two would finally stop dancing around it.”

“Momm.” Ahyeon practically whines. Her mom only laughs.

“Go get ready, honey. Don’t be rude. My future son-in-law is waiting.” Then she turns to you, beaming. “Take good care of Ahyeon, Woochan-ah. She’s a bit stubborn but she loves you a lot.”

You bow again, laughing a little too hard. “I will, Ms. Thank you for your permission.”

“Oh wait, come in for a bit, come in! Let me pack you two some snacks before you leave. And thank you for being respectful, Woochan-ah. I like you even more now.”

You look at Ahyeon and whisper. “Told you I’d do it right.”

She exhales loudly, hiding her face behind her sleeves. But you know she loves this too.

AHYEON FAMILY’S APARTMENT - ROOFTOP

You both get up to the rooftop of her apartment, quiet steps echoing slightly in the stairwell. The wind is gentle today, ruffling Ahyeon’s hair as she steps cautiously onto the concrete. She peers over the edge and immediately steps back, gripping your jacket slightly.

“You’re not serious, Woochanie…” she mumbles, clearly scared.

You step in front of her and gently rest your hands on her arms. “Ahyeon-ah. You trust me, right?”

She bites her lips but nods. “I’m scared.”

You smile softly and lean in, pressing your forehead against hers. “I’m here.”

With no hesitation, you kiss her. She closes her eyes into it, clinging to your sleeves. You pull back just enough to put your mask on.

“Hold on to the food your mom packed too.” you smirk, gesturing to the small bag looped around her wrist. She glances at it then at you.

“You’re really out of your mind.”

You chuckle. “Jump and cling your legs around me, really tight, okay?”

She hesitates. “W- Why?”

You then move one hand to grip her firmly by the butt, pulling her flush against you.

“Y- Yah! Why are you touching my butt?!”

“Because of physics, dummy! I’m trying not to turn you into Swiss cheese.” You grin. “Now wrap your legs around me.”

Flustered and red faced, she obeys, arms looped tightly around your neck, legs hooked at your waist.

“Ready?”

“No…”

You lean in closer to her ear. “Too bad.”

Thwip.

You shoot your web forward and leap off the building with Ahyeon clinging to you, screaming into your shoulder as the wind roars. Behind the scream, Ahyeon can still feel the excitement of swinging around with her boyfriend for the first time.

GANGNAM-GU - MORNING

You swing through the city confidently, weaving between buildings and over traffic with precision. Ahyeon clings tighter each time you arc high, her fists gripping your jacket like her life depends on it - technically, it really does. Her face is buried against your shoulder, but despite her squealing and yelling, you can sense she’s loving this.

Eventually, you land smoothly on a secluded rooftop in Gangnam - your favorite spot. It’s quiet here. High above the chaos down there, nice wind and the view is unimaginable. But Ahyeon doesn’t let go. You take off your mask with one hand before speaking.

“Hey.” your hand is still on her butt to keep her secure. “We’re here.”

“No.” she huffs into your neck, refusing to budge.

You laugh. “You’re still holding on to me like I’m gonna throw you off the roof.”

She finally leans back, cheeks red and eyes glaring at you. “You almost gave me a heart attack and killed me mid air.”

You just smile and carry her over to the bench near the ledge, setting her down gently before sitting next to her. Ahyeon instantly curls into your side, arms still looped around your torso like a koala - your koala. Her head rests on your shoulder, legs curled up on the bench, the food her mom packed still cradled on her lap.

The city spreads out in front of the two of you, morning sunlight shines on everything beautifully.

“You okay now?”

“No.” Ahyeon’s voice is muffled. “But I like this.”

You smile, resting your cheek on her head.

Yeah, I like this too.

“So what did your mom pack for us?” you glance down the bag on her lag.

“Food. Obviously, dummy.” she doesn’t move.

You grin and gently pry the bag from her. “Let me guess. Kimbap, some snacks. And-” you peek inside. “Yep. Even fruit and some yogurt. Your mom must really like me, Ahyeon-ah.”

Ahyeon just hums, face still hidden against you. You chuckle, unwrapping one of the kimbap rolls and popping one into your mouth.

“Mmm. Still warm.”

Then you take another piece, this time holding it to her face. “Say ah.”

She shifts a little, peeking up with a pout.

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re my baby.” you say, smiling. She glares but opens her mouth anyway, biting the kimbap from your fingers.

“There you go.” you then wipe the corner of her lips with your thumb and sneak a kiss to her temple.

“You always deny it but you love me too much.”

The city below buzzes beneath the morning sky. Ahyeon’s head still rests against your shoulder, finally relaxed, fingers absently toying with your chest. You then talk for what feels like an hour - about school, about all the crazy things you did. You told her a few more stories - how your web shooters exploded, how you got chased by a dog the first night you went out to fight crimes. She laughs at that one. The wind carries her laughter, soft and bright.

“Hey.” you glance down at Ahyeon.

She hums.

“Do you… maybe wanna help me make a new suit?”

She looks up, blinking. “Suit?”

“I mean, I’m just wearing normal clothing and some gears I modified when I go out swinging around and fight crimes. They don’t really last that long. I want to make something better now, with you. Something… ours, I guess.”

You can see the thoughts turning in her head, her expression slowly blooming into something soft and steady.

“You want me to help you make a superhero suit?”

You nod. “You’re the only one I trust to do it with me. You’re smart, creative. And I need someone to remind me whenever I get too crazy with my ideas.”

“Like sticking to the ceiling and kissing your girlfriend with no warning?” she smiles.

“Exactly.”

She shifts to your face fully, a spark in her eyes.

“Okay. Let’s build you a new suit together.”

A few minutes passes by in peaceful silence. She then leans back a little, playing with the food box before glancing at you with a curious look.

“Do you actually like the nickname people give you?”

You blink. “The Red Mask?”

“Yeah, it’s all over Tiktok.”

You exhale, eyes on the city skyline. “Uhh… not really. Sounds just like a cheap horror movie villain.”

Ahyeon snorts. “Then why don’t you pick a new one?”

Oh yeah.

“Any ideas?”

She perks up, suddenly excited. “Well, that billionaire guy in America wears a metal suit and calls himself Iron Man. And that king from Wakanda in the vibranium panther suit? Black Panther. That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, that is cool. And I swing around, so…”

“Monkey?” she offers, half serious half joking. “Monkey Man?”

You turn to her slowly.

“No, dummy. Monkeys don’t stick to walls like I do.”

Ahyeon giggles. “But they climb! Okay, okay… Sticky Boy? Stick Wall Man?”

“I’m gonna drop you when we swing home, baby.”

Ahyeon then burst out laughing, pure joy on her face.

“Okay, okay. Seriously- Umm, Spider… Spider Boy?”

You pause for a moment, considering it.

“...Spider Man?”

She tilts her head. “Yeah. Spider Man.”

You grin slowly.