#sooo many things to clock here;

[voyter]

NO NUT NOVEMBER ⋆ 정국 !

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.

⟡₊ ⊹ THANKSGIVING SPECIAL !

word count. 8.9k words warnings. stupid fucking nnn challenge. JUNGKOOK IS SOOO DRAMATIC IN THIS OML. competitive koo. oc being petty as fuck. oc a brat hehe. jungkook cannot lie to save his life. he fighting demons in his head. needy koo. slight crack. smut. oral (fem!receiving). MUNCH JK. dry humping. blindfolding (very brief lasts like five seconds). koo loves her boobies. unprotected sex. dom!jk (i dont usually like writing him like this but i didnt hate it).

ana's notes. happy (very late) thanksgiving !!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT. this was supposed to be posted after thanksgiving but i got so busy and then the writers block crept up on me :\ .. ANYWAYS i am so grateful for you guys and the support you have shown for my writing, it means a lot since this is a hobby that i love. heres a little silly smutty fic for the holidays !! keep your comments positive or say nothing at all <3

There was this utterly ridiculous trend that resurfaced on the internet like clockwork every year — No Nut November.

The viral phenomenon was a joke. Honestly, who in their right mind would actually take part in such a thing?  

Well... Jungkook and his friends would. 

Never ones to back down from a challenge, they had turned the trend into a full-blown competition: the last man standing would walk away with a cash prize collected from everyone who failed. And Jungkook? He wasn’t about to lose. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.  

It wasn’t like he needed the money. Jungkook was doing just fine in that department, thank you very much. But the satisfaction of watching his friends begrudgingly hand over their hard earned cash, faces red with defeat? Fucking priceless. Count him in.

Unbeknownst to you, the bet was in full effect. Therefore, in preparation for what promised to be a painfully unfulfilling month, Jungkook made the most of Halloween night. His desire was overwhelming as he pulled you into his arms again and again. By the time you were both utterly spent, he’d taken you three times — round after relentless round, ensuring he had no regrets before the clock struck midnight.

It was all part of his plan: to have you as many times as he possibly could before November hit and he couldn’t have you at all. He was dead serious about this challenge. Winning was secondary — what mattered most was that he didn’t lose.  

By the first week of November — just five days in — Jungkook had been doing surprisingly well. His restraint was impressive, and he’d managed to keep his touches brief and calculated. The physical contact between you two had been limited to sweet, innocent moments: the kisses you shared when he left and came home from work, the soft pecks exchanged before falling asleep, or the comforting warmth of cuddling. None of it lingered too long, and Jungkook was acutely aware of how easily even the smallest touch could spiral into something much harder to resist.  

But Jungkook’s plan didn’t seem to work so well after all. As the week drew closer to its end, you began to get eager.  

Your arms would wrap around his waist from behind, your chest pressing against his back as you left featherlight kisses against the nape of his neck. Each one sent a shiver down his spine, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. Your fingers trailed along his arms and shoulders a little longer than usual, like they couldn’t bear to part from him. When you kissed him, your lips lingered just a second too long, brushing against his with a softness that made his heart pound and his resolve crumble.  

And Jungkook — poor, stubborn Jungkook — felt the strain of holding himself back with every passing moment.  

The tension in his body was unmistakable. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides, as if anchoring himself in place was the only way to resist you. But it was getting harder. Your every move — a tilt of your head, a brush of your fingers, the soft hum of your laughter — was a calculated test of his willpower.

There were times where his thumb hovered over the group chat. His mind screamed at him to type out the words, to admit defeat, to let it all go so he could have you the way he so desperately craved.  

But he didn’t.  

He kept his composure, though it was a battle he felt he was losing by the second. Temptation clung to him like a warm, enticing embrace, your every move a test of his self control. You were irresistible, and he knew it. Hell, even the fucking dickwad of a neighbor — the one who always found a reason to greet you while mugging Jungkook — knew it. But as much as he wanted to give in, Jungkook had to tread carefully. Ignoring you completely would be suspicious, and pulling away would be totally out of character. You’d see right through him.  

So he found a fine line to walk, a delicate balance: giving you just enough to keep you satisfied while keeping his own burning desires tightly in check. A heated makeout session here, his hand squeezing your ass there — little gestures that made everything feel normal. Just enough to keep you from noticing anything was off, but never enough to let things spiral out of control.  

The thought of explaining the ridiculous bet to you was out of the question — he wasn’t about to tell you he’d willingly signed up to not get his cock wet for a whole month. So instead, he silently resolved to endure.  

It wasn’t easy. Hell, it was torture. But the thought of losing to his friends? That was even worse. Their smug faces, the relentless teasing — it was unthinkable. Jungkook would rather give himself the worst case of blue balls imaginable than admit defeat.  

But just as the next week was about to begin, Jungkook’s willpower met its match.

At night, Jungkook stuck to his usual routine. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and climbed into bed. He scrolled aimlessly through his TikTok for you page, waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom and join him. It was the same comforting ritual as always.  

Usually, when you slipped into bed, he’d put his phone down immediately. Without a word, he’d shift closer, press his chest to your back, tangle your legs together, and throw a protective arm over your waist. It was an unspoken rhythm you both loved, the closeness of his warmth pulling you both into peaceful sleep.  

But tonight, something felt different.  

It had been a long week — too long. You hadn’t had him, hadn’t felt his touch, hadn’t been able to drown in the comfort of him. And tonight, the ache of missing him was unbearable. You needed him, desperately.  

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft light from the lamp illuminated him sprawled across the bed. His focus was on his phone, completely oblivious to you — but your attention was elsewhere.  

The thin material of his sweatpants did nothing to hide the outline of his cock, pressing firmly against the fabric as he lay there in complete ease. It was almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he looked.  

And just like that, the last of your restraint snapped.  

You didn’t even try to play coy. Not tonight. Not when every fiber of your being screamed for him, for his touch, for his warmth.  

You crawled onto the bed with purpose, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. Jungkook tensed beneath you, his phone slipping from his hand onto the mattress. His dark eyes met yours, wide with surprise, but the second your lips captured his, you felt him relax into the kiss.

It didn’t take long for your lips to wander. From his mouth to his jaw, each kiss slower and deeper than the last. That’s when he knew.  

This wasn’t going to end with a few kisses.  

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, his voice breathy, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.  

“Mhm,” you hummed, your lips trailing down his neck, suckling gently at the spot you knew made him shudder.  

“We should go to sleep,” he tried again, though his words sounded more like a plea than an order.  

“Don’t wanna,” you whispered against his skin, your hand sliding down between your bodies, cupping the hardening length beneath his sweatpants.  

The guttural moan that tore from his lips was instant, raw, and uncontrollable. His reaction was visceral, his hands flying to your hips to still you, but it was too late. That single touch had ignited something primal in him.  

With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them firmly above your head.

“Why do you never listen to me?” he said through clenched teeth. His frustration of trying to compose his restraint thinning. Why won’t you let him win? His face was so close to yours that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.  

“Love pissing you off,” you shot back, your grin wicked as your eyes gleamed with mischief. You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “Makes me wet.”  

“Brat,” he spat. His grip on your wrists tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if holding himself back took everything he had.

To you, it was all in good fun — a playful game, harmless teasing. But to Jungkook? It was sweet, unrelenting torment. Every kiss you pressed to his skin, every soft laugh that spilled from your lips, and every calculated touch you offered worked to chip away at his resolve, unraveling him one agonizing piece at a time.  

He wanted to be strong, to resist, to uphold his own ridiculous self imposed boundaries. But how could he? How could he lay down beside you and simply go to sleep when your every movement, every sound, every look begged him to surrender? His body betrayed him first, drawn to you like a magnet, unable to keep his distance. The tension in his muscles, the sharp hitch of his breath every time you touched him — it all screamed of a man teetering on the edge of self control.  

Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. He hated how much you affected him, but at the same time, he craved it. Every fiber of his being ached for you — your warmth, your softness, the way you felt against him. He knew he was doomed the second you whispered his name, voice laced with need.  

Giving in wasn’t just inevitable; it was everything he wanted. And as much as he’d tried to fight it, there was no denying you. Not now, not ever.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with a pain so desperate it borders on pitiful. His head drops, forehead pressing against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. It’s as if he’s trying to ground himself, clinging to the fragile threads of control slipping through his fingers.

For a moment, he stays there, his breath warm against your skin, his body taut with tension. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze with eyes darkened by lust and want, swirling with a need so intense it makes your stomach all jittery. His cheeks are flushed, the faintest rosy tint blooming across his face and staining the tips of his ears. He looks utterly undone, vulnerable in a way that steals the air from your lungs.  

Before he could think twice, his lips crashed against yours in a feverish kiss, devouring you like you were his favorite candy — sweet, irresistible, and utterly addictive. He poured everything into that kiss, every ounce of frustration and need, as if losing himself in you was the only thing that mattered.  

His lips began to trail south, brushing along the curve of your jaw before dipping down to the sensitive hollow of your neck. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat on your skin, and your breath hitched, a soft sound that sent a rush of satisfaction through him. He didn’t stop, didn’t falter as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt — no, his shirt. You always stole his shirts for bed, and as much as he teased you about it, he loved seeing you in them.  

He pulled the fabric up, lifting it just beneath your chin and exposing your bare chest. Your breasts, freed from the confines of the shirt, bounced softly back into place, and Jungkook’s breath caught. His dark eyes locked onto the sight, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands instinctively cupped them, squeezing gently, pushing them together as if appreciating every inch of you.  

Unable to stop himself, he buried his face in the softness, his nose stuffed in between your tits, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.  

“Kook!” you giggled, your voice light and teasing, pulling him back just slightly from the haze of his desire. Your hands reached down, cupping his face and tilting it upward until his eyes met yours.

“Prettiest titties ever,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to one breast, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lips curved into a warm smile, and your thumb traced softly over the scar on the apple of his cheek. The tender moment was fleeting, though, as Jungkook’s mouth found its way to your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples. His tongue flicked against the sensitive peak, drawing a sharp wave of pleasure through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying — and failing — to stifle the moan that bubbled in your throat.  

Your hands moved instinctively, brushing back the dark strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Your touch was soft, almost reverent, as you gazed down at him. The sight of Jungkook — cheeks flushed, lashes kissing his cheeks as he lost himself in you, his lips tugging gently at your sensitive flesh — made your heart race and your body ache with want.  

He let out a low hum against your skin, the vibration sending a delicious shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue swirled around your nipple with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that left you breathless. His focus was unrelenting, his attention on you so singular it made your toes curl. The warmth of his saliva mixed with the heat of your skin, creating a sensation that was utterly intoxicating.  

You let out a quiet gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his raven hair, earning a soft groan from him in response. Jungkook didn’t stop, his lips worshiping you like you were the only thing that mattered.  

But as his mouth continued its ministrations, Jungkook couldn’t ignore the ache building in him. His cock throbbed, painfully hard and straining against his sweats, begging for relief. The urge to push everything aside and lose himself in you was overwhelming.  

Maybe he could lose. Maybe he could just not tell them.

No. That wasn’t fair, and Jungkook hated lying — especially to his best friends.

But fuck, you weren’t making this easy for him.  

With your pretty, soft boobs. Your sweet, irresistible lips. The way you tasted, the way you sounded.

He released your nipple with an audible pop, leaving your skin glistening and flushed from his attention. His lips lingered, warm and damp, as if tethered by an invisible string, reluctant to part. Then, slowly, he began his descent, tracing a line of soft, deliberate kisses down your stomach. Each press of his lips was unhurried, almost worshipful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as anticipation tightened in your core.  

When he reached the waistband of your panties, his movements paused. His lips hovered just above the fabric, warm breath teasing your skin. He glanced up at you, eyes hooded and dark with want, as if searching your face for permission to continue. The moment felt suspended, heavy with tension, before he shifted his attention lower, redirecting his kisses to the delicate, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.  

His pace was maddening, each kiss a whisper against your skin, igniting every nerve and sending shivers rippling through you. His lips barely grazed you, his touch so featherlight it felt almost cruel, building the pressure inside you until it was nearly unbearable.  

Then he saw it. The damp patch on your panties. His movements stilled for a moment, the sight pulling a soft moan from his lips, thick with need.  

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, as if meant more for himself than for you. His voice was strained, low and raw, betraying the war raging inside him.  

You were blissfully unaware of the full weight of his internal struggle, the impossible battle between his ironclad resolve and the magnetic pull of you beneath him. But for Jungkook, this wasn’t just lust; it was a consuming craving, threatening to shatter the very challenge he'd sworn to uphold.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his touch firm yet tantalizingly gentle as he began to slide them down your thighs. The soft fabric dragged against your skin with agonizing slowness, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When the panties finally slipped off and landed somewhere forgotten on the floor, his gaze dropped to the apex of your thighs, and a deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest.

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, your slick coating your folds, the evidence of your desire laid bare before him. Jungkook's tongue darted out to wet his lips as impatience flickered in his eyes. Without hesitation, he leaned in, starting with slow, deliberate licks, savoring the taste of you like a man starving.

Your breath hitched, a shudder racing through you as you glanced down at him. His dark eyes locked with yours for a brief, smoldering moment before he closed his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently yet firmly.

A moan tore from your throat as your head tipped back, your fingers instinctively finding one of your breasts. You cupped the soft mound, your palm pressing into the supple flesh. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths and the wet, sinful noises of his tongue working you over.

Jungkook's hand shot up, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist as he yanked it away from your breast. He possessively replaced your hand with his own. His large, tattooed hand cupped your tit, kneading the soft flesh with a firm yet reverent touch.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips glistening with your slick, and his heated gaze met yours. Without a word, his free hand slid down, his middle and ring fingers gliding through your folds with expert precision. He paused for a moment, his fingers coated in your arousal, before pressing them slowly inside you.

Your breath hitched at the delicious stretch, your sopping wet heat greedily sucking him in with ease. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he watched your body respond to his touch.

“So fucking wet," he whispered, voice thick with lust. His fingers curled slightly, stroking your walls with an unrelenting precision that had your thighs trembling.

Jungkook leaned back down, his lips latching onto your clit with a hunger that made your thighs quiver. He sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud, the wet, rhythmic sounds driving you wild. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, the steady, deliberate pace sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made you see stars.  

His other hand stayed on your breast, groping and kneading with a firm possessiveness that left you aching for more. His thumb brushed over your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.  

He was everywhere — on you, in you, surrounding you. The intensity of his touch, his mouth, and his presence consumed you entirely, leaving you trembling under him as he worked your body like he was born to do it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling heat low in your belly threatening to snap as he devoured you like a man obsessed.

“Baby,” you whimper, your voice trembling, raw with need as your fingers twist into the sheets beneath you. “G- gonna cum.”  

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down or falter. If anything, your words fuel him, igniting something feral inside him. He needs this — needs to feel you fall apart on his tongue, to taste every shiver and moan you can give him before he has to deny you for the rest of this painfully long month.  

A low hum vibrates against your clit, and the sensation sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His tongue moves faster now, precise and unrelenting, flicking and circling as if the very act is his lifeline.  

His fingers thrust into you, curling just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and your vision blur. The rhythm is perfect, practiced, like he’s mapping your body by memory, knowing exactly how to coax you to the edge.  

Another hum escapes his throat, deeper this time, resonating against you with an intensity that feels almost like a plea — an unspoken command for you to let go, to surrender completely to the pressure building inside you.  

And with each stroke of his tongue and every curl of his fingers, he pushes you closer, until you’re teetering on the brink, your body burning with the promise of release.

His hand on your breast squeezes more firmly, his thumb flicking and pinching your nipple with just the right pressure, as if he knows exactly how to push you over the edge. Your hand shoots up to grab his wrist, your nails digging into his skin, while your other hand fists the sheets desperately.  

Your head tips back, lips parting in a silent, breathless moan as the tension inside you finally snaps. Your thighs instinctively begin to close around Jungkook’s head, trembling as your release crashes over you in wave after blissful wave.  

Your body shakes beneath him, overcome by the force of your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His mouth continues its sinful work on your clit, sucking and licking with unrelenting precision, while his fingers maintain their steady thrusts.

Despite the painful, throbbing ache of his cock, Jungkook finds a twisted kind of satisfaction in giving you pleasure. The way your body arches, the sounds you make, the way your nails dig into the sheets — it’s intoxicating. It fuels him, spurring him on as though your ecstasy alone is enough to soothe his own torment.  

He doesn’t want to stop. Not when you’re trembling beneath him, your body so responsive to his every touch. But there’s a limit to how much you can take, and he knows it. As much as he loves pushing you to the edge, watching as you surrender completely to him, overstimulation begins to creep in, your soft whimpers turning into desperate little gasps.  

Still, there’s a reluctance in him, a battle between the unyielding need to give you more and the understanding that your body can only handle so much. Even as you writhe beneath him, pleading for reprieve, there’s a part of him that aches to keep going, to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer.  

But he’s Jungkook, and if there’s one thing he values more than his own desires, it’s you. The sight of you trembling, your chest heaving as you fight to steady your breath, tugs at something deeper within him. He takes a deep breath, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, and finally, he pulls back.  

His lips and chin are glistening with your slick, a sinful testament to his devotion. He doesn’t bother wiping it away; instead, he leans over you, his eyes dark and heavy with satisfaction as they roam your flushed face. 

“Munch,” you giggle, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers brush his hair back from his forehead.  

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, scrunching his nose in playful protest. His pretty bunny-like teeth peek out in a smile so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat.  

Unable to resist, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. Your tongue brushes against his, exploring him as the taste of you still lingers on his lips. The kiss grows deeper, more heated, and you feel his hard-on pressing insistently against your thigh.  

Without a second thought, your hand slides down, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating between you.  

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, breaking the kiss as he pulls away, the warmth of his lip still lingering on yours. He stands, his movements abrupt, leaving you breathless on the bed. His lips, swollen and glistening faintly in the dim light, speak to the intensity of your embrace, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. Instead, it darts away, like a guilty child caught red-handed. He scratches the back of his head, his posture stiff as he moves toward the bathroom door. “I think I’m gonna go shower,” he blurts out, the tension in his voice betraying his attempt at casualness.

Shower? Now? Really? His dick is literally straining against his sweats, the outline unmistakable, practically begging for attention. You can still feel the heat of him pressed against you, the way he twitched beneath you just moments ago.

He’s not serious. There’s absolutely no fucking way.

“What?” Genuine confusion coats your tone, your brows furrowed. “You always shower in the mornings.”  

“I- I know, baby,” he stammers, his pitch climbing an octave as his composure unravels faster than a poorly wrapped gift. Panic flashes in his wide eyes, and his mouth hangs open, grasping for an excuse he clearly doesn’t have.  

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask, your softer now, a thread of worry weaving through your tone. You sit up, the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him slipping down your chest, covering your boobs he wished he could stare at for just a second longer. “Is something going on?”

“I-” His eyes dart around the room like the answer might be written on the walls. “I’m just tired.”  

Your brow arches, skepticism written all over your face. “Tired?” you echo, your face scrunching in disbelief. “You’ve never not wanted to have sex.”  

Jungkook visibly winces, his ears turning a bright shade of red. Rising from the bed like it might help, he sits at the edge, his hand nervously brushing your shin. “I- I had a long day at work.”

You tilt your head. “But you love having sex after a long day,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion. “Jungkook, seriously… what’s wrong?”  

He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, his lips parting in silent panic. “Nothing!” he squeaks, his voice cracking. 

You lean closer, your suspicion mounting. “Well it’s clearly something! Do I not smell good?”  

His head whips toward you, his face a mixture of offense and horror. “What? You smell amazing!” he practically yells, his voice high-pitched. “Honey, I could eat you all day if you’d let me!” 

“Then why are you running off like this?”  

“I’m not running!” he protests, though the crack in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just- uh- need to clear my head!”  

“Clear your head?” you ask, squinting at him. “From what?”  

“All the thinking I’ve been doing!” he exclaims, clearly grasping at straws. “It’s... exhausting.”  

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”  

His mouth opens, but words fail him. After a moment of floundering, he groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles, his voice muffled behind his palms.  

“And you’re a terrible liar,” you fire back. “Spill it. What’s really going on?”  

He exhales deeply, dragging his hands down his face in defeat before clasping them together in front of him as if in prayer. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m trying so hard right now,” he mutters finally, his voice low and desperate, “and you’re not making it easy.”  

“Trying hard to what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. 

“To not combust right now!” he exclaims, his voice rough with need. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “You’re killing me, babe. Just... let me shower first, and then let’s just have a good night, okay?” His breath hitches, barely able to keep his composure as he watches you, a mixture of desperation and affection in his gaze. 

You blink at him, your mouth slightly open, trying to piece together his words. Before you can say anything, he kisses you once more, the movement rushed and almost sheepish.  

“Go to bed, honey,” he says, practically bolting for the bathroom. “I love you!”  

The door shut behind him with a sharp, decisive click, followed by the distinct sound of the lock turning. It was jarring — Jungkook never locked the door. There was no reason to; it was just the two of you living together, no one else to intrude. The realization sank in quickly, a bitter confirmation that this time, he was actively shutting you out, trying to keep you from coming in and uncovering whatever was weighing on him. You sat there, frozen, staring at the closed door in stunned silence.

Whatever it was, one thing was clear — you weren’t letting this slide. You were going to figure out what was going on with your boyfriend if it was the last thing you did.

After that night, you kept your distance.

Jungkook hated it. He hated the silence, the lack of your warmth, the way you avoided his touch. But he couldn’t blame you. He knew he was the root of the problem — he had fucked up that night. He should’ve been smoother, handled it better, but he completely blew it. Jungkook was good at many things. Lying was not one of them.

For a few days, you gave him the silent treatment. When he leaned in for a kiss before heading to work, you turned your face, leaving him with nothing but a peck on your cheek. The lack of communication was agonizing, eating away at him every time he caught your cold glances. But you were petty as fuck, and he knew it. You weren’t about to kiss his ass — not when it was obvious he’d lied to you that night. If he didn’t want to talk to you, then you weren’t going to talk to him.

When you were alone — at work, lying in bed, or just lost in thought — your mind spiraled. What could he possibly be hiding? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. Was he cheating on you? The idea felt impossible, unthinkable. Your Jungkook would never… or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. But his strange behavior, the evasiveness, planted seeds of doubt you couldn’t ignore. The very thought made you feel sick to your stomach, but the ache of curiosity refused to leave you alone.

You needed answers. And if Jungkook wasn’t going to give them to you, you decided to go to the one person who knew him best.

you [3:15 pm]: what is wrong with my boyfriend ??

jimin [3:17 pm]: That sounds like a question you should be asking your boyfriend, don't you think?

you [3:17 pm]: I KNOW YOU KNOW SOMETHING.

jimin [3:18 pm]: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???

you [3:18 pm]: whats her name

jimin [3:18 pm]: Who??

you [3:19 pm]: HIS SIDE BITCH

jimin [3:19 pm]: GIRL WHAT

jimin [3:19 pm]: You think he’s cheating on you?

you [3:23 pm]: is he ?? just tell me so i can save myself the humiliation pls

jimin [3:23 pm]: Bro no he would never

jimin [3:23 pm]: I’d chop his dick off and then kill the girl if he did

jimin [3:23 pm]: What makes you even think that in the first place?

you [3:24 pm]: hes acting weirdddd :(

you [3:24 pm]: i was trying to fuck him a few nights ago but he wouldnt let me touch him

jimin [3:25 pm]: First of all ew

jimin [3:25 pm]: Second of all

you [3:28 pm]: SECOND OF ALL ????

jimin [3:30 pm]: 😂😂😂

If you weren’t pissed at Jungkook before, you definitely were now.

After talking to Jimin, you finally learned the truth about the challenge. It wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had hidden it from you that irritated you most — it was the challenge itself and his ridiculous competitive spirit. Why did he have to be such a sore loser?

According to Jimin, five of the seven participants had already been knocked out. Seokjin and Yoongi, being married men, didn’t stand a chance — they were bound to lose. Namjoon, like Jungkook, was in a committed relationship, but unlike him, Namjoon had the good sense not to put himself through that kind of pain just to preserve his pride. Hoseok and Taehyung? They were notorious party addicts — losing was inevitable for them. 

Now, it was down to just Jungkook and Jimin. And, of course, Jungkook’s competitive streak wouldn’t let him back down, no matter how ridiculous the stakes were. The thought made your blood boil. How could he have dragged himself — and by extension, you — into this mess?

You didn’t confront Jungkook about what you’d learned from Jimin, though you did drop the silent treatment act. Instead, you decided to take a different approach — one far more devious than simply ignoring him.  

Even with the heater running, the November chill still lingered in the air, but it didn’t stop you from dressing provocatively around the apartment. You roamed in short shorts, sometimes just your underwear, paired with a silk camisole that left little to the imagination. The thin fabric did nothing to hide your hard nipples, which poked against the material as you moved about. Jungkook would notice, of course — he’d grope your ass or give you a quick kiss goodbye before heading to work — but that was it.  

When he was away, whether at work or hanging out with his friends, you upped the ante. You sent him pictures of yourself in matching lingerie sets, always in his favorite color, knowing how much he loved them. Sometimes you sent something more daring — nudes that left nothing to the imagination. Usually, those photos had him texting back immediately, promising to deal with you as soon as he got home.  

But this time, his responses were different. Short. Terse. Instead of giving in, he’d simply tell you to stop.  

Frustration boiled over each time you read his dismissive replies. You groaned and threw your phone onto the bed in defeat. Why wouldn’t he just give in already? You wanted him so badly, and you refused to even touch yourself because what you craved was him — his hands, his mouth, his dick.  

If teasing him over the phone wasn’t working, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. One night, when you heard the shower running, you didn’t hesitate. Stripping off your clothes, you quietly stepped into the bathroom. The steam swirled around you as you opened the shower door and stepped in.  

Jungkook froze the moment he saw you. His wide eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering on your curves as if he hadn’t seen them countless times before. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving as his restraint wavered. Then, with a groan of frustration, he threw his head back against the shower wall, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the temptation in front of him.  

Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. 

Despite his impressive self-control, his body betrayed him. His cock stood stiff and proud between you, a silent plea for attention. But no matter how much you pressed closer, your skin grazing his, or how boldly you touched yourself in front of him, he didn’t break.  

With a stoic determination that only fueled your frustration, he focused on washing off, his movements precise and distant, as though ignoring the tension hanging thick in the air. And just when you hoped he’d finally push past his limits, he’d step out of the shower, leaving you behind in the steam, your desire unfulfilled.

It was maddening. Teasing him was supposed to work — it always worked. And while you were determined to push him until he snapped, you had to admit, his composure was far better than you’d anticipated.

It was just days before Thanksgiving, which meant this painfully long month was finally nearing its end. But you were done waiting. Done teasing. The ache in your body had grown unbearable, a constant, gnawing need for him that no amount of patience could soothe.  

You were going to have him tonight, or you were going to actually die.  

Jungkook had a day off tomorrow, so he was sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in his Nintendo game. His focus was unwavering, his brows furrowed in concentration as the soft clicks of the buttons filled the room.  

Dressed in a matching lacy black set that left little to the imagination, you moved silently behind him, your determination unwavering. Gently, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, your fingertips tracing soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance up, much too engrossed in the virtual world on his screen.  

But then you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. The soft, teasing kisses trailed along his skin, featherlight yet deliberate, leaving a warm path behind. You felt the slightest hitch in his breathing, a telltale sign that despite his effort to remain focused, you were beginning to unravel him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his focus on the game completely shattered as his head tipped to the side, exposing more of his neck to your eager lips. His lips parted, heavy breaths escaping him, each exhale laced with a vulnerability you rarely saw.  

“Baby…” he moaned breathily, his voice low and strained, warning you.  

“Shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your voice was soft, commanding, and it sent a shiver rippling through him. You felt his resolve beginning to crack, the tension in his body shifting as your hands slid down, teasing the line between tenderness and temptation.

Pulling away, you reached for the tie you had stolen from his drawer earlier. With a deliberate slowness, you brought it up to his eyes, slipping it over and covering his vision.  

“What-” he began, his voice tinged with confusion as his hands instinctively moved to stop you.  

But you were quicker, gripping his wrists to still him. Leaning in close, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “I know about your stupid challenge, Jungkook.”  

His body tensed beneath you, the air between you heavy with tension. His breaths came uneven now, a mixture of guilt, surprise, and something else simmering just beneath the surface.  

“Let me explain-” he started, his voice edged with desperation.  

“No,” you cut him off, your tone firm but quiet. “It’s too late for that now.”  

You secured the tie around his eyes, knotting it with careful precision. The soft fabric sat snugly against his skin, cloaking his vision completely. His lips parted as if to protest, but he stopped himself, seemingly caught between resisting and surrendering to whatever you had planned.

Rounding the couch, you reached down and plucked the device from his hands, setting it aside on the coffee table without a second thought. His body went rigid beneath you, his breath hitching as you settled in. The unmistakable hardness of his cock pressed against you, igniting a spark of satisfaction that curled your lips into a smirk. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips against his in steady, purposeful motions, grinding into him just enough to draw a reaction. 

“Do you know how much I missed you, Kook?” you murmured, your voice dripping with need as your lips hovered near his ear. “Missed your pretty cock… my fingers could never give me the satisfaction you do.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the silver of his piercings glinting under the warm light, drawing your eyes like a magnet. That perfect little mole just beneath his lip was on full display, a teasing reminder of how irresistible he looked like this — teetering on the edge of control.  

His lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped, the sound low and unrestrained. It sent a shiver straight through you. His hands, no longer hesitant, slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he guided your movements. Each roll of your hips against his was deliberate, his touch coaxing you to grind harder, deeper, until the friction was almost too much to bear.

You hooked a finger into the fabric covering his eyes, tugging it free with a teasing slowness. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, his vision gradually clearing — and then he saw you. Nothing but his favorite set of yours graced your body, clinging to your curves in all the right ways.  

A low, breathless please escaped his lips, muttered more to himself than to you, as if trying desperately to maintain his composure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he turned his head away, a feeble attempt to resist you.  

But you weren’t having that. Your hand shot out, firm but gentle, cupping his chin and turning his face back toward you. His eyes snapped open, dark and hungry, as you reached behind you, unclasping the delicate hook of your bra. The straps slipped from your arms, the fabric discarded behind you without a care.  

Your hands came up, cupping your bare breasts, teasing yourself as his gaze darkened. His restraint frayed before your eyes as his hips bucked up into yours, seeking friction, a desperate need taking over. His jaw tightened, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a clear sign of how much he craved you.  

Those should be his hands, not yours.

His hand twitched, reaching out instinctively, but you caught his wrist, guiding it purposefully down your body. Your gaze never wavered from his, locking him in place as you slid his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, and his breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were. The slickness coated your plush lips, a testament to how badly you wanted him.  

“Honey…” he warned, his voice shaky and breathless, teetering on the edge of control.  

“Please, Kook,” you whispered, your tone laced with desperation. “Fuck me tonight, or I’ll lose my mind. It’s been weeks. Don’t you miss me as much as I miss you?”  

Your plea hung between you, thick with need and longing. His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle playing out in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched against you, his restraint unraveling with each passing second.

How was he supposed to get up and walk away with his cock straining painfully against his sweats, and you like this, laid out before him? His hand was still buried in your underwear, fingers sliding effortlessly over your slick folds, forming a V as they trailed up and found your clit. His jaw clenched at the way your body shuddered beneath his touch, the quiet moan slipping from your lips like a siren’s call.  

And then there was you — your smaller hands kneading your soft, perfect tits, the ones he loved so much, the sight alone nearly undoing him. The way you whimpered, the way your body responded to him, had his restraint crumbling to dust.  

This was it — his breaking point.  

He didn’t care about the fucking challenge anymore. Nothing mattered except you.

It was like a switch flipped inside him. In a sudden, fluid motion, he grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. His broad frame hovered above you, the way you’d missed for so long. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. 

He didn’t waste time. You were already soaked, your body more than ready for him. No need for extra preparation — he knew he’d slide right in. With one hand, he freed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hooked a finger under the edge of your panties, tugging them to the side, baring your pretty, dripping pussy. He couldn’t wait to get inside it. The flushed tip glistened, teasing your entrance for a heartbeat before he pressed forward, the head sinking in.  

A sharp gasp escaped both your lips, the shared sensation so overwhelming it felt as if you were experiencing each other for the first time all over again. Jungkook moved slowly at first, his cock stretching you inch by inch, filling you with deliberate care. His brows furrowed, and his jaw tightened as he savored every moment, every inch of warmth he’d been denying himself for far too long. 

But restraint wasn’t his strong suit tonight. The need coursing through him was too much to bear. His movements quickened, his hips snapping forward with purpose. The wet, obscene sounds of skin meeting skin filled the room as his pelvis slapped against the back of your thighs. The steady rhythm of his thrusts deepened, each one more urgent than the last, driving both of you closer to the edge.

His upper body lifted off of you, and with a swift motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his broad, muscular frame sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. He was absolutely stunning, every inch of him on display — his skin glowing under the dim light.  

His arm was covered in intricate tattoos, the ink curling around his bicep like a story you wanted to read. His chest was thick and broad, with a layer of muscle that made your fingers itch to trace every curve. His arms were solid and meaty, a strength you could feel even from just looking at him.  

You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand moved instinctively, running down the defined lines of his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard muscles of his stomach. His abs flexed beneath your touch, tense and firm, the warmth of his skin sending a wave of desire crashing through you. The simple touch made you want more, made you crave everything he had to offer.

But now it was Jungkook's turn to take control. With a swift motion, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he seized your other arm and pinned it above your head. The dominance in his touch was undeniable, and you knew exactly what that meant. He always did this when he wanted to take over, to remind you who was in charge.  

His hands moved quickly, grabbing one of your legs and effortlessly throwing it over his shoulder. You gasped at the sudden shift, your body bent in half, your chest pressed against him, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he studied you.  

A small whimper escaped your lips at the stretch, your body not as flexible as you'd like, but that discomfort was fleeting. It quickly morphed into something else — pleasure, intense and consuming — as his brutal thrusts began again, filling you completely.  

He was relentless, each movement pulling another gasp from you. His breath came out in ragged bursts, his voice low and laced with command. "You never listen to me, do you? Huh, you brat?" His words were a breathy growl, like a warning. "Just had to get fucked."

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your mind completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. Every inch of your body was alive with sensation, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. Instead, soft moans and breathless hums spilled from your lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as his thrusts deepened, each one hitting you harder than the last.  

Your body arched into him instinctively, eager to feel more, to give in to the rhythm he set. The tension was building, spiraling higher and higher with each movement, each sound leaving your mouth a mix of pleasure and need. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way he was making you feel, his hands and his body taking you exactly how he wanted.

"You made this so hard for me, baby." His voice was breathless, low and laced with desire as his thrusts didn’t falter. "Can’t resist you. Too fucking pretty to not touch." He spoke as though he couldn’t control himself, his words slipping out between harsh breaths, his hands gripping your body with barely restrained urgency.

“M’already so close, Kook,” you moaned, your voice shaky with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. The pressure inside you was building, so close to release, but you needed him to push you over the edge.

“Yeah?” His gaze darkened, his hips snapping into yours with even more force. “Show me. Let me feel you, please.” His words were more than a plea — they were a command, a desperate need for you to let go so he could feel every inch of your pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt you. He wants to feel you. Needs to feel you.

With each punishing thrust, your breasts bounce uncontrollably, catching Jungkook's undivided attention. His hooded eyes are glued to them, pupils blown wide with lust, as if he's seeing something so utterly captivating it leaves him in a trance. The way they move, the way your body responds to him — it’s driving him wild. His tongue flicks over his lips as he lets out a low groan, jaw tightening, the need to mark you overwhelming every coherent thought.  

You gasp sharply, a broken moan escaping your lips as your orgasm slams into you with ferocious intensity. Your body arches off the couch, your hands still pinned above your head as waves of euphoria ripple through you. Your head tilts back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of your neck, and your chest heaves as you ride out the high.  

Jungkook growls when he feels your walls clench down on him, the tight grip almost sending him over the edge. “Oh, yeah,” he rasps, voice rough and deep, his hips grinding against you. “That’s it. Just like that... so fucking good.”  

But he doesn’t slow down. If anything, his pace quickens, the desperate need for his own release taking over. Each thrust is brutal, precise, and deliberate, as if he’s claiming every part of you, chasing that high he knows is just within reach. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he slams into you again and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room.  

Finally, with a strained groan, he pulls out abruptly, his cock slick and throbbing in his hand. He strokes himself hard, the sight of your trembling, sweat slick body beneath him sending him over the edge. His release comes in hot, thick ropes, splattering across your stomach and tits in messy, deliberate streaks.  

He lets out a guttural moan, chest heaving as he watches his cum paint you like a masterpiece, dripping down your skin in glistening trails. His hand slows, and his eyes never leave the sight of you — glistening, marked, and utterly his.

Once he milks every last drop of his release, he does something that shouldn't be as devastatingly sexy as it is. Leaning down, his gaze locked onto yours with a feral intensity, he drags his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your stomach, collecting his own cum. The heat of his mouth follows, traveling upward until he captures a nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue with maddening precision.

You giggle, your face flushing with heat as he releases your nipple and makes his way up to your lips. The moment his mouth connects with yours, you taste his cum on his tongue, and you can't help but moan softly into the kiss. He pulls back, resting his head on your chest with a contented sigh.

“Can’t believe you made me lose. I was so close,” he sulks, his voice laced with playful frustration.

“Jimin texted me. He gave in yesterday. You won,” you tease, your fingers softly running through his hair.

His head shoots up quickly, eyes wide like a dog hearing its name. “Seriously?”

You nod, giggling softly at his excitement.

Without warning, he stands up from the couch, pulling you with him. He scoops you up by your thighs, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You squeal, half-laughing, half-terrified, “What are you doing?!”

“Making up,” he grins, his voice low with promise as he strides toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

The door clicks shut behind you, the remnants of your clothes scattered haphazardly in the living room, and the night unfurls into a whirlwind of heated kisses and passion that sweeps you both away. Jungkook’s teasing words and touch keep you on edge, but it’s the way he makes you feel — desired, cherished, and completely consumed by him — that transforms the night into something unforgettable. 

You knew that this Friendsgiving would be one for the books. Jungkook wasn’t going to let any of the guys forget it. Always the bragger, that one. He’d be sure to shove it in their faces every chance he got.

And he might have won the bet, but it’s you who’s the true victor tonight.

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[ickbite]

I’LL KEEP YOU MY DIRTY LITTLE SECRET!!

Pairing: Spiderman!jake x waitress!reader

Synopsis. When spiderman comes to your window after saving you a few days prior, you couldnt help but let him in, especially if it means a chance to kiss him!

Note: sooo so so messy ive been working on this at nightfor the past month so not checked (lmk if u find errors)!! 15k words, jakes lovestruck, no smut but a lot of kissing —

enha masterlist

The clock above the register ticked louder after midnight, each second dragging like syrup down a cold plate. You wiped the counter again even though it was already clean, more out of habit than necessity.

The diner buzzed in low fluorescent hums, casting pale yellow halos over the Formica tables and cracked leather booths. Neon light from the sign outside flickered like a broken promise—JIN’S DINER—the “I” sputtering every few seconds like it couldn’t decide whether to exist.

There weren’t many customers left at this hour, just the usual scattered souls: a couple of old men nursing mugs of coffee that had long gone cold, a student passed out over a plate of untouched pancakes, and him—Jake Sim. He always sat in booth five, the one by the window, and never ordered more than a black coffee and a slice of apple pie.

You didn’t know much about him except that he always left a tip way too big for what he ordered and smiled like someone who’d grown used to hiding something behind it. You wouldn’t call him charming—at least not in the way he probably wanted—but he had this warm-eyed thing going for him, like someone who spent more time thinking than speaking.

He wasn’t here tonight.

You glanced at the door more than once, trying to play it off as routine, but your hand hesitated slightly over the stack of menus. “Guess he’s skipping pie tonight,” you murmured under your breath, unsure why you even noticed.

The wind outside howled against the big front window, and the smell of rain snuck in every time the door opened. You were halfway through re-counting the cash drawer when the crack of glass and a scream rang out from just outside.

“Shit.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it.

Instinct moved faster than fear. You rushed around the counter and through the doors, heart slamming hard in your throat.

The alley beside the diner was narrow, boxed in by dumpsters and metal fire escapes that moaned in the wind. A man had a knife—he looked twitchy, young, like he didn’t want to be doing whatever he was doing—and the woman pressed against the brick wall was crying, one heel snapped, her purse at his feet.

“Hey!” you called out, too loud and too brave for someone without a plan. “Leave her alone!”

He turned, wild-eyed and desperate, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth. The knife shifted in your direction.

You didn’t scream. You froze.

And then he dropped from the sky.

Or not the sky, exactly—but it felt like it. One moment it was just the attacker, the victim, and you holding your breath—and the next, something swung down between them, cloaked in red and black, a blur of motion and silk.

“Bad night to pick the wrong alley, man,” Spider-Man said casually, as if he were walking into a classroom late.

He moved fast, inhumanly so, a blur of limbs and precision. The man didn’t stand a chance—two webs, a thud, a grunt, and he was stuck to the brick wall like a forgotten poster.

“Let me go!” the attacker yelled, struggling against the webbing.

“You brought a knife to a web fight,” Spider-Man replied, his tone light but edged with something colder.

The woman scrambled away, crying thank-yous, and you stayed planted on the concrete, suddenly aware of how cold the rain had become. Spider-Man turned slowly, his chest rising with sharp breaths, and though his mask gave away nothing, you could feel him watching you.

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft now—deeper than you expected, a little out of breath but controlled.

You nodded automatically, then forced yourself to speak. “Yeah. I’m—fine. I think.”

His head tilted just a bit. “You’re shivering.”

You looked down. Your hands were shaking, your shirt soaked from the rain. “Didn’t realize I ran out here without a jacket,” you said, trying to play it off, though your voice betrayed the adrenaline still racing through you.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, quieter this time, more serious. “Running into danger like that.”

Your brows furrowed. “She was gonna get hurt.”

“I had it handled.”

“I didn’t know that,” you snapped, before softening. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

That made him pause. For a moment, the air felt charged, full of unsaid things. Then, quietly, he added, “I usually am.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked up at the fire escape like he was about to leave. “Nothing. Just… be careful next time.”

Then he turned, climbing the wall like it was nothing, disappearing into the rain with one clean pull of his web. Just gone—like smoke slipping through fingers.

You stared after him for a long moment, heart still racing, the imprint of his words echoing through your head.

I usually am.

You didn’t know what he meant, but somehow, it felt personal. Like something about you had been on his mind before tonight.

The woman ran. The attacker sobbed, stuck six feet up and webbed like a fly.

You stayed there, the streetlight painting the puddles with soft golds and oranges, thinking not about the danger, not about the woman, not about your own shaking hands—but about him. About the way he lingered.

The next Tuesday felt heavier than usual, like the city had draped itself in thick fog and unspoken tension. Rain hadn’t returned, but the clouds hung low like they were waiting for a cue.

You arrived at the diner five minutes late, hair barely dry from a rushed shower, apron still wrinkled from where you’d crumpled it in your bag the night before. Jin—the owner—didn’t say anything, just grunted from behind the grill like always and slid you the list of specials nobody ever ordered.

The bell above the door jingled three minutes after your shift started. That familiar sound, sharp and casual, had always blended into the background—until now.

You didn’t look up at first, more focused on wiping yesterday’s fingerprints off the dessert case. But then you heard the voice.

“Black coffee. No sugar.”

Your spine went a little straight.

Jake Sim.

He stood on the other side of the counter like no time had passed, like he hadn’t vanished for a week after the most terrifying moment of your month happened twenty feet from where you were now. His hoodie was pulled tight around his shoulders, the drawstrings lopsided and frayed. There was a faint purplish bruise along his jawline, like someone had elbowed him by accident—or not by accident.

You looked at him for a second too long. “Rough week?” you asked, pouring the coffee into the thick white mug that had the tiniest chip on its rim.

He shrugged, then smiled. “You could say that.”

“You missed pie night,” you replied, sliding the mug toward him. “Thought the universe might’ve imploded or something.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I had to break the streak eventually.”

“Mmm. Tragic.” You leaned your hip against the counter, tapping your pen against your order pad. “The usual booth?”

Jake hesitated. “Mind if I sit at the counter today?”

That was new.

You blinked. “Uh… sure. No law against that.”

He climbed onto the stool with slow movements, like something in his side ached. You noticed, because you always noticed small things—especially when people tried to hide them. Still, you didn’t ask.

“So,” he said, hands wrapped around the mug like it was doing more than just warming his palms. “Did you hear about the alleyway thing last week? By here?”

You raised a brow. “You mean the thing where some guy tried to rob a woman, and Spider-Man dropped from the sky like a horror movie jump scare?”

His smile faltered a little. “Yeah. That one.”

“Was there a follow-up? I haven’t seen anything in the news. Not that the news cares about stuff that happens in this part of town.”

“They caught the guy,” he said, eyes on the steam rising from his coffee. “Apparently Spider-Man webbed him up so tight it took three cops and a crowbar to get him down.”

“Sounds about right.” You didn’t mean to sound so casual, but the moment still lived behind your eyes like a photograph burned into your mind. “He didn’t say much. Spider-Man, I mean.”

Jake’s gaze flicked toward you. “What’d he say?”

You thought back. The way he looked at you. The way he told you to be careful. The way he lingered.

“He told me I shouldn’t run into danger,” you murmured, then forced a smirk. “Which is hilarious, considering he wears spandex and jumps off buildings for fun.”

Jake laughed at that, a soft huff that sounded more like relief than humor. “He’s probably trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah,” you replied, almost too quietly. “He was.”

There was a moment of silence after that—one of those heavy, stretching pauses that doesn’t feel awkward until you notice it. Jake sipped his coffee again, eyes distant like he was replaying something in his head.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Did he scare you?”

The question surprised you. Not just the words—but the way he asked it, like it mattered to him on some level you couldn’t see.

You shrugged. “No. He didn’t scare me. He just felt… I don’t know. Like he’d been watching already. Not in a creepy way, just—”

“Like he knew where to be,” Jake finished.

“Yeah,” you said, brows pulling together. “Exactly.”

He nodded, and that was the end of it.

You worked the rest of your shift like normal. The diner filled up briefly around nine—mostly tired truckers, delivery guys, and late-night wanderers. Jake stayed put at the counter, refilling his coffee twice and scribbling something in a small notebook he kept in his hoodie pocket.

You didn’t ask what he was writing. You weren’t sure you were supposed to.

When your break came around midnight, you stepped outside for some air. The alley where it happened was still roped off with caution tape that had lost its fight against the wind. You leaned against the brick wall and tilted your head back toward the sky.

There were no stars—just the faint glow of city haze and one flickering streetlamp near the end of the block. You thought about how quiet the alley had become. How fast everything had changed in one second flat.

The air moved behind you.

Not loud. Not enough to startle. Just enough to remind you that something was there.

You turned your head slightly.

A figure crouched on the edge of the rooftop—Spider-Man, perfectly still, the red of his suit a muted silhouette under the dim light. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just watched.

You didn’t know how long he’d been there. You didn’t know why he was watching you.

You also didn’t know why your chest tightened slightly when your eyes met, even from a distance. Not fear. Not discomfort. Something else. Something you couldn’t name.

You took a step back.

“I’m not gonna run into danger,” you said softly, half-smiling up at him. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

He didn’t say anything. But you could tell he heard you. His head dipped ever so slightly before he stood, turned, and vanished across the rooftop with one silent leap.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until you walked back inside, the sound of the bell above the door grounding you again in the real world.

Jake was gone.

His coffee cup sat empty on the counter, and there was a folded napkin under the edge of the plate.

You opened it and read the words scribbled in black ink.

You shouldn’t be alone out there. Even if you’re brave.

—J

Your fingers tightened slightly around the paper.

You didn’t think much of Jake Sim.

But that night, for the first time, you wondered about him.

The heat came early that week.

Not in temperature, but in the way the city moved—restless, sticky, unsettled. Even the diner felt warmer than usual, the ceiling fans spinning too slow, doing too little. Your apron clung to your waist, and you rolled your sleeves up higher than you usually did, trying to ignore how the sweat clung to the back of your neck.

It was Tuesday again, which meant Jake.

Booth five had already been claimed when you came in—he was seated there with a book he never seemed to read and a mug of coffee that hadn’t been touched. You slid behind the counter, tying your hair back with an old rubber band, and tried not to glance at him more than once.

He smiled when you passed by, that familiar half-tilted grin that felt like a habit instead of a greeting. “Thought you might call in,” he said quietly, voice soft beneath the sizzle of the fryer.

You looked over your shoulder. “Why would I?”

Jake shrugged, watching you with unreadable eyes. “Just a hunch.”

He looked like he hadn’t slept. The shadows under his eyes weren’t dramatic, but they were there. His hoodie sleeves were pulled down over his hands, but you noticed the slight stiffness in how he moved when he reached for his cup.

You frowned. “You’re limping.”

Jake didn’t flinch. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

He looked up at you—really looked. The air between you tightened like it had its own pulse.

“You’re observant,” he said finally.

“And you’re not good at lying.”

His gaze flicked to your lips for half a second before he dropped it back to his coffee.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured.

You didn’t know why the words made your stomach twist.

Later, during your break, the sun had long dipped below the skyline. You slipped out the back entrance, ignoring the way the wind tangled your hair and caught on the corners of your sleeves. The alley looked the same. Maybe a little darker. A little quieter.

You weren’t afraid. Not really. Not anymore.

Your back was against the brick wall when you felt it—that familiar shift in the air. Barely perceptible. Like gravity had bent slightly.

“You’re starting to make a habit out of this,” you said to the shadows, your voice low and casual, almost teasing.

Spider-Man stepped from the rooftop edge, dropping into view with silent ease. His landing was controlled, slow, like he didn’t want to startle you.

He didn’t answer at first.

“I could say the same,” he said after a beat, and you didn’t miss the softness in his tone. “You come out here a lot.”

You crossed your arms, the wall cool against your spine. “Break time.”

His head tilted slightly. “Even when it’s not safe?”

You narrowed your eyes, not in challenge—but in curiosity. “Are you watching me?”

A pause.

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

The silence that followed was full—not awkward, not empty. Just full. Like the space between you two had become a container for all the things neither of you was saying.

He took a step closer.

You didn’t back away. You didn’t need to.

“I don’t mean it in a weird way,” he added quickly, his voice lower now, almost rough. “I just—keep an eye out. In case you ever…”

“In case I ever what?” you asked.

His breath caught. “Needed someone.”

You didn’t reply for a second. Your eyes met his—what little you could see of them through the mask. The fabric moved slightly with each breath he took.

The air between you felt warmer. The kind of warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. The kind of warmth that started behind your ribs and burned slowly through your veins.

His hand twitched slightly at his side, like he thought about reaching for you. But he didn’t.

“You don’t have to keep checking on me,” you said, your voice soft now. “I’m not—helpless.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “That’s not why I come.”

You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have to.

He stood there, not even a foot from you, tall and quiet and still soaked with city noise clinging to his suit like dust. You could see a scrape along the side of his jaw—just under the mask, raw and red like it had only barely stopped bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” you murmured.

“I’ve had worse.”

You didn’t think. You just reached up.

Your fingertips brushed the edge of his mask, right where the fabric met his skin. Just a touch. Just enough to feel the heat of him underneath.

He inhaled sharply—but didn’t move.

“You should be careful too,” you whispered. “I get the feeling you’re not invincible.”

“I’m not,” he said. His voice was barely above a breath now. “Not around you.”

That stopped everything.

The wind. The sound. Even your heart.

You looked at him—really looked—and for the first time, you wondered if maybe you did know who he was. Not by name. But by presence. By the way he stood. By the way he spoke like he meant every single word.

Your hand lowered slowly.

And still—neither of you moved away.

Not quite a kiss. Not quite a touch.

Just that crackling, skin-humming closeness. Enough to make you feel like if either of you leaned in even a centimeter more, everything would come undone.

Then, just as fast as he arrived, he stepped back.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the night, like he’d never been there at all.

It started with a margarita the size of your face and a promise to “unwind” for once. Sophia had just broken up with her clingy on-again-off-again situationship, and Chaewon had decided that meant shots were mandatory. You didn’t argue. You never argued on Fridays.

You hadn’t even planned to go out. But your shift had ended early, and someone had said something about neon lights and karaoke and too much glitter on a bathroom mirror, and suddenly you were there—spinning in a booth, laughing at things that weren’t that funny, with a lime wedge in your mouth and someone’s coat draped around your shoulders like armor.

By the time you realized everyone else was leaving, your phone was already at 3%. Chaewon kissed your cheek, her eyeliner smudged and perfect, and told you not to talk to strangers. Sophia promised she’d order you a cab, but her app glitched, and your own screen had turned black by the time you staggered out of the bar and into the air that hit you like a soft slap.

You weren’t falling over. But you were floating a little. The sidewalk swam beneath your boots. You clutched your bag too tightly.

You turned down a side street to take the shortcut to the station.

And that’s when you heard them.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Your head turned slowly. There were three of them. Not old, not exactly young—just that bored, lazy kind of dangerous that always smelled like cheap cologne and entitlement.

“Little late to be walking home alone, isn’t it?” one asked, stepping into your path.

You blinked. “I’m not alone,” you lied, your voice fuzzy around the edges. “I—someone’s meeting me.”

They laughed.

Your heart kicked against your ribs.

“Where’s your someone, huh?” one said, and the other moved closer. “He let you out like this? Tight little dress and nowhere to go?”

“Back off,” you said. You meant to sound sharp. It came out slurry.

A hand reached toward your arm—gentle, but wrong. Too casual. Too assuming.

You flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re not scared, are you?”

You opened your mouth to scream—

—but it never made it past your lips.

Because he dropped from above like lightning splitting the sky.

A blur of red and black. The thud of boots. A body between you and the worst-case scenario. And silence, so sharp it cracked.

Spider-Man.

One of the men swore under his breath.

“Go,” Spider-Man said, voice low and lethal. “Now.”

They didn’t argue. They didn’t even try. Two ran. The third hesitated—until Spider-Man took one step forward and he bolted, footsteps echoing into the alley’s dark spine.

Your knees trembled, and you realized your palms were sweating. You hadn’t realized how cold it was.

He turned to you, fast but careful.

“Are you hurt?”

You stared up at him, throat tight. “I—I think I’m okay.”

“You’re drunk.”

You nodded, then frowned. “I didn’t mean to get this drunk.”

His eyes—wherever they were under the mask—felt warm. “You shouldn’t be walking alone.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said again, suddenly emotional. “My friends left. My phone’s dead. I—ugh, I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you insisted, swaying just slightly. “You shouldn’t have to keep showing up for me.”

There was a pause.

“I want to,” he said.

The words hit you harder than they should have.

Your voice cracked. “I don’t wanna go home alone.”

Spider-Man shifted. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

The city blurred beneath you.

His arm was around your waist, strong and steady, the wind biting at your cheeks. Your eyelids fluttered from the rush, the rooftops passing in flashes of shadow and neon. You’d never flown before—not really—but this came close.

He landed on your fire escape like he’d done it a thousand times.

You fumbled with your keys.

He watched, wordless, until you turned and looked up at him. “Do you—do you wanna come in? Just for a minute?”

His breath hitched. “Y/N…”

You blinked. “How do you know my name?”

Shit.

You stared at him.

He froze.

You stepped back slightly, lips parted. “Wait—how do you—?”

“It slipped,” he said, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”

You stared at him for a beat too long. The world tilted slightly again—not from the alcohol, but from something deeper. Something unraveling.

Still, you nodded. “I don’t care. Just… stay. Please.”

He stepped into your apartment like a shadow, quiet and careful, not touching anything. You flicked on the light and immediately regretted it—your little place looked smaller than usual, full of dishes you hadn’t washed and a half-made bed.

You kicked your shoes off and collapsed onto the mattress, watching him from over your shoulder.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured, voice half-gone. “I just—don’t want to feel alone tonight.”

Spider-Man stood in the center of your room, uncertain. You could hear his breathing.

“I won’t touch you,” you added. “I just… want you here. For a little while.”

Slowly, carefully, he crossed the room and sat on the floor near your bed, legs folded, arms resting on his knees.

Neither of you spoke.

You closed your eyes.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—your head heavy, the air thick with things unsaid. But for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

He didn’t leave.

You woke up alone.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even been there at all—there was no note, no trace, not even a dent in the pillow beside yours. But the window was still cracked open, the curtain fluttering in the quiet morning air, and your boots had been lined up neatly against the wall. You don’t remember doing that.

You stared at the ceiling for a long time. The headache was manageable, the memory clear. He hadn’t touched you. Hadn’t crossed a single line. He’d just stayed—silent, steady, watching over you like you mattered.

No one had ever done that before.

You didn’t think about him for the rest of the day. At least, you told yourself you didn’t.

The sky was bruised that night—gray fading to violet, clouds cracked along the seams. You were just about to close up the diner when the bell above the door rang.

You looked up instinctively, expecting Jake. But no one came in.

Then you heard it—a soft, muffled knock on the alley door.

You hesitated. The last time someone knocked back there, it didn’t end well.

But something in your chest pulled you toward it anyway.

You pushed the back door open.

And he was there.

Leaning hard against the brick wall, half-sitting, half-collapsing, one hand pressed tightly to his ribs. His suit was torn—black and red fabric slick with blood, one shoulder gashed open, his breathing shallow and sharp.

Your breath caught. “Oh my god.”

His head lifted weakly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You rushed forward. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ve been worse.”

“You always say that,” you snapped, crouching beside him. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

He let you help him inside. It wasn’t easy. He was heavier than he looked, and every movement made him wince. You dragged one of the chairs from the break room and lowered him into it, grabbing the dusty first aid kit from under the counter.

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his side.

“I’m fine.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t lie to me right now.”

He didn’t argue again.

You peeled back the shredded suit carefully. His skin beneath was slick with sweat and blood, a deep gash running from the bottom of his ribs to just above his waist. You sucked in a breath.

“This needs stitches.”

He shook his head. “Just clean it. I’ll be okay.”

“Barely.”

You cleaned the wound as gently as you could, biting back every curse, every shake of your hand. His muscles twitched under your touch, and he hissed when the alcohol met open skin.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re good at this,” he muttered.

“I used to patch up my brother after every fight he picked. Got a lot of practice.”

There was a quiet beat.

“I’m not picking fights,” he said.

“I know,” you said, softer now. “You’re saving people.”

He didn’t reply. His jaw was clenched, knuckles pale where his hands gripped the chair. You glanced up at his face, and that’s when you saw it—a cut on his cheekbone, just under the edge of the mask. A streak of blood had already dried near his jaw.

“Hold still,” you murmured, and before he could protest, you reached up.

Your fingers found the edge of his mask. He tensed.

“I just want to clean it,” you promised, barely above a whisper.

After a moment, he gave the slightest nod.

You slid the mask up slowly, just over his lips and nose, revealing the sharp line of his cheek, the curve of his mouth, the vulnerable dip under his eye.

Your breath caught.

His eyes weren’t visible—but his lips were parted slightly, and the way he breathed—like he wasn’t sure what would happen next—made your pulse spike.

You dabbed the cut gently, your hand trembling. The alcohol made him flinch.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, not for the sting this time—but for the way your hand lingered.

He turned his head slightly toward your touch.

And suddenly, you couldn’t look away.

His lips were right there.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward—slowly, unsure—and pressed your mouth to his.

Soft. Barely a breath. Just enough to feel the heat of him.

He didn’t move for a second.

Then he kissed you back.

Not hard. Not greedy. Just aching.

Your hand curled near his shoulder, careful of the wounds, and his fingers brushed lightly—just barely—against the side of your hip, not holding, just present.

When you pulled back, you kept your eyes closed for a second longer than necessary.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

He adjusted the mask back into place with shaking hands.

You went back to cleaning his wounds, pretending your heart wasn’t about to give out. Pretending you hadn’t just kissed a stranger whose name you didn’t know, but whose breath now lived inside your lungs.

And somewhere deep in your chest, you felt the first crack of something you couldn’t take back.

You were brushing your teeth in an old sweatshirt and socks that barely matched when you heard it—three taps against your bedroom window. Not a knock. Not a bang. Just a careful, light rhythm like someone testing the edge of your attention.

You froze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

There it was again.

You padded toward the window, heart already halfway up your throat, and pulled the curtain aside.

Spider-Man stood on your fire escape, casual as anything, crouched low with his head tilted like a curious cat.

You stared. “Are you dying?”

He shook his head.

“Is someone else dying?”

He shook his head again.

You opened the window. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

He stepped inside with practiced ease, barely making a sound. “Just… checking in.”

You blinked. “At midnight?”

“I keep weird hours.”

You raised a brow, still holding your toothbrush. “Do you always drop in uninvited?”

“Only when I think I might be welcome.”

The room felt warmer suddenly. Maybe it was the heat off his suit, or maybe it was just the way he stood there, taking up space in the quiet—like it was normal. Like this was something you did all the time.

You turned back toward the bathroom. “Well, I’m brushing my teeth. You can… sit. Or stand. Or crawl on the ceiling. Whatever.”

You expected him to leave. Or at least hesitate.

But when you peeked back into the room five minutes later, he was still there—standing at the edge of your bed, gloved fingers brushing over the spine of a book you left on your nightstand. The copy of Turtles All The Way Down that you never finished.

You leaned against the doorframe, towel slung over your shoulder. “You read?”

He looked over. “Not enough.”

You walked past him to sit on the bed, one knee tucked under your leg, watching him. “So what, you were swinging through town and thought, ‘You know who probably needs company? That girl who let me bleed all over her kitchen floor’?”

“Something like that,” he said, voice quiet.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was almost easy. The kind of silence that exists between people who don’t need to explain why they’re sitting still in the same space.

You glanced at him again.

His posture was relaxed now. Less superhero, more… person. The lines of his suit glinted faintly under the warm bedroom light, and you noticed again how close he was. Not hovering. Just there.

You tilted your head. “Why me?”

He looked at you for a long moment. “What do you mean?”

“You could be anywhere,” you said. “Saving anyone. But you keep coming back here.”

His breath caught, just barely. “Because you make me feel like I’m not just… a mask.”

That shut you up for a second.

You swallowed. “You’re not.”

He stepped closer. Just one pace.

“Then let me stay,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, without breaking his gaze, you pulled back the blanket beside you and nodded once.

He sat. Not on the bed—on the floor, next to where your knee dangled off the mattress, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed more than that.

You curled into the blanket. “You know you don’t have to act like I’m made of glass, right?”

“I’m trying not to scare you,” he murmured.

“You don’t.”

His voice was almost a whisper. “I want to kiss you again.”

You exhaled, heartbeat climbing.

You looked down at him—his face mostly masked, but you could still see the shape of his mouth under the fabric. Familiar now.

“I want to see you,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Just once.”

A pause.

Then: “Not yet.”

You nodded, slow. “Okay.”

He leaned his head back against the bed frame. Close enough to touch. Far enough not to.

You turned off the light.

And for a while, neither of you spoke. You just listened to the quiet rhythm of each other’s breathing—two people, a mask, and a thousand unspoken words between them.

You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard it—the soft tap-tap-tap against your window. It wasn’t cautious this time. It was quick. Urgent. Familiar.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t hesitate.

Towel still clutched around your shoulders, hair dripping down your neck, you padded barefoot across the room and pulled the curtain back with damp fingers.

He was already sliding the window open.

“Spider-Man?” you whispered, more breath than sound.

He stepped inside like he couldn’t wait another second.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t limping. But something in his body screamed need. Not for rescue. For you.

You froze. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer.

He reached for you.

His hands were still gloved, still trembling slightly, but they cupped your jaw like they’d wanted to forever. Your breath hitched. You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

“I tried to stay away,” he whispered, voice rough. “I thought I could. I can’t.”

Then he kissed you.

This time there was no hesitation. No pause. Just mouth on mouth, fast and full and wrecked with all the things he hadn’t said.

You gasped against him, your fingers tangling in the suit near his shoulders, and he groaned—soft, low, like your touch unraveled something he hadn’t let himself feel until now.

You pulled him closer.

He tasted like city rain and late-night fire escapes, like silence and wanting, like everything that had built up between you since the first time you looked at him and felt that tight, impossible spark.

He kissed you harder.

His hands roamed your back, slow but insistent, slipping beneath the edge of your shirt, touching skin like it was something sacred.

You broke the kiss only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, your chest tight with wanting.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

“I haven’t stopped since I left you,” he said. His voice cracked. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You kissed him again—slower this time. You let it burn, let it sink in deep.

The kind of kiss that felt like a promise and a problem at once.

He moved with you toward the bed, not rushing, just guiding, as if his body already knew the rhythm of yours. You sat first, and he followed, settling between your knees, hands braced on either side of your thighs.

You could feel the heat of him through the suit. Your hands found the edge of his mask and he tensed.

“I won’t take it off,” you said, fingers curling against the fabric. “I just want more of you.”

You lifted it halfway—just enough to expose his lips again. The curve of his cheek. The jaw you’d kissed once before.

He leaned in.

The next kiss was deeper.

Messier.

One of your legs slipped around his waist, your hands gripping his back through the suit like he was the only real thing in the world.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and desperate, and you moaned—quiet and real and completely undone.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

Your fingers brushed his bare cheek.

He stared at you.

You could’ve said anything. You could’ve told him how you’re getting fond of whatever this was between you guys. But instead, you kissed him again, hoping that it gets the message across.

The diner buzzed with the familiar noise of a Friday night rush — the clatter of plates, low conversations spilling across booths, and the steady hum of the old jukebox playing soft tunes in the background. You moved behind the counter, wiping it down carefully, your hands working on autopilot while your mind drifted somewhere else, somewhere quieter.

Sophia slid into the stool beside you, pushing a loose curl from her face with a playful grin. “Okay, spill it,” she said, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. “You’ve been different lately. Happier. More… sparkly. What’s going on?”

Chaewon leaned in too, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, you’re practically glowing. We’re demanding answers.”

You laughed, the sound soft and easy, but a blush warmed your cheeks anyway. “It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been casually seeing a guy.”

Sophia’s eyes brightened. “Ooo, a guy? Spill! What’s he like?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light and casual. “Nothing special, really. Just hanging out. No drama, no expectations.”

Chaewon gave a knowing nod. “Sounds like fun.”

You smiled, but didn’t offer more. The truth was, you enjoyed the simplicity — the way it wasn’t complicated or heavy. Just a guy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Unnoticed by you, Jake stood quietly near the diner’s entrance, leaning against the wall with a coffee cup in hand. His dark eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, tracing the easy smile you wore, the way your eyes lit up with your friends. There was a crease in his brow, a quiet ache masked beneath his calm expression.

He said nothing. Didn’t move or interrupt. Just listened.

You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, but by then he was already turning away, slipping out the back door like a shadow.

The air felt heavier suddenly, like you’d just let a secret out you hadn’t meant to share, even if the words themselves were harmless.

Later, when the crowd had thinned and the neon “Closed” sign flickered on, you leaned against the counter, the quiet settling around you like a soft blanket. The night air was cooler now, the streets bathed in amber streetlight.

You were just locking the door when Jake’s voice came softly from behind you.

“Hey.”

You turned, startled but not frightened.

He stepped closer, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“You okay?”

You nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, just tired.”

He smiled briefly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You looked different tonight.”

“Different how?”

“Happier,” he said quietly. “Like someone’s got you walking on clouds.”

You laughed, brushing your hair back. “It’s just… casual. Nothing worth worrying about.”

Jake’s gaze softened, but the tension around his jaw didn’t ease.

“Just casual, huh?”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with words neither of you wanted to say.

Jake swallowed. “I’m glad.”

You blinked, surprised by the simple honesty.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He stepped back, hands lifting slightly like he was ready to disappear again.

But then, his voice dropped, hesitant. “If you ever want to talk… or if you need anything…”

You smiled, the warmth in his tone seeping into your chest.

“I’ll be around,” you said.

Jake nodded, then slipped away into the night, leaving you standing there with a new, quiet ache you couldn’t name.

It starts like always.

He climbs through your window with his suit half unzipped and his breath uneven, like he ran all the way across the city just to touch you. You don’t say anything at first. You just step aside and let him in, like you’ve been doing this for weeks.

He reaches for you without hesitation, fingers curling around your waist like a reflex. His mouth finds yours before you can even breathe his name, and it’s like flipping a switch—heat, pressure, want. All of it there in an instant.

He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s scared it’ll be the last time. You tilt your head and let it happen, let his hands pull you closer, let the weight of the day melt into something warmer.

“You looked so pretty at the diner,” he says between kisses, voice low and rough and close to your ear. “When you were sitting with Sophia and Chaewon.”

The words don’t register at first.

His mouth is on your neck now. His hands are at the hem of your shirt. He’s saying more—something about how you laughed when Chaewon told a story. Something about how you looked away when Sophia teased you. Something about your voice when you said you were seeing someone.

Your heart stops.

You pull away.

His breath hitches, hands still hovering near your waist. He looks at you with the mask still on, lenses wide, unreadable.

Your voice is cold. “What did you say?”

“I—” He straightens slightly. “I said you looked—”

“No. You said I was talking to Sophia and Chaewon.”

He goes still.

You stare at him. “No one else was around that night. Just us. It was slow. We were cleaning up. There were no customers. No one came to the counter.”

He doesn’t speak.

Your chest tightens. “Except Jake.”

His posture shifts. Not much. But just enough.

Just enough to confirm everything you didn’t want to believe.

Your throat burns. “You were sitting in the last booth. Hoodie. Headphones. Vanilla milkshake.”

The mask says nothing. But the silence behind it screams the truth.

You step back, blood rushing to your ears. “Say something.”

He doesn’t move.

So you whisper it, voice sharp with betrayal. “You’re Jake.”

Still nothing.

“Take it off.”

He flinches.

You take another step forward. “Take. It. Off.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he says softly.

“I don’t care what you meant.” Your voice is trembling now, but you don’t stop. “You touched me. You kissed me. You watched me talk about you without knowing. You owe me this.”

His hands slowly rise.

He presses his fingers to the edge of the mask and pulls it up—slowly, carefully—until it peels over his jaw, his cheeks, his eyes.

And there he is.

Jake.

Messy hair. Wide eyes. That same guilty half-smile he gave you every time you refilled his coffee at the diner. But now it’s cracked open, raw and real and exposed in a way that makes your stomach twist.

You stare at him.

It’s worse seeing it for real. Somehow, it always is.

“I wanted to tell you,” he says, voice barely holding together. “But every time I tried… you looked at me like I was just Jake. And I wanted to be more than that to you.”

“You already were,” you whisper. “You just didn’t trust me to know it.”

He swallows, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly, even though nothing about this feels okay. “You should go.”

He doesn’t fight it.

He just lowers the mask again, step by step, until it hides the truth once more.

Then he climbs out the window, leaving behind the version of himself you’ll never see the same again.

And you don’t cry.

You just stand there in the quiet and wonder if any of it was real—or if it was all just another mask.

The bell above the door jingled at exactly 9:42 a.m.

You didn’t look up.

You were pouring coffee into a chipped white mug, the pot warm in your hand, the scent clinging to your clothes the way it always did after an hour behind the counter. Sophia was already in the back prepping waffles, and Chaewon had just started sorting silverware into trays like it mattered.

He slid into his usual booth.

You could feel it without even turning around—the shape of him, the weight of his presence. You didn’t need to see his face. You could trace the silence he carried like a line straight through your chest.

You didn’t say hi.

Didn’t ask if he wanted the vanilla milkshake this time.

Didn’t ask if he was tired from swinging across rooftops and kissing you like you meant something.

You just grabbed the coffee pot again and moved toward him slowly, like your body hadn’t registered what your heart already decided: you weren’t ready to forgive him.

He looked up when you approached.

His hair was still slightly damp like he’d showered in a rush. His hoodie was soft and wrinkled. His fingers were curled around the edge of the table, knuckles white.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

You said nothing.

You poured the coffee into the mug in front of him—half full, just how he liked it—and turned to leave without another word.

“Y/N…” he tried again.

You didn’t stop. Not until his next words caught you mid-step.

“I didn’t sleep. Not at all.”

You turned your head, slowly, your eyes barely landing on him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have lied.”

His face cracked—just a flicker—but you caught it.

You were good at reading people. You just weren’t good at reading him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but you held up a hand.

“No, Jake. Not here.”

He blinked. “So… you’re just gonna act like you don’t know me?”

You gave a bitter little smile, one corner of your mouth twitching. “I know you better than I ever asked to.”

Chaewon poked her head out from the kitchen just then, eyes landing on you both with curiosity. She didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows raised a little like she was preparing for gossip.

You turned back to the counter, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

Jake didn’t move.

He sat in silence while his coffee went cold. He didn’t drink it. Didn’t even touch the spoon.

Eventually, Sophia came out front and started asking him if he needed cream or sugar. You didn’t listen to his answer. You just watched the light on the countertop catch the reflection of the glass door as it swung open again.

This time, when it closed, Jake was gone.

And still—you didn’t feel better.

Just more certain that pretending he didn’t exist was going to hurt both of you.

The city never really sleeps, but tonight it feels miles away from your small apartment. Streetlights spill pale orange through the curtains, casting long, lazy shadows across the floorboards. Outside, distant sirens echo faintly, reminders that life pulses somewhere else—somewhere you’re not sure you want to be.

You drop onto the couch, worn cushions sighing beneath you like an old friend. Your knees press into your chest, arms wrapping around them loosely, as if holding yourself together is all you can manage right now. The apartment smells faintly of cold coffee and something forgotten—a hint of vanilla from the last late-night batch you made.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the frayed fabric of the cushion, each thread like a memory you can’t quite untangle. The words he said—no, the things he didn’t say—loop in your mind, turning over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

The way he kissed you, as both Jake and Spider-Man. The way he knew things no one should know. The quiet confession hiding behind the mask. The betrayal.

Your chest feels tight, the weight of it pressing down like a physical thing.

Your phone vibrates once, sharply, slicing through the silence. You glance at the screen. No name. No message. Just a notification that feels too heavy to open.

You don’t.

Instead, you push yourself up and walk to the coffee table where your old notebook lies. You haven’t touched it in months, not since life became a tangled mess of half-truths and broken silences.

The cover creaks as you flip it open, pages yellowed and edges curling with age. You pick up the pen beside it and press it to paper.

You don’t write about him. You don’t write about Jake or Spider-Man. You write about you.

The ink flows slowly, like breathing underwater—each word a step toward understanding the storm inside.

You write about the diner’s quiet hum on slow afternoons, the way the sunlight feels too sharp after nights like this, how you sometimes crave silence even when your thoughts are loud.

You write about trust—how fragile it feels when it’s cracked, how hard it is to rebuild something that’s broken.

You write about loneliness. Not the kind that comes from being alone, but the kind that comes from standing too close to someone who keeps parts of themselves hidden.

Hours pass as the ink stains your fingers and the city outside fades further into background noise.

Your breath steadies. The knot in your chest loosens, just enough to let a small, tired smile escape.

You close the notebook, tucking it back on the shelf with gentle care, like a secret you’re not ready to share.

Tonight is yours.

No masks. No lies.

Just the quiet truth, and the slow, steady beating of your own heart.

The morning light streams through the diner’s wide windows, soft and warm like a delicate invitation. It spills across the linoleum floor in golden patches, settling over the worn booths and gleaming countertops as if nothing had shifted in the world overnight.

But everything has shifted.

You stand behind the counter, hands moving out of habit as you wipe down tables and refill syrup bottles. Your fingers linger over the familiar glass jars, the sticky sweetness reminding you of simpler days—days before the mask slipped, before the lies took shape, before you realized how fragile trust could be.

Your mind drifts, weaving between the moments you replay over and over. The way he kissed you, both as Spider-Man and as Jake. The way he knew things you hadn’t told anyone, secrets shared in the quiet moments with your friends. The ache of betrayal still raw beneath your skin.

Sophia steps out from the kitchen, the clatter of plates quieting behind her. She pauses beside you, her gaze catching yours with a softness that makes you almost want to break down. Almost.

“You okay?” she asks quietly, voice a gentle thread in the morning hum of the diner.

You force a small smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She watches you for a moment longer, eyes sharp and steady. Then she reaches out, handing you a cup of freshly brewed coffee without a word.

Your fingers brush hers for a brief second, a simple contact that feels more comforting than any words could.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely carrying beyond the counter.

Sophia nods, her presence steady and reassuring. She doesn’t press you for answers, doesn’t demand you to share what you’re not ready to say. Instead, she stays near, a quiet anchor in the swirl of your thoughts.

You take a slow sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through your chest and grounding you. For a moment, the chaos of last night recedes, replaced by the familiar rhythm of the diner and the soft murmur of customers beginning their day.

Chaewon joins you then, carrying a tray of freshly toasted bagels, her smile bright despite the early hour. The three of you share a quiet glance, an unspoken understanding passing between you—a small reminder that even in the midst of uncertainty, you’re not alone.

As the morning unfolds, you find yourself breathing a little easier, the tight knot in your chest loosening just enough to let a flicker of hope through.

Today is yours, even if the past still lingers in the corners.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

The diner’s lights flicked off one by one as you finished the last round of cleaning, the soft clatter of dishes and low hum of the city outside creating a familiar lull. It was later than usual, and the air in your small apartment felt thick with exhaustion and something you couldn’t quite name.

Outside, the world was quiet — deceptively so. The kind of quiet that fills the spaces just before chaos erupts.

You slid your phone into your pocket, the vibration from an unanswered message still buzzing faintly against your thigh. No name. No words. Just a silent echo.

Locking the door behind you, you stepped out into the night. The cold air bit at your cheeks, sharp and electric against your flushed skin.

Then you heard it — a harsh, sudden crash that ripped through the silence like a jagged blade. It was close. Too close.

Without thinking, your feet moved faster, adrenaline snapping tight through your veins. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure it would burst free from your ribs.

Turning into the narrow alley beside the diner, you froze.

There, crumpled against the cold brick wall, was the flash of red and blue — Spider-Man.

His body was twisted, broken in ways no human should be. A deep, angry gash ran across his cheek, blood staining the fabric of his mask and trickling onto the pavement.

Your breath hitched.

Panic slammed through you like a tidal wave. Kneeling beside him, your hands trembled as you reached out, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

“Jake,” you whispered, voice trembling, barely daring to speak the name you’d come to know so intimately yet so secretly.

His eyes flickered open, dark and clouded with pain and confusion. For the first time, you saw him not as an elusive hero or mysterious stranger, but as a fragile, human man — vulnerable and broken.

Your chest constricted, a sharp ache blossoming deep inside.

You pressed your palm against the bleeding wound, fingers trembling as you tried to steady both him and yourself.

Tears blurred your vision as the realization dawned—this was more than admiration, more than curiosity.

You had fallen for him. For Jake.

Not the mask. Not the myth. The man beneath it all.

The distant wail of sirens grew louder, but you didn’t want to let go.

“I’m here,” you promised softly, voice steady even as your heart shattered.

And in the cold night, holding him close, you finally understood the weight of love—its fragility, its power, and its fierce, unrelenting truth.

You didn’t take him to a hospital.

You couldn’t. He whispered it once — not there, don’t take me there — voice broken and laced with panic beneath the blood and bruises. It wasn’t pride. It was fear. Fear of being unmasked, exposed, vulnerable in front of people who wouldn’t see Jake, only Spider-Man.

So you took him home.

It was slow, agonizing. He leaned heavily on you, half-conscious, his breaths shallow and uneven. Each step felt like a mile, his weight shifting in your arms as you tried to keep him upright. You didn’t stop. Not once. Not even when your legs trembled beneath his.

By the time you reached your apartment, your arms were shaking from the strain and your lungs burned from holding in every sound that wanted to escape — the panic, the heartbreak, the truth.

He collapsed onto your couch the second you let go, one arm slung over the backrest, the other curled protectively around his ribs. His mask was still on, though it hung loosely, barely clinging to his cheekbones.

You knelt in front of him, hands already reaching for the emergency kit tucked beneath your bathroom sink.

Your voice was quiet. “I need to see.”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded — a barely-there motion. Trusting you. Giving in.

You peeled the mask away gently, trying not to wince when it tugged against dried blood. His eyes fluttered shut as the air touched his skin, and for a moment, he looked like a boy. Not a hero. Not a name whispered in awe across rooftops. Just Jake. Broken and breathing.

Your breath caught when you saw the full damage — the bruises already blooming across his ribs, the cuts along his collarbone, the torn skin at his temple. His lip was split. His left wrist swollen and scraped raw.

You whispered his name like a question. “Jake.”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled. “It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s a lie,” you said, your voice cracking.

Still, your hands moved with careful purpose.

Warm washcloth first — soft, wet, stained with the grime of soot and blood and the city. You wiped gently at the wounds on his face, watching his brow twitch with every press. His breath hitched when your fingertips brushed too close to the edge of a bruise, but he didn’t pull away.

Next came the antiseptic. The hiss of pain from his mouth made you flinch, but he didn’t curse. Just gritted his teeth and looked away, jaw tight.

You pressed a bandage to the cut on his cheek. “You’re lucky I didn’t listen to you and take you straight to the ER.”

He smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only with people who lie to me,” you said.

His smile faded. The silence between you turned heavier, more intimate somehow. Fragile.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said softly. “Like I could break.”

You dipped your head, pulling gauze around his forearm with slow precision. “Too late.”

He exhaled through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re mad.”

You tied off the bandage, not looking at him. “You’re lucky that’s all I am.”

He was quiet for a moment, then: “You could’ve left me there.”

You looked up. His eyes were glassy, bloodshot. Honest.

“I couldn’t,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you like that. I couldn’t… lose you.”

The words escaped before you could stop them. And they hung in the air, trembling.

He looked at you like he heard everything you weren’t saying.

You pressed your hand against his chest, right over the bruise spreading beneath the suit. “You scared me.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I know,” he whispered again, voice thin. “I was thinking about you when I hit the wall.”

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

He closed his eyes. “I thought about how I never told you properly. That I was Jake. That I was sorry. That I—”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Not now.”

He opened his eyes again. “Why not?”

“Because I need you to stay awake. And alive.”

His lips curved gently, even through the pain. “Then sit with me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You eased onto the couch beside him, lifting his arm carefully to rest against your shoulders. His head dropped slightly, forehead grazing your temple. He smelled like sweat and concrete and something warm beneath the bruises. Something safe.

You stayed there for hours.

And as he drifted to sleep, breath shallow against your skin, you pressed your hand to his chest again — to feel it.

His heartbeat.

Steady.

Alive.

Yours to keep safe tonight.

The apartment was quiet.

The kind of quiet that follows long nights and heavy truths — not heavy like sadness, but heavy like something honest finally laid down between two people.

The first light of morning slipped through your curtains, brushing against the edges of the living room like soft breath. You stirred on the couch before he did, one arm still looped around Jake’s shoulders, your other hand resting gently on his chest.

He hadn’t moved all night.

His breathing had stayed shallow and steady, his face peaceful despite the bruises, and you’d stayed exactly where you were. Awake for most of it. Watching him sleep. Listening to the sounds of the city slowly restart outside.

You weren’t afraid anymore. Not of him. Not of what it meant to know who he was.

You didn’t pull away when he finally stirred.

He shifted slightly, groaning under his breath, one arm tightening loosely around your waist.

“I didn’t die,” he muttered, voice low and cracked with sleep. “Cool.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head toward him. “Shocking. Your dramatic fall against a brick wall wasn’t fatal.”

His lips twitched. “I’ll try harder next time.”

“Don’t you dare,” you said, and even though it came out dry, he heard the weight in it. He heard the fear that hadn’t left you yet.

Jake’s eyes opened slowly. They were dark and warm and still tired. “How long did you stay up?”

You looked away. “I didn’t count.”

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Nope.”

A pause.

“I didn’t want to miss anything,” you added, quieter now. “Like your breathing stopping. Or your heart. Or you just disappearing.”

“I wouldn’t leave like that.”

“You almost did.”

Jake didn’t argue. He reached up with his unbandaged hand and gently brushed your hair behind your ear.

You didn’t stop him.

There was no kiss. No bold declarations. No need to name what this was.

But something had changed.

The closeness wasn’t strange anymore. The touches weren’t careful. You both moved around each other like something shared had finally settled — something real. A middle place between love and caution. Between healing and wanting.

You sat up slowly, stretching your arms as the sunlight caught on your skin. “I’ll make you something.”

Jake blinked up at you. “Like… food?”

“Yes, genius,” you said, standing. “You almost died. You need eggs.”

He smiled fully this time. Not the nervous, half-smile you’d seen at the diner. Not the flirtatious smirk he wore behind the mask. Just Jake. Tired. Bruised. Comfortable.

You made scrambled eggs and burnt toast because that’s all you had, and he sat on your couch, wrapped in a throw blanket like a very injured and slightly cocky ghost.

He didn’t ask to leave.

You didn’t ask him to stay.

But you both knew he would.

It started to feel normal.

Not everything. Not the bruises that still dotted Jake’s ribs or the way you sometimes caught yourself staring at the scars on his back when he changed in your bathroom. Not the fact that his phone would buzz and his entire body would tense like the city itself was pulling him back through a tether.

But the rest of it — the in-betweens — started to feel easy.

He came through the window now, not like a secret, not like a ghost, but like someone who knew the way. You didn’t flinch when you heard the soft thud of boots on the fire escape. You didn’t rush to hide whatever you were doing. You just opened the window wider and stepped back so he could crawl inside.

“You keep leaving it unlocked,” he said one night, ducking in with his suit unzipped halfway and his hair damp from either rain or a rooftop leak — you weren’t sure which.

You didn’t look up from your book. “Maybe I just like the breeze.”

He scoffed quietly, toeing off his boots and setting them beside the window like he lived here. “Right. It’s the breeze. Definitely not the charming superhero with a mild head injury.”

“You hit your head again?” you asked, glancing over the top of your pages.

“Only a little.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it. He knew where the first aid kit was now. He knew how to use it. You weren’t going to hover — not anymore.

Instead, you scooted over on the couch.

He hesitated, just for a second, then sat beside you with a soft groan. The blanket was already pooled on the cushion. You didn’t offer it. He didn’t ask. He just pulled it over both your legs like he belonged there.

And maybe, in this moment, he did.

You read while he rested his head back, eyes closed, breathing steady. Not asleep, just… still. Like he was giving himself permission to stop moving for once.

After a while, he spoke. “I told Heeseung I was hanging out with someone.”

You turned a page. “You told him it was me?”

Jake smirked faintly, eyes still shut. “No. I told him I was ‘seeing someone who likes their eggs too dry and their coffee too sweet.’ He figured it out.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Rude.”

He hummed. “You like your coffee sweet.��

“Not that sweet.”

He opened one eye and looked at you. “Okay. But the eggs part was accurate.”

You bit back a smile, lowering your book. “So… you’ve told people.”

“Just him. And Sunghoon maybe suspects something.”

“Are you going to tell him you spend every night at a diner girl’s apartment in flannel pajamas?”

“I don’t spend every night,” he said, grinning now.

You arched a brow.

“…Okay, most nights,” he admitted.

You let the silence fill the space again. Not heavy, not awkward. Just comfortable. Like music that didn’t need to be played out loud.

Neither of you had called this anything.

Not dating. Not not-dating.

But the space between you had changed. No more pretending. No more hiding behind masks and diner counters and clever banter. Just late nights, burnt eggs, bruised bodies healing slowly, and the occasional forehead touch when words felt too big.

And every time the window opened, so did something else.

The rain starts around midnight.

Not a storm, not quite — just a steady, silver hiss outside your window, soft against the glass, soft against the fire escape. The kind of rain that makes everything quieter. Slower. Softer.

You’re already in your pajamas — a threadbare tee and sleep shorts — when the knock comes. Not on your door, but rather on the glass.

You don’t flinch anymore.

You cross the room barefoot, your toes brushing against the cold hardwood, and pull the curtain aside.

He’s there.

Jake.

Not in the suit. Not this time. Just a hoodie and jeans, both slightly damp. His hair is wet too, clinging to his forehead, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets like maybe this wasn’t planned. Like maybe he didn’t know he’d come here tonight but somehow ended up here anyway.

You open the window without a word.

He ducks inside, movements quiet, careful not to drip too much on your rug.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, like the rain outside.

“Hey,” you say back.

No explanation. None needed.

You hand him a towel from the bathroom. He pulls it over his head and ruffles his hair while you move toward the kitchen.

“I was going to make grilled cheese,” you offer, like he’s just any friend stopping by and not the boy who bled on your couch last week.

He perks up. “With tomato soup?”

You glance over your shoulder, lips curving. “Do I look like I have tomato soup just lying around?”

“…Yes?”

You snort. “You’re in luck.”

He smiles, the warm, quiet kind he only gives you now. Like he’s finally stopped waiting for you to shove him away.

Ten minutes later, the soup is bubbling, and the smell of butter and cheese fills the apartment. He’s leaning against your counter, damp towel draped over his shoulder, watching you slice bread like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You always make that face when you’re concentrating,” he murmurs.

“What face?”

“That one,” he says, pointing at your mouth. “The pouty one.”

You swat a dish towel at him. “Shut up and go set the table.”

It’s not even a real table — just the low coffee table in front of your couch — but he does it anyway. Two bowls. Two mismatched mugs of water. He even lights the small vanilla candle you forgot you left there.

You sit beside him, the grilled cheese warm in your hands, the soup steaming gently between you.

He dips his sandwich first. You watch the way his eyes flutter closed when he takes a bite.

“I’d die for this,” he says dramatically.

“You almost did.”

He opens one eye.

“…Fair.”

You both laugh — soft, sleepy laughter that settles between you like a blanket. The food disappears slowly. Not because you’re distracted, but because you’re both enjoying the silence. The nearness.

You take his plate when he’s done.

He follows you into the kitchen, trailing a little too close behind, fingertips grazing the small of your back. Not obvious. Not urgent. Just… there.

You wash. He dries.

At some point, you both end up in your room — not rushed, not planned. It just happens.

He lies down first, facing the window. You crawl in behind him.

Your knees press into the backs of his. Your hand slips into the space between his shoulder blades. Your forehead rests against his spine like it belongs there.

“Stay?” you whisper.

His answer is immediate. “Always.”

And in the quiet hush of rain and candlelight, you fall asleep like that.

You woke up to buzzing.

Not the lazy kind. Not the 7:00 a.m. alarm you always snoozed or the “we’re out of eggs again” group chat from Sophia and Chaewon.

No — this was frantic buzzing.

Back-to-back notifications hammering your phone like someone set the internet on fire.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes and grabbed the phone from under your pillow. The screen was lit up with texts. Mentions. Twitter screenshots. Names you didn’t recognize. And one group chat name you did.

[Chaewon 🪩]

GIRL.

GO.

LOOK.

RIGHT. NOW.

You’re viral.

Your heart skipped.

The first post you opened was blurry — pixelated and shot from below — but unmistakable.

A streetlamp. The shape of Spider-Man crouched on the edge of a fire escape. His mask pushed halfway up, just enough to show his jaw. His hand reaching down.

And you.

The photo wasn’t clear enough to catch your face fully, but it was you. You knew it. The diner uniform. The hair. The way you tilted your head when you were trying not to smile.

You knew the moment.

Last week. You’d been locking up the diner. He’d dropped down from the roof like always, dramatic and a little smug. You told him to stop scaring you like that, and he laughed.

He kissed you before vanishing again, slipping between buildings like smoke.

And now it was everywhere.

“SPIDER-MAN SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL — COULD IT BE LOVE?”

“Brooklyn’s Friendly Neighborhood Hero Might Be Taken 👀”

“Who Is Spider-Man’s Real Life MJ?”

You dropped the phone.

It hit the comforter with a dull thud, and your stomach followed.

The knock on your window came less than five minutes later.

You didn’t open it right away.

Jake knocked again, this time gentler. You could see him through the curtain — no mask, just a hoodie pulled low over his brow, eyes anxious even from this distance.

You opened the window.

He stepped inside, quiet. Careful.

“They got a photo,” you said before he could even speak.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“I didn’t even see anyone. How—”

“I don’t know. Someone probably lives in that building. It was… stupid of me to do that there. I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn’t answer.

“I never wanted this to touch you,” he said, voice low. “I’ve kept my identity hidden for this long for a reason. Not for me. For people around me. For people like you.”

“But now it has,” you said, words falling heavy between you.

He looked up at you, eyes dark and threaded with guilt. “We can shut it down. Deny it. Say it wasn’t you.”

You almost laughed. “Jake, I was wearing my name tag.”

He flinched.

You stepped back, away from the window, arms folding tight over your chest.

He followed, just far enough to keep the space between you soft but careful.

“They don’t know your name. They won’t find your apartment. I’ll keep you safe,” he said.

And maybe he believed that. Maybe he could fight off half of Brooklyn’s crime ring and swing through fires and save kids from collapsing buildings.

But this?

This was different.

This was people watching.

Talking.

Wanting something from the both of you.

You looked at him — this boy you’d held while he bled, this boy you fed soup in silence, this boy who looked at you like he already knew how you tasted when you laughed.

“I don’t want to be your headline,” you whispered.

Jake swallowed, stepping closer, close enough to lower his voice.

“Then let me be yours.”

You blinked.

“I don’t care if the city knows. I don’t care if they guess. I care that you don’t run.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

“I won’t run,” you said finally. “But I don’t want to be someone’s theory or some TikTok guessing game.”

He nodded. “Then we don’t give them anything. We keep it how it’s been. Quiet. Ours.”

You looked at him.

And slowly, you nodded back.

Still not dating or defined, but something real and even now — especially now — worth protecting.

The diner was already buzzing when you walked in.

Not busy. Just buzzing. Like the air itself had caught wind of something and couldn’t stop humming about it.

Sophia looked up from where she was leaning over the counter, scrolling on her phone with a smirk already tugging at her lips.

“Well, well, if it isn’t New York’s most mysterious love interest,” she said.

Chaewon popped her head up from the pastry display. “Are we still pretending you don’t know Spider-Man?”

You froze halfway to the break room, then let your shoulders fall with a practiced sigh.

“Guys.”

“No, no, don’t ‘guys’ us,” Chaewon said, rounding the counter and pulling you by the elbow. “We gave you weeks. We gave you space. But now you’re literally a trending topic.”

Sophia held up her phone screen. Your face, blurry and tilted, next to Spider-Man’s unmistakable red-and-blue suit, was on every gossip account in New York. #SpiderBae was trending.

“You look cute,” Sophia added. “Also terrified.”

“I was terrified,” you muttered. “He dropped out of the sky like a vampire. It was dark.”

Chaewon narrowed her eyes. “That’s not a denial.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Then opened it once more just to say, “We’re not dating.”

“But you know him,” Sophia said.

You hesitated. “I know… a version of him.”

Chaewon gave you a look. “So you are his Pepper to your Tony.”

“I am nobody’s Pepper,” you said, sliding into the break room before they could follow.

They didn’t push it. Not yet. But you knew this wasn’t going away.

By noon, five customers had commented on how much you “looked like that girl.” One even asked for a selfie “just in case.” You laughed it off. Smiled through it. But the back of your neck stayed warm the whole time.

And then the door chimed.

You were pouring coffee, distracted, half-listening to Sophia hum a Taylor Swift song behind you, when you turned — and froze.

Jake.

Not Spider-Man.

Not swinging in.

Not masked.

Just Jake. In a gray hoodie, jeans, windblown hair, and a look on his face like he already regretted this.

Your breath hitched.

He met your eyes. Briefly. Softly.

Then sat at the counter like he belonged there.

Sophia blinked. “…Is that?”

Chaewon squinted. “That’s the guy who always orders cherry pie on Wednesdays.”

You nearly dropped the coffee pot.

You wiped your hands on your apron and walked over slowly, heart hammering.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, low enough that no one else could hear.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You always talk about how good the soup is.”

Your eyes searched his. “Jake—”

“I used the front door,” he said. “I thought maybe it was time I stopped hiding.”

You stared at him. At the quiet bravery in that sentence.

“Okay,” you said. Then, gently: “Don’t look too heroic while you eat. Someone might take a picture.”

He grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

You walked away.

And when Sophia and Chaewon cornered you in the kitchen three minutes later, you didn’t lie.

You just smiled. Shrugged.

“Okay,” you admitted. “He likes my eggs. I like his face. That’s it.”

Chaewon screamed. Sophia threw a napkin in the air like confetti.

And through the diner window, Jake lifted his spoon like a toast — just for you.

[blogficsesp]

I'll be waiting

Next

When a wound puts you in the way of your almost ex-husband, the months without talking are over and perhaps it is the opportunity to resume your marriage or end it.

*English is not my first language *Sorry for medical inaccuracies

Chapter 1

The sound of your last name was the reception for the ED, “Dr. Rovinavitch?”. It was really early, so, you know they were talking to you. You come close to the nurse station, “Hi, Bridget, could you tell me where Jack is?”. She sees the way that you were holding your arm, “What happened to you?”, “Rough fall, I think I have a dislocated shoulder”. She calls Abbot, while she directs you to one of the beds.

Abbot saw you and pursed his lips. “Well, good morning to you. What happened?”

“I was talking to the parents of a child with cancer, things are difficult at home, the father was really upset because child’s service was called, sooo he tried to hit his wife, I was in the way, he pushed me, I fell… you can imagine the rest.”

Like Kiara, you were part of the social service of the PTMH, but you work in pediatrics and family medicine.

Abbot ends up the evaluation, asks for exams while you watch your clock. “You have a hot date?”, “Naah, but you know that my shoulder is the problem, why the exams?” He looks at you and smiles, you have known him for many years, maybe he is your closest friend in the hospital, so, you know that he knows why you don’t wanna stay in the pit for long. “You know the rules, a job injury needs all the paper”. You shake your head, “But why?” You don’t wanna be whiny, but it’s seems that you can’t evade meeting your almost ex-husband.

Robby and you have been married for 5 years, you met him for almost 10 years, since you started working on the PTMH, forming a great friendship. When things ended with Heather, you and he came closer, and in just months you were married. Everyone questioned your choices, why so soon?, why don’t wait?, you’re just a rebound? But nothing mattered to you, you love him so much… But then the pandemic arrived… your marriage survived, but Robby’s miscommunication was even bigger, and you ended living separated for almost two years now.

“Look, honey, we have to do this right, you take your time off because of this and everything will be alright” Abbot, as usual, was right, you needed all the papers because Gloria and all the others would make a blind eye if there were no right procedures. So, you took air, “Fine, whatever”. One of the nurses come to take your history while you wait for all the exams that Abbot asked.

“Have you talked to Robby?” Abbot asks.

“No, you know that we don’t do that…”. You tried for months to fix your marriage. But Robby closed all communication with you. Jake, Jack, Dana and Kiara were usually your source of information about him.

Abbot sees you with a half-smile and crosses his arms. “Yes, but he would like to know that something happened to you, specially because he is about to come, and you now are a patient”.

You snort, as if he was going to approach you. You know perfectly well that he will keep his distance... as always. Probably will send Heather or Frank. “Yes, I’m a patient, but there are other doctors here, so…”

Now it’s time for Abbot to snort. “Yeah, honey, you don’t know half of it”.

He walks out of the room. You consider call him, to make a warning of your presence in the pit, but you can’t decide if is the right choice. While you are trying to decide, the day shift starts to arrive, and you know that Robby is coming.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi it’s the anonymous from the doctor and the neighbor ideas again (I hope I’m not giving you too much to write cause I have so many more 😭😭)

Here we go again!

Reader and Hotch are neighbors again. Same trope, they’re friends, she watches jack, they have each other’s keys. But I was thinking this time, reader has a bakery down the street, and you know that thing when you nervous you stress eat? Well reader stress bake. Hotch thinks it’s time for the team to meet basically the only friend he has out of work (reader) and decides to do a game night (again lol) for all of them.

Reader was nervous about meeting them, so guess what happened? Her gas bill will be very expensive this month 😭. She goes to hotch's house with like a bunch of Tupperwares full of cookies, cupcakes, macarons, whatever else you can think she could humanly hold (in my mind she’s entering his house with her key with so many containers her vision is obstructed by them) And she’s like all adorably smiley and hoping they like her, like she hasn’t just become each team member’s nutritionist and dentist's deepest nightmare 😭😭

Sweet Treats

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader (x BAU)

Warnings: Nothing unless you're allergic to sugar. I think the reader is gender neutral in this, but my eyes have been staring at the words for so long that I might've missed something.

Word count: 881.

A/N: HIIIII anonnn 🫶 I love all your requests!!! They're always sooo cuteeee😍😭 Somehow I managed to get this done 10 minutes before I had to leave for work. So enjoy <3

You paced around your kitchen, the smell of freshly baked muffins, macarons, and meringues filling the air. The island and counters were covered in trays and Tupperware, each filled with sugary treats that you’d been baking over the last few hours out of pure stress. You glanced at the clock—it was almost time to head next door to Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you thought about meeting his team. Aaron had told you so much about them and their cases, and from everything you’d heard, they seemed nice. But still, you were nervous; you weren’t good at meeting new people outside of your customers, and these people were important to him. You wanted to make a good impression.

Before you knew it, your kitchen was overflowing with desserts, with no space left unfilled. There was so much that you started to wonder if you'd gone a tad bit overboard, but there was no turning back now. You started packing everything into containers, stacking them as carefully as possible.

“This should be enough, right?” you murmured to yourself, eyeing the mountain of sweets. How you were going to get them safely next door was still a mystery to you.

Trying your best to gather all the containers, your arms were loaded with so many that you could barely see over the top or out the sides. You took a deep breath as you headed out the door and made your way across your front lawn. It was quicker this way instead of going onto the sidewalk. You knew Aaron didn’t mind you stepping on his lawn.

Balancing everything precariously, you managed to fumble your key into the lock and let yourself in. “Aaron?” you called out, your voice slightly muffled by the stack of Tupperware in front of your face.

“In here,” his voice replied from the living room.

You shuffled toward the sound of his voice, hoping you wouldn’t trip over anything along the way. When you finally reached the living room, you found Aaron standing with his team, who all turned to look at you as you awkwardly maneuvered through the door.

“Hi!” you chirped, a little too enthusiastically, as you nearly toppled over under the weight of all the containers. You could barely see their faces, but you were pretty sure they were staring at you.

“You didn’t have to bring all of this.” Aaron quickly moved to help you, taking a few containers from your arms. He sent you a soft smile, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice, trying to figure out how you’d even managed to get out of your own house with no vision and basically no arms to help you.

“I, uh, got a little nervous,” you admitted with a bashful grin as you finally set down the remaining containers on the coffee table. “So… I baked. A lot.”

The team members exchanged glances, their initial surprise quickly giving way to grins and curious glances at the mountain of sweets you had brought along.

“You made all of this?” asked a woman with long, dark hair, whom you recognized as Emily from the pictures Aaron had shown you.

“Y-Yeah.” You felt your nerves bubble up again. “I hope you like them.”

“Are you kidding?” Derek smiled, already reaching for a cupcake. “This is amazing!”

“Did you make these from scratch? They look perfect,” Spencer asked, peering at the macarons with wide eyes.

You nodded, feeling your face heat up at the compliments. “I’m just really glad I could share them with you guys.”

As everyone started sampling the desserts, you noticed Aaron watching you with a fond look in his eyes. He stepped closer, leaning in to speak quietly, just for you to hear.

“You didn’t need to do all of this to impress them, you know. They were going to love you no matter what.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but before you could respond, Garcia bounced over, vibrating with excitement. “Oh my gosh, you are like a real-life fairy godmother! These are delicious! Can I be your best friend?”

You laughed, feeling the last of your nerves melt away. “I think I can manage that.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, games, and way too much sugar. The team insisted on sampling everything, and by the end of the night, they were all raving about your baking skills. You felt like you’d known them forever, and the warm, welcoming energy they exuded made you feel right at home among them.

As the night wound down, Aaron walked you back to your house, the others busy chatting in the living room. “Thank you for doing this,” he said softly, his eyes full of that same warmth you’d come to love. “You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

You smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell with affection. “I wanted to. They’re important to you, so they’re important to me.”

He paused as if considering his next words carefully. “You’re important to me, too. I’m glad you finally got to meet them.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you just stood there, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Then you smiled, a little shyly. “Me too.”

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

[methoughtsphantom]

halfas are the found family trope foster child

they all adopt each other. it’s the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure you’re my cousin now with Dani. it’s a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isn’t yet cause Jason’s core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he can’t quite tell the dude’s been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesn’t mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and that’s apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how he’s not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how he’s just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he can’t consider a place a lair if there’s isn’t someone of his in it.

But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Danny’s choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.

Ironically, Danny essentially can’t feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesn’t know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) It’s really that he’s feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) ‘s core.Imagine it’s just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping another’s only to feel the other’s imprint and to not be able to protect it in return is— forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadn’t been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.

The worse thing is he doesn’t know why.

Jason had only been a guy.

…

It’s only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.

(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)

…

now

whimsical time skip ✨

Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal 🥲) Danny definitely didn’t enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways it’s been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh let’s say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. He’s just having too much fun.

anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesn’t clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy who’s was fast to turn Danny’s slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesn’t get why the guy’s so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, it’s Jason’s deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.

It is because of that that he doesn’t notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because he’s a John Doe, but that’s just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)

Danny absolutely doesn’t know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw Jay—Jason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesn’t feel too recent.

Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldn’t sense Jay was a ghost—err was… in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.

Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didn’t go off when jason was literally digging himself out.

Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jason’s body.

[strawwbyy]

STRAWBY'S 100 FOLLOWERS SPECIAL

PART 1 - Brat taming with BAEL

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ TAGS: rough sex, f!reader, spanking. WC: 650

Bael is a really, really tired man. This is nothing new, really. He makes it clear with the dark bags under his eyes, his slow, langid walking and his raspy, low voice, sounding almost like a drunk whenever he spoke.

He wishes for many things: for Beel to take charge of his damned country for once, for the paperwork to stop coming at such rapid pace... and for you to behave around him. He loves you, yes, but he can't help but be insanely irritated at you everytime you decide to pester him, knowing full well how busy and exhausted he is all day. Why are you so inconsiderate to him? So rude and selfish? He admits he can be a little neglectful, but you are a grown woman, who should be able to handle herself without his help. So, since you seem so adamant on not listening to him whenever he tells you this, maybe it's time that he just shows you. Punishment is usually reserved for children or pets, but really, you deserve it this time (not that you have many differences with those things). You came into his office with happy little steps and a mischevious smile, letting him know immediately you were not here to help him relax. No, you were here because you were horny, and after waiting for him in the bedroom for a uselessly small amount of time, impatience and playfulness got the better of you. You strolled to his desk, smily and slow and he looked at you from the corner of his eye, sighing as you slid to his lap with ease. He made eye contact with you, giving his all to smile, trying to act as unbothered as possible, even if deep down he wanted nothing but to shove you against the desk and fuck the disobedience out of you. .

.

. ...So, that's what he did! He really tried to stay patient for you; maybe you just wanted a cuddle... but you just haaad to slip your hand between his legs and try to make him hard. You discovered pretty quick that, in fact, he already was. Since the moment you entered his office with that sultry attitude and that smirk that pissed him off so much. He grabbed your hips, pulling you up and slamming you face first into the desk, smushing your cheek against the cold wood. He pressed your wrists tightly against your back, holding you down completely in the process. The papers he was working on for so long on were sent flying, but he had more important, personal matters to attend to. Minutes ago, the only sound in the office was the ticking of an old wall clock and the incessant scribbling of his pen, but now, those soothing sounds were replaced by the obscene plap, plap, plapping! of his pelvis against your ass, and the loud, painful sounds of his spanking. Your cheeks reddened everytime his hand met your ass, the desk shaking and squeaking as if it was going to break under the brutal pace Bael had set against you. The squelching of your wet pussy and that damned smirk of yours led him on, assuring him that this is what you wanted. He grabbed your arms, gripping them to slam you back into his brutal thrusts, spitting between your cheeks to coat his dick, as if it wasn't already gooey enough with your combined juices. Your moans were shameless, loud and whiny, just like he liked, but although he wanted nothing more than to make you squirt all over the dark wood of his desk, that wouldn't suffice as punishment, would it? So, when he felt the tightening of your pussy, gripping his cock like a vice, he stopped, growling as he pulled out and started fisting his cock fast. He moaned low and angry, before releasing his sticky cum all over your back and beet red ass. After all, this was your punishment for bothering him all the damn time, of course you didn't deserve to cum. But, he did deserve a break from being his fake majesty... and he wasn't gonna stop until he fucked that teasing little smile of yours off your face.

Sooo, surprise surprise, i'll be doing more than one fic for this epic goal. Cause im just generous like that (lol) In total we'll have 6 fics for this little special thingy, the sixth being based off the polls i did! If you're curious about my selection, i used the plots that didn't win on the second poll and spun a wheel for the characters.

(i'll make a masterlist with these after all of them are uploaded)

[futureplayboibunnie]

lil Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader drabble

Warnings: NSFW, depics of violence, blood, some steamy stuff but not too much, sooo much dirtytalk.

You were many things. But you weren't naive.

That wouldn't be an issue if Miguel couldn't talk his way out of hell and right into those pearly gates. His manipulation and sweet talking were just another thing that made you hate him and attracted to him amongst many other things

He was an asshole. He was a powerful Mob Boss. He was your husband and your arch-nemesis. You both loved playing these little games that would send the other down a spiral of paranoia and obsession- it lit a fire under both of your asses. It made you meaner, sharper, stronger

Miguel told his men to take shots at you, haphazardly, making sure they all missed for the sole purpose of scaring you to make you behave and see how valuable his protection was . You weren’t scared, you were pissed and filled with rage. You blew up one of his lackey’s cars, he watched it burn in front of him, if he had gotten into the wrong black beauty of a Lamborghini, he’d be a pile of ashes.

You both poked and prodded, messed and obsessed with every step you made. It was like a Greek tragedy. You outsmarted him some days. He outsmarted you some days.

But after all of it, you were still married, still husband and wife. When he fell for you, he fell hard. You were the daughter of of one of the most renowned gangster in the country, Miguel had to pay his dues to earn his respect- and in the end it payed off. Your father blessed your marriage and that night was a dream above all dreams. The honeymoon was beautiful too, every night was filled with passionate and messy sex and every day he spent with you he fell more and more in love.

But Lord did you test his patience, it was something that you were born to do. He was angry and channelled his rage through many illegal mediums.

Yet you always let him back in.

-

You’ve been doing what you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

Waiting up for Miguel.

Waiting for him to come home.

He said he had something to take care of and hasn’t shown his face since. And here you were, waiting for him like a Park Avenue trophy wife. Your wine was making you more anxious than tipsy as you glared at the clock, the fireplace in front of you not warming your body from this strange fear of a man you hate and love. It was nearing 1am.

Then you heard it, the door opening and closing and the rustling of expensive shoes hitting the marble of the foyer, then a jarring clank of keys hitting the holder.

Your breath got lost in your throat, eyes widening when you saw Miguel’s figure. His white shirt was bloodied and his fists were bruised and raw. It’s not his blood, but he did have a cut on his eyebrow. You scoffed as you stood up from your seat.

But that didn’t stop you from both charging at each other, wanting to see each other up close.

“I hate you.” You said with a scowl but what was it all for when you both embraced each other seconds after.

“I believe you.” He said coldly but he knew you meant it. Your head rested on his shoulder and he could smell the shampoo you used earlier tonight. A sweet orchard, green apple. Yet your sweet scent didn’t transfer to yout personality. You didn’t like to sit still and play house.

You were an antagonizing bitch.

He was a heartless bastard.

Yet here you were.

Hating each other, yet seeking each other’s company.

“I hate you.” You repeated much firmly this time and Miguel gripped onto your cheeks and pulled your face up so he could glare at you.

“I said I believe you…I haven’t believed anyone in a long time.” He muttered, but his tone was harsh. Unamused eyes searched yours for an answer but instead he found contempt and sadness.

“You left for weeks….I hated you every second of it.” You spat out but your words couldn’t be brutal when you were this sad.

Miguel’s grip on your face softened, the pads of his fingertips tracing on the outline of your chin. “Now that I’m back…do you still hate me?” He was asking with genuine concern for some reason.

“Yes.” You whispered but your legs started to tremble as the word rolled off of your tongue. Miguel frowned indignantly and huffed out, taking his turn to pivot the conversation to him just ordering you around again.

“I don’t want you leaving the penthouse. I don’t want you outside while I deal with these bastards-“

Your choked breath cut him off. “Is that all you’re thinking about right now? I can’t fucking believe you.” You scoffed, his gall was truly outstanding, of course he had to do this right now. You weren’t purposefully trying to fan the flames to Miguel’s anger but he wanted to treat it like you were, he was already annoyed for ruining one of his best shirts with the blood of subspecies and now he has to deal with you bitching and moaning…and not in the way he liked. “You know what Miguel-“ He directly stopped your words by gripping onto your waist and neck and sitting you on the dining table. You struggled against his hold but it all proved to be fruitless.

“You’re gawking at me like an idiot right now.” You insulted but he was way too far gone now, the crimson of his eyes migrated to a deep ring of burgundy- he was already pissed and you just had to play with him the wrong way.

“You’re beautiful that’s why.” He said endearingly, like he was cooing at you but his serious expression really contrasted that.

“You’re flattering me because you wanna fuck?”

“You asked me if you staying here is all I’m thinking about right now and in fact, it’s not.” Miguel placed a palm on your chest and pushed you flat onto the table, hard. Your eyes were half lidded weapons, scrutinising his every move- and dare he think, he loves it, because he always proves you wrong.

You were his wife, his bitch, his cumdump. You both may hate each other but you always needed each other in this way.

No one else could make you cum otherwise, no one else memorised your body like he did. How couldn’t he? He loved you…once.

You like to think these outbursts are impactful and grand displays of independence but no, you’re Miguel’s lover and you’re gonna act like it.

Hmm. You always looked so pretty in this silk robe, but the fact that your nipples were peaking already under the thin fabric told him all he needed to know.

“I was thinking of you today when I was killing my competition’s men, while I got blood on my hands.” Miguel’s calloused palms splayed onto your smooth legs, feeling up and down teasingly, riding up your robe. You arched against the table already.

Shit, you didn’t mean to.

“The others said that my mind was wandering. I could see their mouths open and close but I couldn’t hear a single word come out..” He said huskily, you gasped when he ripped open your robe, revealing your naked and beautiful figure under him. The only thing that could ever get him off. He dipped his head between your legs to were your thin barely there panties were, he ran his nose over the fabric and inhaled softly. “I could smell you.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, you didn’t know what to feel. You were mad but so aroused…and in the weeks he’s been gone you hadn’t been able to pleasure yourself at all. He looked vicious and mean, your husband was ruthless and sometimes….sometimes it was so fucking arousing, you couldn’t help but squirm and struggle underneath him.

“You wanna know what I did? You wanna know who the man you married is really like when he’s not at home?” His head raised up to your ear to mumble hotly, you jolted and struggled when his hand suddenly went to your already sticky folds.

You weren’t sure if you even had a choice, so you stayed silent, your expression akin to that of vacant displeasure….but oh, were you lying. Your face was about to break.

“I shot them in the kneecaps and beat them until they were barely breathing, but would you believe the way they died was by suffocation?” He chuckled lowly, his fingers teasing your already sloppy entrance.

“F-fuck…are you talking about?” You tried to fight back the moans collecting in the back of your throat but you couldn’t help it.

“They drowned in a puddle of their own blood and I put them there.” Miguel rasped firmly in your ear, his tone and body language becoming very intimidating and…scary. “The bastard’s blood got on my fucking shoes.”

Your husband only wanted to protect what was his. His fingers plunged inside of you, feeling up and down, circling around. You whined out.

“One of them I knew, he went to my fucking highschool hermosa. I called him my friend. But the worst thing occured to me, I imagined him on top of you, my wife, the woman that loathes me so. I saw him tasting you in my head and that’s what made me kill him. You. Just because you sit up here in this untouchable palace doesn’t mesn you’re any cleaner than I am. You’re just as depraved as I am.”

His eyes were beating with a scorching red, his lips were curled into a visicious snarl and at this moment, you knew he was right and that made you want him that much more.

You were his lover.

He wanted you to act like it.

Even if that meant being exactly like he was.

Heartless.

-

(I deleted my other mafia Miguel fic because I wasn’t sure if i was gonna make it a bigger fic or not and I felt like if i kept it up it would’ve been confusing or something? I’m playing on the same ideas in this fic dw)

[lovetreats]

in the shadows.

superhero!nanami kento x gn!assistant!reader

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. jjk m.list.

anon . . . Hii I’d love a nanami headcannon of him being a super hero

synopsis .ᐟ the head of nanami enterprises by day, a masked hero by night. nanami kento has a routine: work, train, fight crime, help people, and maybe get a couple hours of sleep. but when ijichi manages to persuade him in hiring another helping hand for the company, he relearns a couple of things he thought he’s forgotten. [ part of the 'behind the mask' project. ]

content .ᐟ superhero!nanami, superhero!au, nanami is sorta like batman (you'll see why i said 'sorta'), nanami has two personas but both are serious because that's just how he is, expect cliches, nanami's a ceo, reader kinda just. says whatever's on their mind

chapters .ᐟ one | two | three | four | five

a/n .ᐟ this is uhhh somewhat of a slow burn? sooo expect multiple parts... also this... kinda doesnt feel like a headcanon but OH WELL enjoy this scenario/headcanon <3 ( i've rewritten this so many times it's insane )

superhero!nanami who dons his mask every night, ensuring that the citizens of tokyo are safe from the dangers that lie in wait within the shadows.

superhero!nanami who thwarted mahito's harmful plans of leaking toxic laughing gas in an apartment complex, a blank expression on his face as mahito tries to worm his way out of nanami's grip. he turns him in to agent higuruma, who merely nodded when he says his thanks.

superhero!nanami who doesn't care about what people say about him. whether they think of him as a hero, a villain, or a vigilante, he does not concern himself with the media's perception of him. his priorities and focus are all solely on ensuring the city of tokyo is safe.

superhero!nanami who stays in the shadows of tokyo, always lurking, observing, and on the move.

superhero!nanami who, at first, denies ino takuma pleads of fighting crime in the shadows with him, until ino manages to save a severely injured nanami from certain death.

superhero!nanami who guides and trains ino in his ways. "we have a no-kill rule here," he states. before ino could ask him why, nanami continued on, "every person deserves a second chance. some of the 'criminals' are sometimes just people trying to get by, resorting to illegal activity to stay afloat."

superhero!nanami who looks ino dead in the eye and says, "but i understand that there are some people out there who are nothing but vile and corrupt." he stands up and hands ino a black mask. "... humanity is better off without people like them."

superhero!nanami who greets ijichi with a tired smile and introduces ino, telling him he'll be living with them from now on.

superhero!nanami who raises a brow when ijichi tells him that he's hired a personal assistant for nanami. "there's no need for that, you and i are competent enough—" ijichi cuts him off, "nanami, sir, we need another helping hand around to oversee the enterprises. i'm busy enough with helping you with information, and you're busy enough prowling around tokyo—you even have a sidekick to train too."

superhero!nanami who sighs in defeat and waves one hand. "alright, but only one person."

ceo!nanami who flips through your resume (along with the printed background check that ijichi had per nanami's request for each candidate) for several minutes before setting the folder down on the table.

ceo!nanami who glances at ijichi and points at the small, square picture of you. "they look reliable." ijichi nods and bows before he starts on making arrangements, emailing you a concise message, informing you of being the chosen applicant to be nanami's personal assistant.

ceo!nanami who does a double take when he sees you already typing away on the computer with a purpose. it was only 6am. nanami clocks in early because he barely sleeps and uses his time to train, plan different strategies, or fix or upgrade his equipment before coming in to work. why the hell were you here so early? the employees start work 9am.

ceo!nanami who asks you, "did ijichi inform you that work starts 9am?"

ceo!nanami whose eyes slightly widen at your response. "yes, sir. he also informed me of your schedule, and since i will be overseeing the company with you, i decided to follow your work schedule." you state after bowing.

ceo!nanami who tells you, "you don't have to clock in early. no need to be rigid either."

ceo!nanami who can't help but crack a half-smile when you said, "sorry, sir. being this rigid comes from experience." though he's unsure if you were joking or not.

ceo!nanami who isn't used to having someone that isn't ijichi follow him around. "sir, your appointment with mr. gojo satoru is in a few minutes. i can handle signing the papers for the nanami foundation."

ceo!nanami who feels like he's about to pop a vein when gojo starts teasing him with you. "nanamin! it's like they know everything about you!" gojo exclaims in joy. "... because they're my personal assistant," nanami states, tone filled with annoyance, rubbing the temples of his forehead with his middle finger and thumb.

ceo!nanami who sighs, exasperated. "what's the meeting for, gojo?"

superhero!nanami ceo!nanami who furrows his brows when gojo's expression turned into something more... serious. urgent.

superhero!nanami ceo!nanami who clenches his fists when gojo tells him that mahito got out of prison, to which gojo made yuji and megumi follow after him as quiet as possible. when they came back, their eyes were filled with fear. it looked like mahito was planning something terribly sinister.

superhero!nanami ceo!nanami who told gojo to meet him tonight at his cave. they needed a plan, stat.

all rights reserved © LOVETREATS. all fanfics belong to me. do not repost or claim my content as yours. do not recommend on any other platforms any of the works seen here.

[jazeswhbhaven]

A Christmas beneath Heaven | React | Days: 4 & 5

Okay, so it made sense to do a 3-day and then the others a two day react per post. (I just hope my masterlist doesn't end up too many links for the reacts lol)

SOOO we left off with learning that MC has the Christmas Cold which causes them to be overly horny due to them holding back their desires and being in Hell as a human. We also know that Solomon had it and a devil cured him of it before. It also appears that Bael found the devil that knows of the cure!

But uh.....you see

The devil is an old like really old woman. We're talking like imagine gran gran is in her 80s-90s old in human standard where she talks r e a l s l o w.

And it turns out, not only are our boys seemingly impatient (Beelzebub especially like he's nearly pulling his clothes off out of waiting on her answering how to heal MC), they also seem to be judging her physical appearance very harshly.

Which doesn't make a whole lotta sense to me because aren't they old asf? I guess they haven't reached that point where they have wrinkles or grays or maybe they don't have that ability to age physically because they ARE kings after all.

Anyways, gran gran is trying her best to explain, but no one is having it so Ppyong is here to try and help.

I also noticed twice during these days that Asmodeus was calling her "mature" in a flirty way, because he pretty much flirts with anyone and gran gran is on his list.

Ppyong finally gets some kind of headway with her, and it turns out...her clan just has a condition where they age very quickly. She later includes that not only does her clan age in appearance quickly they don't live as long.

Knowing this information though, uh...doesn't help the matter because Belphegor of all devils starts laughing it up that she looks like that and he's imagining everyone looking so old like that at "young" ages. Though, Beleth has to smack some sense into him because when she mentions dying early Belphie is still laughing about it. SAFE TO SAY THAT BELPHIE HAS THAT KINDA HUMOR YA'LL AND HES STILL MY BBY ITS OKAY.

Asmodeus does his flirty thing, gran gran agrees to meet with him after the meeting, and well Satan blows the fuck up cause he's really just trying to get to the point and it's pissing him off that Asmo is just trying to stick his dick in someone once again.

Ppyong does say that she is aware of the cure, that it's located in "Middle Realm" where fallen angels refuse to believe they are in Hell and are waiting to return as confirmed by Beleth. Belphie asks why Beleth didn't just stay there and he says he doesn't remember (though I'm pretty sure he does to a certain extent and I have this theory that fallen angels have the ability to lie btw, a trait that stays with them from being an angel)

And it seems that the angel they are looking for that knows exactly of this cure is Achazriel, the one who fell before Lucifer, the OG first fallen angel that was forced out of heaven. So naturally, he would have that kind of ability.

Solomon also got the medicine from this area, meaning the Middle Realm has been in existence for quite some time and that would make sense.

Meeting is adjourned with this info and everyone seems to split off (even Asmo and gran gran 👀👀) leaving Beel, Bael, Beleth and Belphie who took his ass back to sleep lol

Bael tries to see if Beel wants to do the same thing, to which no he doesn't. Beleth tells him not to worry about it and he already clocked that the other devils seperated themselves for a reason. Bael concludes it's because they're trying to win MC's favor by curing them first.

Beel knows the real deal. On Christmas day....MC is at their peak meaning that's when they are MOST unhinged in their desires and that's the best time to strike. Everyone is basically waiting until MC is pretty much so horny they can't even think straight, take advantage of that moment and then cure them.

"Waiting until the fruit is ripe" as Beel puts it.

Now....tbh that's such a devil thing to do and I don't even think I can be mad about that considering they want to experience that for themselves. But something tells me that none of the kings are going to experience that....moment with MC.

SCREENCAP TIME

This part was sending me, Bael is fucking tired but he would rather not use Asmo's lap because he knows that the fuck that means (his boner would be pokin' him)

Okay ya'll rude asf, leave her a looonnneeeeeeeeeeeee

Asmo called her mature in appearance probably in a horny way and Bael was like

Beel was so impatient he was being this dramatic. Gotta love a drama queen. but dats my boo.

Belphie. pls babes. Just go back to sleep.

LOL. He hates Beel, can't stand him apparently but is willing to take one of his nobles for himself. You ain't slick Levi...(you just want your bestie and you to share it's okay)

Bael is always so tired of his shit lmao, I just wanna run him a hot bath and give him a massage like, let's melt all that stress away...

Belphie....again babes just go back to sleep.

Asmo being like-

him @ Asmo rn

Sorry ya'll but this description of his voice....fine asf I swear like bring all of that over to me now

Proof of why I think fallen angels have the ability to lie ^^^^^^

This is hot of him idk let's boil our enemies in gold

titty cameo

Thanks Ppyong kicks him into a wall 'playfully'

The fact that he can see that far is wild but he also can probably smell them too. Everything about him is....just him.

And there ya go~ the next two days for part one will probably be them going to the Middle Realm. LETS PAUSE FOR THEORY TIME

I honestly think how this "trying to bang MC when the cold is at it's peak" won't happen. With normally how these events go they will attempt but something hilariously funny will happen where MC just sweats it out and they don't need the medicine after all or "someone else" got to them first and it's pretty much none of them. Lol

Let's see what the results bring hm???

[solarkitt3n]

Yandere Mr ring a ding /Lux imperator x Cleaner Reader pt. 3

Warnings: SA, blood, and uncomfortabillity from a certain someone...

⚠️YOUVE BEEN WARNED ⚠️

Y/NS POV

I would wake up after I heard my alarm clock screaming at me to wake up. I would go to sit up only to be pulled back by none other than Mr ring a ding himself. I would look up at him saying "nrgh ringy let me up I need to get ready~" he'd immediately let me go as I would sit up and stretch out all the sore muscles and Crack all the bones I your body before getting up looking down to see bits of my alarm scattered around the bed side table and floor

LUXS POV

I had been watching them most of the night instead of the movie in my opinion they were much more entertaining than the silly movie on the screen so when i heard that blasted alarm go off stiring my light awake i was seconds from pulling a hammer out and smashing it to bits... whichis exactly what i did actually- ITS THERAPEUTIC but anyway with that pesky alarm out of the question I could focus on my light once more. They would try and move out my hold but I wouldn't let them but I would hear them in a whiny tone ask me to let them go so they could get up and- wait did they just call me ringy... with my mind focused on the pet name my grip would lossen enough for them to move away and stretch not before giving the busted up alarm a quick look before getting up and walking out the door with a change of clothes on a near by clothes hanger. I watched them the entire way out of the room. Once they left I would snap on my dapper suit and fix my (little amount of) hair. Once I finished would check my scruff on my chin to Mae sure it wasn't too out of control before walking out their bedroom. I would find myself waiting for them to get ready in exchange so I would venture into their home... 'im just gonna peek... nah who am I kiddin' I'm definitely gonna snoop in their stuff hehe' I would look through their pantrys, closets, cupboards, and more interesting things that caught my eye. They would walk out of the bathroom looking as shinning as ever as they would ask "do you eat at all?" Y'know what... I never actually thought about that... mhm- I could get them to cook for me... I wonder how much I could make them do- " there's a language we use here called English can you speak it?" 'Tch getting smart with a literal god huh they have balls, I'll give them that' "oh uh sure I'll take what you're making there" they would chuckle and nod stirring up what ever they had in a pan. I would look around before crawling up on the counter next to them cooking. I could now see that they were making eggs... "mhm those look... questionable are you sure you know how to cook for a god such as myself" I would smirk as they laughed before saying "well your highness it's this or something raw" "I SAID I WAS A GOD NOT A KING" they would laugh more as I yelled at them steam coming from my ears in anger as my face went from blue to a more red color to match my fury towards them. After a while there laughing ceased to a chuckle as they plated the eggs. I wasted no time to take some and eat it with my bare hands... 'oh my... this is a lot better than I had thought...' "so how is it?" They asked leaning on their hand " psh it's surprisingly eatable" that got a chuckle out of them before they started eating as well. After a while of comfortable silence they said " I have to go back to the cinema soon for my shift... if you'd like you can come along?" I would ponder before realizing that it was too bright outside for me to go anywhere but in the house " ah... well I can't really go out during the day-uh for reasons I'll think of later" they would hum and nod saying " well I'll leave you some movies and some things to do while I'm away... what fo you like eating by the way? I uh- never thought of asking?" 'Shoot what do I like eating... I don't really eat... come to think of it I haven't been able to taste since now' "well you humans have sooo many options so you can choose for me" " alright so be it" they would say as they washed the dishes that we had used. I would wait patiently for them before asking " how long will uou be out?" " psh oh bot long... maybe 8 hours or so" "WHA-8 HOURS IS A LONG TIME" they would laugh at my yelling as they said between laughter " oh you'll be fine Ring" I would settle down while they put the dishes away and started pulling out movies. They would set them all down on a coffee table saying " well I should be heading off now, don't miss me too much" as they would chuckle and go and grab their keys. " yeah yeah see you soon" they would wave goodbye and lock the door behind them. " huh... what now?"

Y/NS POV

Once I waved lux off I locked the door and lightly sprinted to work. Of course I wasn't late... oh wait no, no I definitely am getting to be late- but it's fine I'll be fine. Once I got to the cinema I unlocked the front door seeing the help needed sign that was there before on my first few days gone... 'mhm thats odd' Once I got in I would start deep cleaning the areas. The counters, seats, floors, hell even the walls weren't safe from my scrubbing. While I was working on a particularly bad popcorn stain on the cushion of a chair when I heard the door open and in walked Mr. Pye as he said " g'morning Y/N" you would wave and say " good morning Mr. Pye... uh you seem a bit sluggish- the heat getting to you today?" He would chuckle lowly walking to where I had been wrestling with the stain on the chair as he pooped down a row behind saying " oh no, it's just... I couldn't get much sleep and I have to tour this new intern today and- ugh I'm exhausted" you would sympathize for him thinking for a way to help before saying " if you'd like I'll tour the newbie for you" the would look skeptical saying " are you sure you know the place enough?" " sir with all do respect I clean every corner of this building... twice a day- I think I know this place well enough to tour them" He would smile and say " well if you insist he's coming in around at 5 on the dot" he said as he stood up and brushed himself off saying " I'll let you get back too it now" as he would smile and walk back up to the back. I would sigh going back to cleaning.

A few hours later...

I had cleaned the place at least twice checking the time finally I would read '5:10... OH NO THE INTERN!' I would speint down the halls till I got to the front seeing a tall shadow on the other side of the glass door I would catch most of my breath before opening the door for him as he would step out the blinding light. He was really REALLY BIG like 'what have his parents been feeding this guy... ehem anyway...' " ah you're the new intern and you're names...?" " ah my name is Darrell"

(NOTHING AGAINST MY DARRELLS READING I HAD NO OTHER NAME IDEA😁)

I would shrug and continue saying " well Darrell I will be touring you today-"" I don't mind one bit~" he'd cut off in a thick tone... 'ugh great I shouldn't have taken Mr. Pyes job' " ahah yes... well if you'll follow me..." I would start walking away my palms sweaty and shake ' you just met this guy maybe he just talks like that... maybe you're reading into this too much... yeah your just making assumptions' I thought to myself to ease my nerves. As we walked I would point random things out like the projector room and the cinema rooms. After a while I would end with the supply closet saying " lastly this is where you'll get cleaning products and various things like tools and such, do you have any questi-" He would push me into the closet with him as he would run his hand down my arm saying " mhm yeah how's this feel~" as he would move to my uniform. I would start shaking more as he pulled my shirt down from my shoulder as he leaned down his teeth bearing. " p-please- stop I-I don't want this" he would hum saying " don't worry I'll let you go~" he would sink his teeth into my shoulder digging his teeth in deep as my shoulder clean slightly. The warm crimson ran down from the indents from his teeth saying " a Lil something to remember me by~" he would then open the door saying " till next time" as he would walk off. I would immediately run out the door of the cinema to my house.

LUXS POV

I had watched the same movie three times over waiting for my light... "Ugh they said they'd be here..." right when I said that aloud they came bursting though the door running straight to their room and locking the door... " oh boy that can't be good..." I would hop off the couch going to their room door as I would flatten under the door poping back to original form on the otherside. I would then see them huddled in the corner holding themselves. I would see my light in distress and go to them asking " what happened my light, tell me 'bout it?" They would sob as I spoke their breathing heavy. I had never been the best at this kind of thing so I would just rest my head on their knee closing my eyes. After a moment or two I felt their hand on top of my head gently petting the top if my head and what's left of my hair as their breathing became calm once more. After a moment or two they would confess " w-we got a n-new intern and- and he-" they would sniffle and sob again pointing at their shoulder. I would look down to see blood seeping into their shirt. I would go to move it to see but they would flinch so I would measure them by waiting for them again. They would they look down into my eyes as they would move their shirt off their shoulder to show a... A BITE MARK?! OHH THIS WONT STAND! I would rush out the room to their bathroom grabbing the things they grabbed for their hand and before as I would dump it on the floor next to them. They would smile slightly as they would patch themselves up. All I could think about as they did this is, who and how I'm gonna kill this motherfu- " hey lux?" "O-oh uh yes?" They would stand up gently saying "thanks for helping me" I would smile up at them saying " anything for my light" as my eyes flashed yellow briefly. They would smile carrying the items to the restroom to put them away. But now I had a new objective on my hands... FIND THIS GUY AND KILL HIM

Hey guys sorry for such a short chapter I really wanted to add to this but I kinda went through art block butttttt here's part 4 for yall 😁 who knows... maybe something may happen to Darrell next chapter MWAHAHA

[chasedeys]

https://www.tumblr.com/chasedeys/771700105318383616

So we have all clocked Joe being reserved when it comes to pda with Ja’Marr ??!

asakljfjkl i think it's like. less 'reserved when it comes to pda with ja'marr' and more of like. 'shy as all hell when it comes to ja'marr'.

begging youuuu to see carmen's post and tags (and also mine lmaoooo) here adore it to bits.

no wait i don't actually know what you mean by 'reserved when it comes to pda' because when you say it like that i take it to mean like. they're already together and joe doesn't really want to show to the world that he's close to ja'marr. that he can be really fucking tactile and clingy with ja'marr. because he's reserved when it comes to his personal stuff. which sure! totally understand this!

but i interpret the entire thing to be like this. they aren't together yet and joe is incredibly.....shy (?) with touching even the bare minimum of skin with ja'marr. six years and the pinky shake is still like a breath of fresh air for him. keeps reaching out first to do it with ja'marr!! every time!!! this man is incredibly sure with everything he does no doubt about it! but with ja'marr he's also sooo uppity and clumsy and awkward it's so endearing!!

joe is reallllllly really tactile as shit with everyone. he lives for skin to skin contact he loves that shit to death if he doesn't show affection to anyone by touching their shoulders knocking his head to theirs or fist-bumping or (especially with tee god this is so important to me too) nuzzling the side of their neck he might actually wilt and collapse into a puddle and like. die. no joke.

and ja'marr is no exception! in fact ja'marr especially!! loveeee writing how joe just. wraps around ja'marr. folds into him. early morning collapses into him and sniffs at his neck and head. sitting together on a couch and there's all that space but they sit on a single spot together (hard knocks titans ep....). reaching out to tuck a finger into ja'marr's belt loops and tugging on it so ja'marr stumbles into him. pinky shake but he doesn't let go and instead pulls on it so ja'marr falls into him. but like. these are whole other examples of a whole other thing sorry ANYWAYS.

joe still shows affection to ja'marr! all the pinky shakes. fist bumps. out of mind helmet slamming bunny hopping touchdown celebrations. shoulder grabbing. saints interview, mid-game calling for attention so many clips of this i'm not kidding. punches his chest telling him good job. kc game shove lol. ufc matches. donut incident. that cowboys tucking into his chest teasing him truly gem of a moment. oh that post-titans game walking together to the bus too actually i don't know why that's such a soft moment to me. and like other examples of just being unable to really look at ja'marr in the faceee, just from the corner of his eyes like that titans mic'ed up moment teasing his ass god what a moment that was. he's soooo shy and abashed with ja'marr! like a schoolboy with a crush! doesn't know what to do! holds himself back! tries to put himself forward but freezes up too easily!!!

so really it's less 'unwilling to show pda' and more like. not wholly able to? like he wants to but something is holding him back and that something is his big fat fucking crush on a boy. if he touches that boy he might combust into a cloud of mushroom and everyone will know and see and he will be perceived, including by the boy he loves. and wow he can't have that.

[scarletwinterxx]

your beginning and middle and end - mark lee imagine

hello🥺 sooo this one is a bit longer than my usual posts. think of it as a valentine special. i loved writing this one, i hope you like it too🤍

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

FEBRUARY 09, 10AM

"That's the fourth date you declined, girl valentines is around the corner" Yun-jin tells you the moment the other guy walked away

"Genuine question, do I need a guy to celebrate it or do I even need to celebrate it?"

"If Valentines has a version of the grinch it would be you"

You laugh at her statement, reading over the small note that was given to you along with a single rose. It was cute, you appreciate the thought but you really didn't want to go out with the dude. You'd rather let them down now than pretend to have fun during a date.

"It's just not my thing" you tell her

"Then what's your thing? Tell me and I will personally look for him"

Looks like luck is on your side because you spot the big clock behind her, your next class about to start.

"Once I know, I'll tell you. I'm gonna be late. Bye" you gather your stuff and rushed out the hall, you can hear her protests making you laugh on your way out.

When you got to your next class, the other students are just arriving. A lot of vacant seats, you choose the one in the middle. You get your notes and laptop out to skim over your notes from the last session.

"Another one?" you hear someone say from behind you making you look up

"Yep, want to read it?" you chuckle, passing the rose over to Mark.

Mark Lee, the boy you sit next to class with. You see him enough around campus to get acquainted. He's friendly, known by many, a poet by heart. And he's also well aware of the failed confessions to you.

The first time you brought a flower to class he didn't say anything, the second time he thought it was from the same person but then the third time it happened right in front of him. He witnessed how you gently turned down the poor lad who was asking you out after handing you a rose.

Mark takes his usual seat beside you before reading the note

"You and Me, on v? huh like Valentines?" he laughs, holding the little card in his hand

"I'd give it a 4 out of 10"

"Ouch, so the lowest one then. I'd say my favorite is still the one about cats" he tells you, passing the rose back to you

Do you like cats? Because I’d like you to take meowt

You remember that one too. You thought it was cringey, but Mark smiled when he read it. You even let him keep the card.

"Do you still have it?" you ask "The card? Oh yea, I drew like little cats all over it. I'm sure it's somewhere in my bag"

"Why? Planning to use it on someone?"

"Yeah right, I think I'd have a bit more game than that" he jokes

"Ha, we'll see about that" you snorted. Missing the way Mark is looking at you with small grin on his face. Trying to be as inconspicuous as he could be.

The two of you might be on good terms but he wouldn't put it past you to reject him too. Since he got to know you, one thing he learned about you is that you're always so sure of yourself. To you, no is a full sentence. You like what you like and say no to what you don't. You're unapologetically you and he likes that.

He's not sure yet whether he likes you or likes you.

"Earth to Mark?" you wave your hand in front of his face, making him break out of his thoughts

"Lost you there, where'd you go" you joke

"Was just thinking about this paper I have due on Tuesday" he says, it's not a total lie. He does have a paper he needs to finish before Valentines day.

"Need help? I have a few works to catch up on too"

"You don't have plans?" he asks, it's like asking if you have a date on Valentines without asking if you have a date on Valentines day.

"Not really no, and if I'm being honest I heard this guy planning to ask about dinner and I'd rather not..."

"Am I... the getaway car?" You chuckle at his question

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but if I could avoid it I would. So library or the cafe near campus?"

He looks at you like he's weighing his options, playfully hitting him on the arm making the guy laugh "Cafe it is, I'll see you there?" he says

"It's a date" you grin at him

FEBRUARY 12, 11AM

"It's not"

"You said she said it was" Jungwoo says, looking at Mark who is currently trying to find something to wear. After that little moment with you, Mark made sure to clear up his schedule for that day. Ofcourse Jungwoo being the nosy bestfriend didn't let it pass without making Mark tell the whole story.

"Also if this wasn't a date, why are you freaking out about what to wear? You're just going to study, are you going to study her?"

Mark throws the hoodie at Jungwoo's face before looking through his closet again, "Maybe it was just a slip of tongue. It's Y/N, she rejects everyone who asks her out" Mark says while his head is buried deep in his closet

Jungwoo rolls his eyes at his bestfriend, Mark swears he doesn't like you like that and yet here he is. He only met you a couple of time, Mark introduced you before when he went to give Mark a book he forgot to bring.

"I can think of something else you want her tongue to slip in" he mumbles, "Shut up, don't talk about her like that" Mark stands up straight, looking at the other guy. Jungwoo holds his hands up, "Sorry"

Mark gives him another glare before getting a hoodie inside his closet, "Whatever, I'll just wear this. Should I bring an extra one just in case?"

"Just in case what? You spill something?" Jungwoo jokes

In case she gets cold, Mark thinks to himself.

"Just cause" Mark grumbles, walking back to his closet to get another hoodie then stuffing it inside his backpack.

"You're going to be late, go have fun at your not a date date"

About an hour after that, Mark is waiting for you at the cafe. He got there first and sent you a quick text. After a few minutes, the door chimed making Mark look up.

And that's when you walk in, a bouquet of blue tulips in your grasp. You look around, quickly spotting Mark. You make your way towards him, Mark stands up to pull the chair out for you. Saying a quick thank you then you set your stuff down.

"Sorry I'm late"

"Nah, I'm just early" he tells you, "You uh the guy caught you?" he jokes, pointing at flowers

"Oh these? No, I got them actually like I bought it this morning. Yun-jin forgot to buy milk so I had to go out this morning then I saw these. Here" then you're handing the flowers over to him

When you notice the confused look on his face, you giggle. This made Mark look more confused at what's happening, "What? No one ever gave you flowers?" you joke

"No, it's suppose to be the other way 'round?" he asks but accepts it nonetheless

You shrug, getting your stuff out

"I don't like flowers, main reason why I always say no to those dudes. I appreciate the effort, I do but it's not my style. But I remember you said these are your favorite during our class introductions, so I got them for you" you smile at him, he smiles back.

"Thanks, no like really thank you" he says, this made you chuckle finding the situation cute.

"Okay, back to business. I do have like three agendas to finish today" you tell him, gesturing at the small stack of papers on the table

"I'll buy you a chocolate cupcake if you finish it all" he offers, your face lighting up at the mention of the sweet treat. Mark also remembers something about you during that class intro.

Actually he remembers everything about you and that day. The professor asked everyone to say their name along with two random facts about themselves.

"Hi everyone my name is Y/N, I love chocolate cupcakes and I can recite the graduation speech from Twilight"

That earned a few laughs from the class, and from him. You really did leave an impression on him. As days, weeks and months passed by the two of you got acquainted.

If someone asks (mainly Jungwoo) Mark when was the exact moment he felt different about you, he can't pinpoint the exact moment. It just sort of happened for him. Maybe from all the small gestures you unknowingly do, or how it's easy to talk to you. You just get him.

"Can you make it two?" tilting your head to the side for effect, making Mark laugh and nod his head "You got it"

A few hours later, and a few cups of coffee the two of you finally finish. Mark actually finished his paper an hour ago but you weren't done with the last module you had to do,

"Are you done? Am I making you wait?" you ask, noticing he stopped doing anything and was just looking at you

"Huh? Oh uh yea, but don't worry about it. I can wait" he tells you with a smile

"You sure? I'm almost done"

"Don't rush it, I'll still buy you the cupcakes" he tells you, you shoot him a smile before going back to work. Meanwhile Mark goes to the front of the store to get you your cupcakes.

You didn't even notice he stood up, focusing on saving the file before sending the final file to your professor.

"And done! Mark?" you look up only to find the seat infront of you empty. You spot him over the counter, choosing to wait and tidy your things in the mean time.

"Hey, you done?" he asks when he got back to your table

"Mhm, finally. Sorry for taking up your whole afternoon"

"No worries, I finished my work too and I enjoyed your company. And as promised, here's your cupcakes" Mark then opens the box, he might as well presented you with a pot of gold with the way you're grinning from ear to ear. Your joy radiating, making him smile too.

"For me?" you asked, he nods his head

"These are the chocolate ones, I got two. The others are their best sellers, then this one I just thought you might like" he points at the cupcake with heart sprinkles on it.

You laugh, getting the box from him "Okay fine, I believe you. You definitely how to make a girl say yes"

He shakes his head, suddenly feeling shy "Believe me I'm not an expert when it comes to girls" he mumbles

"No, but you got this type of vibe about you you know" you tell him, getting one cupcake from the box

"What vibe?"

"You know like someone could've been in love with you for ten years without you knowing, a classic case of unrequited love but not in a mean way you just don't really know. It's the way you see the world, it's always nice, forgiving, full of chances. You see meaning even in little things. You got this boyish charm about you, the kind that girls would pick over their fictional boyfriends. You're better than any guy written by anyone" you tell him not noticing the way he's just staring at you

"I follow you on your socials, it's cute when you take pictures of the moon or the sky. Makes me remember to take a breath and be in the moment every once in a while"

He don't say anything, still processing what you said. He has never heard himself be described that way, atleast not to his face but he doubts anyone can be as eloquent as you.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally finds his voice, you nod at him

"Why do you say no to all the boys who ask you out? besides the cringey one liners and flowers"

You chuckle, "Because I know me. All of them would've just ended one way or another. I know what I want, what I like. I like a guy I can have an actual conversation with from philosophical point of views to something so random. Someone that makes it feel easy to talk and listen to"

"Do you know how hard it is to control my expression when I'm in public? Yun-jin said my face is too judgy" you jokingly add "I'm an open book if you know how to read it exactly, if that makes sense"

"No, I totally get it. You're not complicated or hard to get, they just don't know how to. You deserve more effort than that" he tells you

"See, that's what I'm talking about. If you keep on doing that I'm gonna be the one asking you out" you tease him, the guy across you laughing. Trying to hide his blushing cheeks and fluttering heart.

The two of you talked some more before he offered to walk you home. It's almost sunset when Mark got back to his place,

"And he's back, how was the date?" Jungwoo shouts from somewhere inside. Mark spots him lounging on the couch, taking a seat beside him with the bouquet of flowers on his lap

"You got rejected too?" Jungwoo asks and Mark just shakes head

"Did you forget to give it? Got too shy? I'm pretty sure you're suppose to give it to the girl not take it back home"

"I didn't get it, I mean I got it but I got it from her. She bought me these" Mark clarifies, taking the bouquet to look at it again,

Jungwoo looks back and forth between Mark and the flowers, "Let me get this straight, the girl whose notorious for turning down guys who gives her flowers gave you flowers on your not a date date?"

Mark just stares back at his bestfriend because honestly it doesn't make sense to him too.

"Homegirl got more game than you" Jungwoo says with a chuckle

"She said she remembered I said these were my favorite. I mentioned it once during freshmen orientation week and she remembered"

"Oh my god, he's in love" Jungwoo laughs

"And you know, I gave her cupcakes and she got so happy I actually thought about signing up for baking classes" Mark grumbles, setting the flowers on the coffee table before taking a thrown pillow to bury his face in.

Jungwoo watches his bestfriend realized what he's known for a while now. Mark likes you. He just never said it. It's Mark. He thinks everyone is nice, most time he overlooks the nice gestures of other girls to him thinking it's normal when in reality they were trying to get his attention.

"Oh. This must be serious then. You don't even know how to cook"

"Yeah I know! Like I know I like her, I didn't know I like her." it felt surreal finally admitting it out loud.

"So you do like her? like like her"

"I think?"

"It's a yes or no"

"No, I don't"

"You got him flowers"

Meanwhile back at your dorm, Yun-jin is also interrogating you. You just finished giving her a recap of your day, she was half listening half watching her show when you suddenly mentioned you got flowers for Mark

"Just because I got him flowers don't mean I like him, I just remembered it was his favorite" you shrug, trying to not make a big deal out of it.

"What's my favorite flower?" she asks, you blink back at her coming up with a blank answer

"See! Oh my gosh, my baby girl is growing up" she dramatically hugs you

"Was that weird? That I gave him flowers?"

"No, it's the 21st century. Guys can get flowers too"

"He got me cupcakes too" you mumble, looking at the box on the table.

Yun-jin watches you, smiling to herself. She's with you twenty four seven and she's never seen you like this. There are a few times she's seen you on campus with Mark, you always smile whenever he's around. Choosing not to push further, she gives the topic a rest and changing it to something else

"So what are you doing for valentines? because if you're free I know this dude who's free also-" "Actually Mark and I are hanging out again" you cut her off

"You're spending valentines with Mark?"

"Yea, so uhm actually I'm gonna call it a night. I have classes in the morning, we're meeting again around lunch. Night" then you're making a beeline towards your bedroom.

FEBRUARY 14, 10AM

Come Valentines day. Yun-jin thinks you're out with Mark while the boy is completely unaware he's being mentioned.

Choosing a place you know Yun-jin won't find you, you stayed at the farthest lounge area after class. Most students won't even walk all the way here since it's a long way going back and forth.

Finding a spot to sit on, you spot someone sitting alone on one the benches

"Mark?"

The boy looks up, immediately smiling when he sees it's you

"Hey, you. What are you doing here?" he asks, getting his stuff from the seat beside him to make room for you. Putting your stuff on the table before taking the seat beside him

"I just finished for the day, and currently hiding from Yun-jin"

He chuckles, "Why?"

"She's trying to set me up with a blind date so I pretended I had plans" leaving out the part he was mentioned

"You don't have plans?" he asks, giving himself a pat on the back for not sounding too nervous

You shake your head, "I have something to say though, I might have told her I had plans... with you"

Mark just looks at you, feeling shy under his gaze you look away.

"With me?"

"Yea, sorry. You don't have to stay though if you have plans don't worry about it. Go enjoy your valentines day" you told him a bit too energetic than you intended.

Then he smiles, Mark smiles at you like he's keeping a secret he can't wait to tell.

"What?"

"I don't have plans, I was going to ask if you had plans yesterday but I didn't want to overstep"

"What do you mean? You're just asking" you smile back at him, "Did you think I was going to say no like always? Oh my gosh I swear I'm not as heartless. I wasn't-"

"No no no, of course I didn't think that. I mean I don't think you're heartless" he pauses to collect his thought because right now words are flying out faster than he can think of them.

And if he got one chance at this, he'll make sure to do it right the first time.

Then you start speaking again, surprising Mark once again with your words

"Yun-jin said I smile a lot when I'm with you, now that I think about it I think I do. It's just you're easy to be with, and I feel relaxed like I can talk to you about anything and you listen. It's also so fun to listen to your stories, especially when you get this animated look on your face. And when you laugh before you can even say the joke. Am I rambling, sorry I'm rambling"

He takes your hand, holding it in his. Testing the waters to see how you'll react. When you don't pull away, he gets a card out from his notebook. Then he hands it over to you,

Today we are obliged to be romantic And think of yet another Valentine. We know the rules, and we are both pedantic. Today’s the day we have to be romantic. Our love is old and sure, not new and frantic. You know I’m yours, and I know you are mine. And saying that has made me feel romantic, My dearest love, my darling valentine.

You read the note carefully, a smile slowly forming on your face while Mark watches you. When the thinks you finish it, he speaks up

"I read that, and I thought about you. You're worth more than a one liner, more than a single flower. You deserve poems to be written about you, gardens to walk through with the prettiest flowers"

You playfully hit him, reading the card again before putting it in your bag for safe keeping

"I love it, thank you. Now I feel bad I got you nothing"

"It's okay, I didn't even know I was going to give it to you. I was ready to just hide it in my bag for the rest of time" he admits

"Why? It's so nice though"

"Yea but I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable"

"I appreciate it really. Out of all the notes I received, I'll keep this one"

At that he smiles.

Like how the story began, with one liner notes and a single flower, who knew you'd find a friend and now something more. Mark is someone you didn't expect you'd have something romantic with especially since you're not really looking for it but it makes sense that you'd end up with him. He makes your days brighter, it's like he bring everything that is good into your world.

When you said he's the kind of guy who beats every fictional character, it's true because he gave you something better than a fairytale; a reality worth living in.

And yes spoiler, you do end up with him. The story ends with you and him. Spending all of your valentines together.

end.

[currentfandomkick]

So. Back after getting sick and mostly recovered, and able to write again. This one has been editted a few times, and yes the visit continues to next part. Skulker narrates again as Sampson is difficult to write—yes she’s getting more narration at somepoint i hope, but our fave gorilla is not cooperating, and Danny is not awake.

Masterlist Here

Enjoy the contained(?) chaos.

Danny’s awful hospital visit pt 1

Danny was tired. So, so tired. But he had to patrol. Taco’s antics didnt stop his other rogues from existing or causing problems. But whatever power that be who chose mercy? He was sooo making fudge for tomorrow, and setting up an altar.

All hail ‘no one else on patrol’ god(s). May their pillows be their preferred temperature at all times, their food just right and the ambiance absolute. Or whatever.

That pull was back, the one he always got by the portal and let it lead him home.

He barely clocked the heat from the water or pressure change. Just bounced a bit before going to Sleep Spot and curling up.

Some Asshole grabbed him and he bit them. Not hard enough to take off a limb, sadly. He was too tired for that.

Then he was in Warm Arms like Dad, but Dad isnt purple…

Whatever, Nocturne take the wheel. he’s sleepy

There was some jostling, but nothing he couldn’t sleep through.

Then he was being pulled. And there was screaming and yelling but he didn’t understand ANYTHING.

His head hurt. His tail hurthurt.

His eyes got too hot in Sampson’s arms and he Wailed.

The yelling stopped and he clung to Not Dad But Close Enough.

There were too many people in there.

But they stopped making sounds. He curled back into Not Dad’s arms and went back to sleep as Safe Soft was talking somewhere and would keep him safesafesafe

—-

Skulker was true to his word, and recruited Ember, Kitty and Johnny 13 in distracting the ectopus assaulting the Whelp.

Seeing Ember’s Bandmates throwing ectoblasts outside of trickshots and dares was an oddity. And a good reminder of why one does not enrage a performer: their fans and allies come in droves of untrained and un-to-semi-tapped potential destruction.

Skulker was preoccupied with keeping Sampson invisible in the Aquarium to observe their skills firsthand, despite requesting their aide.

The Whelp floated in, shrunk to a small, finned creature who’s tail was far too fancy for his liking as he flopped into the water.

One of the nursing sharks swam with him and her calf, nudging him to something Skulker didn’t see.

He moved to stop them.

Sampson snarled and hit her chest. She became especially loud he moved to grab the brat, and it was a miracle the Whelp didn’t hear them.

He tried to glare back at her, only to get a face full of protectLOVEmineSoncherishSafesafesafe

Right…he had to wait for the mother to give the go ahead before nabbing the overgrown Newly Dead. Liminals.

The crashing and slips of tentacle from the far walls were far from comforting, but there wasn’t a ghost in existence dumb enough to test a parent regarding their young. Not that he’d come across and survived.

Sampson circled the tanks with low huffs as she inspected the one with the whelp hiding in the rock crevice she could not get into, given the who-knew-how-many-galleons tank and her inability to breathe underwater, unlike her fishy son.

Once Sampson deemed it ‘safe’; she moved to the closest part of the tanks and banged her chest until her fist flew through it. She moved through the glass slowly compared to the Whelp, but she is still learning to use more than just her strength if he wasn’t mistaken. A few moments later she came out cradling she her sleeping son, mertail hanging limply and softly biting his forefins, despite her best efforts to move his teething elsewhere.

Ember’s guitar rocked the building as Skulker guided Sampson out and kept them invisible. The last thing the whelp needed was someone connecting Topo’s assaults with all of his identities and alter egos.

Skulker increasingly regretted not getting to mount this Taco on a hospital wall for the time being. Especially as the ectopus made another wild grab, only for shadow to phase through him and get hit with a falling beam that stuck.

Safekeeping the Whelp first, debate ending the ectopus later. Hunting a ghost that hasn’t even had their first shedding this viscously, to the point of soul regressions, was beyond poor taste… what are the chances the hospital would help him press charges in the Greater Courts over this? Low. Very low…

Kitty’s warcry brought him back to reality. Johnny and Shadow tailed Taco with Ember hot on his heels.

The sight soothed some of his wrath. The whelp is a bastard, but no new ghost deserves a third of what Taco is putting Phantom through, stressed to soul regression…

And the ectopus has the gaul to keep going.

Leading Sampson to the Whelp’s haunt wasn’t as difficult when she remembered to stay invisible. Key word: when.

The Whelp managing to turn them both intangible in his sleep was an unexpected boon, especially when passing a group of living teens.

The mention of the Whelp’s darker frightmate hunting down whatever killed Sampson and the ‘baby mer’ were not his problem.

Managing to get into the Whelp’s familial haunt was annoying as usual—but he is far better at dodging than the whelp and the amateur hunters who can’t even skin a Newly Dead.

Pathetic, but not unexpected from living non-liminals playing with the Realms.

Getting into the basement to the portal was rather simple given the whelp’s sister distracting her parents with some essay of hers. And the thumbs up she gave him…

He had a feeling for all she can’t get a ghost’s name right, she will be just as much of a problem once he gives the whelp his necessary skinning.

Carbon existences, he’d never understand them and their ‘physical needs’.

The portal felt odd with the Whelp. A deathwail and a choking sensation stuck itself to his real body, not his prosthetic.

He shook it off, only to see Sampson flying through walls in the Zone. That was a nightmare to wrangle and direct.

“Sampson no—that is not the way to the Healers! This way, follow me or so help me I will carry you to the hospital and let you explain the whelp’s condition!”

Sampson bared her teeth before acquiescing. forced the time being at least. Wandering off was expected, but unwelcome. After the diagnosis they could do that. Not before.

Who knows if she’ll wander into a portal with the whelp? And that would be as good as an ending sentence for those two.

Skulker almost cried when the hospital specializing in pre-shed ghostlings came into view, and understood the what was going on before he could try and explain.

“Nurse Practitioner Amira, another Unshed—mentioned Phantom may be forced to come here soon, i take it you are his Chosen Parent?”

“Not me,” Skulker threw his hands up. “This one, Sampson.”

Amira smiled a bit too sharply for a moment. “Ah. A liminal of another species, in charge of the unshed halfa… can she understand ghost speak?”

Sampson snarled in response, while rocking the Whelp.

“Understood. I can take the halfa into an examine room. Are you available to translate as needed? Liminals are more difficult to understand.”

Sampson glared at him.

He caved. “I am available for this visit, future ones uncertain. I do have a haunt to manage and others i need to tend to, besides the whelp.”

Masterlist here

Tags: @skulld3mort-1fan @theizzyof3malec3 @brattysleepyreader @sebas-nights @elidaweirdotaku0520 @bianca-hooks123 @the-autistic-spider @laurcad123 @just-lurking-here-dont-mind-meh @atinygracie @stars-obsession-pit @wanderwithwings @aibhilin-atibeka @lovelesslittleloser @shadowkatt99 @pastelpigeonparadise

If someone can tag @just-lurking-here-dont-mind-meh, @atinygracie and @wanderwithwings thanks 🙏 for some reason some usernames refuse to tag on my end/let me confirm the tag.

[blood-ology]

I'm only 3/4 of the way through it, but so far it's amazingly, wonderfully insane that Victor/Victoria has aged sooo beautifully as an lgbt+ movie? Like oh my godddd there are so many things that I'm losing my shit over here (contains spoilers !) :

Victoria coming out of Toddy's closet wearing that one guy's clothes and then clocking and kicking his ass

Them addressing certain straight men's fear and insecurity around being attracted to drag queens (and inadvertently, trans women)- and the insecurity in their masculinity/the need to prove that they're (straight/masculine/cis) men

Norma having it revealed to her that Victoria's a man and immediately jumping into saying "well, a woman can always tell- no matter hormone shots, etc. there's some things that can't be hidden" (she's literally flat out making shit up cuz that aint the case lmfaoo) I love how in the context of now this feels like they're actively dunking on transphobes

Toddy saying "You know, I think the right woman could reform you, too." right back at Norma when she says it to him

Toddy and Victoria's relationship <33

It's a low asf bar now but an insanely high bar for the time: no transphobic slurs or comments so far???!! Even media from the 2000s often fail this test

Victoria absolutely owning King Marchand every time he's homophobic or obvious about his fragile masculinity :)

Deliberate misgendering framed negatively in a context without trans people or transphobic implications... idk I just think it's neat

Being chill about str8 drag lets fucking go

Textual proof that Julie Andrews is a gay icon and also SO fucking hot in drag

Gay man + straight woman friendship/solidarity in a way that isn't annoying or too stereotypical

The way that Victoria's relationship with both Toddy and King Marchand almost comes off as homoerotic cuz of the drag (wrote this before I got to the part where they were perceived as a gay couple lol)

Honestly you could give Victoria almost any gender/sexuality and this movie would still be a massive slay

"I don't care if you are a man" *kisses her* "I'm not a man" "I still don't care" *they kiss again*

Victoria clocking that one guy multiple times

People thinking King Marchand is gay ("so there was this polish fairy..." and "if a guy like you has the guts to admit he's gay... so can I")

"I said you can stop pretending" "I don't think I want to"

"You know a lot of guys, you'd be surprised [how many of them are gay]."

The convo about men and women not having any particular gendered way of acting, and some women having adams apples ILY <3

That asshole who's trying spy on Victoria getting his umbrella absolutely nuked by the lightning lmaoo

[eddiesxangel]

Hellooo today is my birthday, sooo since im alone and nobody came to wish me a happy birthday,cab you do one where Eddie is the only one that remembers reader birthday and decides to reunite the whole Hellfire club to give a party that reader (us) deserve 🌹🌹🥳😘🥰

OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART 🩷🫂 ( I hope I can help with the birthday blues 🥺) my birthday is also this month, Gemini twin! ♊️ 👯‍♀️

Sometimes, you dread today because the impending disappointment is always there... Did you expect everyone to wish you a happy birthday? No. But you still want at least one person to acknowledge your day, especially your best friend.

Yet, here we are, 3:00pm and still not a call or mention of anything remotely birthday related.

You impatiently watched the clock that hung on the wall of Family Video tick, watching the minutes pass so slowly. It was dead, but what did you expect? It's three in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and not many people come in on weekdays to be in with... Until you see a familiar metalhead bopping past the large window and through the door, making his grand entrance.

"Sorry, I'm late, sweetheart." He schmoozed as we walked towards you at the checkout counter.

"It only took you long enough," you rolled your eyes, suppressing the feeling of our heart fluttering; maybe he remembered after all.

"Come on, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't at least apologize for returning this fantastic movie six days late?" he smirked as he leaned an elbow on the counter.

There it was, the inevitable disappointment. He had forgotten.

With a heavy sigh, you take the slasher film from his grasp and think for a split second about not waving the late fee.

"This was supposed to be in on May 30th... It's now the fifth." You deadpan, hoping maybe something clicks.

"I know that sweetheart, but now I have an excuse to see my best friend at work on her birthday." He smiles knowingly.

The breath you didn't know you were holding gets released, and you cannot help but smile.

"You didn't think I had forgotten?!" Eddie steps back dramatically while metaphorically clutching his pearls.

"Well, since you're the first one to acknowledge my birthday and it's..." you look at the clock you've been watching all shift. "3:49pm. Yea, I didn't think anyone would have remembered." You look down, playing with your nails.

"What do you mean the first to acknowledge your birthday?"

"Exactly that," you shrugged.

" You mean like no one has said happy birthday yet?" He raised a curious brow. " Not Dustin, Mike, Max, Erica?" He could go on bit you cut him off by shaking your head no.

"Well, I am sure glad I got to be the first." He smiles, and you can't help but smile back. Eddie has always been a good friend. Ever since you met in high school when you became a part of the Hellfire club, you've been inseparable ever since.

The back door opens, catching both your and Eddie's attention, and Steve walks out, chewing on a half-eaten sandwich.

"Sup, Munson," He mumbles.

"Come in to wish y/n here a Happy Birthday," he emphasized, and you could not help but roll your eyes.

"Today is your birthday?!" He almost choked on his food. " Why didn't you say something!?"

"It's not a big deal."

"It is! and it makes me look like a total ass."

"Steve, stop. You're not an ass... Doofus, maybe, but not an ass." You giggle.

"I'll give you that because it's your birthday. Happy Birthday"

"Thanks, Stevie"

"So, any big plans? He asks, looking at you, then to Eddie, then back at you.

"Umm, no, not really."

"Yes"

You and Eddie say in unison, and you look at your friend quizzically.

" Don't make any plans for Saturday night, okay?" he taps the counter before taking off.

"Okay? Bye?" You wave after him, confused as ever.

"He's so weird." Steve looks to you.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

*

The rest of the week was average and went by quickly. The only thing Eddie told you was that you were expected to come to his apartment at 7:30 p.m. Which you did.

You knocked on the door and heard Eddie shushing people from the other side. With a huge grin on his face, he leads you into the apartment, and then around the corner, you're ambushed by your friends yelling, "Surprise!"

"Oh my god, what is this?!" you smile, this was very unexpected. Everyone was in their old Hellfire shifts and stood around a table that had been set up for a game of DND with some gifts beside it on the floor.

"We are celebrating your birthday." Eddie nudges your shoulder.

Tears threaten to form as you take in the sweet gesture Eddie set up for you.

"You did this from me?" You try not to sniffle but fail.

"Of course he did!" Dustin pipes in.

"Happy Birthday," Mike smiles. and the rest follow suit.

"Please tell me you didn't get me presents." You notice the gift bags sitting beside the table.

"Of course we did! What kind of friends would we be?"

"One's who forgot her actual birthday until I reminded them," Eddie sneered.

"It 's okay, we are all here now together; thank you guys, this means the world." And it did. Nothing meant more to you than spending time with the people you loved, playing a game you all love, and having fun.

It had been so long since the last Hellfire meeting, and you were so happy they could all make time from their busy lives to spend it with you.

"Ok, let's eat and then play!" Eddie turns to the kitchen, and you follow.

"Thank you, Eddie. I don't know how else I can show you how grateful I am for you."

"No need to thank me, sweetheart. What are friends for?" He leans in and gives you a wet kiss on the cheek, making that the second time this week Eddie's made your heart flutter.

[somorrow]

An update: DO YOUR SAVING NOW, FRIENDS!

We are on schedule! Tomorrow evening, the changes to In Hell/TSP will be LIIIIIIVEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'll be making the changes to existing chapters throughout the day, so now is the time to download it. I wrote more than I thought I would... but that shouldn't be a surprise to anyone LOL Now, about my other fics: TFP/Flames is still undergoing changes, so for now, that one is safe! Because I still need to change things, the next chapter isn't ready. Within the next few weeks, I will be completely changing the Itachi-crush plotline and removing all references to the heir/heiress.

Reminder - that fic is a spin-off and has nothing to do with the true The Rinha Clan series. Venom will also undergo heavy changes after I finish with TFP/Flames, mostly in the beginning parts. I will be adding an OC character that will also show up during In Hell eventually. This rewrite is taking more time than I imagined. I've put my original project on hold for this, and to see the rewrite clock in at ~50k words for only the first half, I feel a bit conflicted. If I'd put this many words into my original work, (in addition to what I already have) I could be nearly halfway done with book one by now.

Nonetheless, I'm doing this because I love Naruto, and I hate to leave things poorly written and unfinished. Sooo here we are! Thanks to everyone for being patient, supportive, and understanding throughout this process! I will see you all tomorrow!