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sunboki · 4 months ago

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⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

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

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

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

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

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

PLAYLIST.

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

or alternatively :

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

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

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right.

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

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

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

And the harrowing silence.

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

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

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

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

He really is hopeless.

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

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

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

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

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

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

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

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

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

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

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

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

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

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

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

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

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

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

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh.

Of the few.

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

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

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

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

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently.

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

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

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

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

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

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

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

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

Capable, assured.

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

This was not what he expected.

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

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

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

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

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

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

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

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

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

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

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

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

And.. freaks out Minho in the process.

That isn’t new.

“Ugh…”

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

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

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

You.

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

Together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From then, a routine starts.

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

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

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

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

“Are you Spider-Man?”

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

Fu—ck.

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

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

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

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

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved.

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

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

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

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

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah.

A light at the end of the tunnel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby steps.

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

“Sure.”

Sure.

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

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

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

For the most part.

“Okay.”

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

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

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

Worth it.

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

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

A date a date a date a date.

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

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

No.

Enough.

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

He’ll take what he can get.

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

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right.

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

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

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

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

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his.

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

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

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

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

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

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

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

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

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

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

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

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

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

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

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

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

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

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

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

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

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

Moving on.

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

You.

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

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

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

Until he doesn’t.

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

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

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

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

Right.

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

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

Yikes, the voice crack.

“..Alright?”

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

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now?

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

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

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

Alive.

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

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

Slightly sweaty, but durable.

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

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

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

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

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

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

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

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

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

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

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

You heard that right, yes.

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

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?”

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was Han Jisung not enough?

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

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

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

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

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

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

Yeah. Not proud of that.

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

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

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

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

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

Ouch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

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

Oh.

Whoops.

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

“Ah, just a thought.”

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

“Wait- wait! Wait!”

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

“Please don’t take it off.”

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

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

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

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

Understandable.

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

Not the way you two do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

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

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

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

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

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

Liar, for a second time.

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, right side up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotta love his trusty alley.

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

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

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

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

Yep. It’s a great look.

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

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

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

Seems it sunk in.

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

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

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

“.. Butter chicken?”

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

“Yes, please.”

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

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

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

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

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

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without a chance of letting go.

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

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

Or so he thought.

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

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

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

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

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

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

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

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

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

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

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

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

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

Using my words against me.

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

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

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

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

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

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

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

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler.

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

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

You deserve the hero.

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

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

Is he that hero?

That night, he lets people down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

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

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

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

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

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

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

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

A sharp inhale.

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

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

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

“Look, I can-“

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

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

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

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

He’s just made you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath.

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

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

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

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

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

High schoolers, to the core.

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

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

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

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

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

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

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

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

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you say something!”

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

“I was nervous, idiot!”

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

Couldn’t get more mature than that.

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

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

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

Fools.

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

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

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

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

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

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

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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konigbaby · 11 months ago

Text

König Imagine // MDNI 18+⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ nsfw

warnings : smut, foreplay, dirty talk, dark themes, recieving praise, oral (f + m receiving), rough sex, gentle aftercare

♡ König wants to watch you melt into a dirty fucking mess at his touch, see your pretty lil eyes roll back into your head while he slips his thick fingers inside you and teases your sweet spot slowly and tenderly. "Mmm, you like that my schatz? So fuckin' wet and I've barely touched you." You wriggle your hips, rolling yourself against his fingers. "I want m-more, König." You cry out. He smirks and tilts his head, assessing you. "More, huh? You want me to fuck you? Ich möchte hören, wie Du darum bettelst." (Let me hear you beg for it) Moving his fingers faster, practiced and swift from pulling triggers. Pleasure heightening and back arching as he hits your g-spot over and over again, soaking his digits and you wetter than you've been in your life. "I want you inside me!" You beg. König takes your nipple into his mouth and laughs when you whimper. "You're making my cock hurt." He pulls his fingers out of you and licks your juices from them, then chuckles at your blushed embarrassment. You're so smitten with him and he can't deny how much he loves it. "Your pleasure is mine, liebling. I'm going to fuck you to pieces." His voice is deeper now, husky with lust and his thick, hardened cock stretching out the crotch of his pants. König trails sloppy kisses down your leg, then licks at your trembling inner thigh before sinking his tongue inside your dripping core to taste you fully. "Such a sweet fucking cunt."

♡ König has a massive cock and knows it. The first time you saw it you were afraid it would be too much, you were so inexperienced and tight. He noticed your hushed astonishment and smirked with pride, grabbing your hand to guide it to his throbbing dick. You wrap your fingers around its silky skin and marbled veins and feel his warmth, your digits hardly touching around his girth. "You can take it, baby." He groans at your touch, and you bite your lip and stroke him just to elicit a second heavenly sound from him. "Ahhhh fuck, my schatz. Yeah, just like that." His praise makes you bolder, and you surprise the both of you by leaning in and taking his dick into your mouth, the hardness of his arousal lighting a fire between your legs. "Such a good fuckin' slut for me." He moans, gripping your hair. Precum drips from his soft pink tip as you twirl your tongue around his cock head. You look up into his dark eyes and meet his gaze, already peering down at you through his mask. "You're all mine." König growls, voice hoarse with pleasure as you deepthroat him. "I'm gonna ruin you."

♡ König refuses to cum until you do. Your loud, high moaning rings throughout the room, bed creaking and shuddering as he fills you up completely and utterly, cock stretching your tight cunt open, sticky juices dripping from you and onto the mattress. "Fuck, König!" You scream, ruined by him and more cockdrunk with every thrust. "You look so pretty when I'm inside you, my liebling." He groans, moving his dick inside you harder and moaning at your wet warmth. His tongue trails down your neck while his hands find your breasts and tease your perky pink nipples, and that pushes you over the edge. "I–i'm c-cumming König!!!" You writhe against him and moan into his shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure, fingers gripping his massive biceps like a lifeline. König's eyes roll back into his head and his deep moans echo as he thrusts into you harder than ever before, losing control as he teeters over the edge of his own orgasm, filling your pussy up with spurts of white hot cum. "Fuck, such a dirty fuckin' girl for me." König groans as you ride out your high on his cock. "Milking me fuckin' dry."

♡ König cleans you both up with a damp washcloth after and holds your trembling body in his big arms while trailing kisses all over your face. He looks down at your little smile nervously and pinches your nose with a grin of his own. "Did I hurt you, liebling?" König asks you, concern in his eyes as he rubs your back gently. You melt into the heat of his muscled, scarred body and plant a kiss onto his chest, shaking your head. "No." You giggle and trail your hand down your abdomen, then watch his eyes widen with lust as you begin to touch yourself, fingers tracing your swollen clit. König laughs deeply and places his huge hand on top of yours, his dick hardening again. He leans down to kiss your pretty mouth and you moan softly against his lips, all embarrassment gone. "P-please König." You cry out, and he groans with need and bites your lip. "I-I want you inside me again."

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gf2bellamy · 4 months ago

Note

Oh my god, can I just say that I absolutely love your newlyweds fic!

Can I please request a spin on that where Spencer and fem!bau!reader are still in the pining/completely and utterly smitten stage of their crushes on each other and need to go undercover as a married couple to catch the unsub?

And Spencer just completely bluescreens/shuts down/gets his IQ slashed to 20 when he first hears reader refer to him as his husband (while internally he's just giggling like crazy) and then reader is the one that gets completely flustered when he calls her his wife and the two of them are just happily dreamily smiling at each other as if a psychotic serial killer is not within three feet of them.

married — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: they interact with the unsub, mention of the unsub's victims / motive , a/n: hi hi hi ! i hope you like this <3 i literally had so much fun writing this

“You okay?” you asked softly, stopping Spencer with a gentle touch on his arm.

The two of you were standing in front of a modern art exhibition building. Hotch had assigned you both to go undercover, posing as a married couple to lure out the unsub. An artist with a vendetta against happy couples.

It was a solid plan, but Spencer had been acting… off. More than usual, anyway.

He hesitated, his eyes darting away from yours as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Yeah, I just—” His voice trailed off, and he glanced over your shoulder, avoiding your gaze. You noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, a telltale sign that he was nervous.

But why? This wasn’t his first undercover assignment, and he’d handled far more stressful situations.

You tilted your head, stepping slightly into his line of sight to catch his attention. “Hey,” you said gently, your voice warm and reassuring. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” You flashed him a smile, hoping to ease the tension. “You can tell me about all the art styles. Didn’t you once tell me about surrealism?”

At that, Spencer’s eyes flicked back to yours, a spark of interest lighting up his face.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Salvador Dalí, René Magritte… their work challenges the perception of reality. It’s fascinating, really.”

You grinned, encouraged by his response. “Well, you can tell me all about that inside,” you said, gesturing toward the entrance of the exhibition. “I’m counting on you to be my personal art historian tonight.”

Spencer’s lips twitched into a small smile, but you could still see the faint unease in his eyes. You tried to ignore the way your own heart was racing, the way your stomach fluttered every time he looked at you.

When Hotch had assigned you this mission, you’d nearly fallen out of your chair. JJ had noticed, of course, and her knowing giggles hadn’t helped. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on your feelings.

You had a job to do, even if that job involved pretending to be married to the man you’d been quietly crushing on for months. A man who had no idea how you felt. You held out your hand to him, your heart pounding in your chest. It was a bold move, but you told yourself it was necessary for the case.

You had to act like you were married, right? Holding hands was part of the job. At least, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you tried to ignore the way your pulse raced at the thought of touching him.

Spencer looked down at your hand, then back up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His hand was warm, his grip gentle, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. You tried to ignore the way your cheeks heated, focusing instead on the mission.

“Ready?” you asked, squeezing his hand lightly.

Spencer nodded, his smile a little more genuine now. “Ready.”

The two of you walked into the exhibition hall, hand in hand, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the polished floors.

“Which one is his?” you mumbled, leaning slightly closer to Spencer so only he could hear you. Your breath brushed against his ear, and you didn’t miss the way he stiffened for a moment, a faint shiver running through him. He cleared his throat, trying to focus, and glanced around the room.

“Straight forward and then on the right,” he replied, his voice low.

His thumb instinctively brushed over your knuckles, a small, unconscious gesture that made your heart skip a beat. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. This was supposed to be a mission, but it was getting harder and harder to separate the act from the way you really felt.

“Okay, so let’s start here and work our way to the front,” you said, pointing to a painting nearby.

You couldn’t rush straight to the unsub’s work. That would look suspicious.

Instead, you had to play the part of a curious couple, taking your time to appreciate the art. Spencer nodded, his eyes following your gesture, and the two of you stopped in front of the first painting.

It was a colorful abstract piece, a swirl of blues and greens that seemed to dance across the canvas. “That’s pretty,” you said, tilting your head as you studied it. You weren’t just saying it to keep up the act; you genuinely found it beautiful. But when you glanced at Spencer, you noticed he wasn’t looking at the painting. His gaze was distant, his mind clearly somewhere else.

Spencer was barely focused on the artwork. How could he be, when you were standing so close to him, your hand warm in his? He could feel the softness of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly against his own. It was distracting in the best possible way, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to hold your hand like this outside of a mission.

To hold your hand forever.

“Oh, yeah, it’s pretty,” he mumbled finally, realizing you were waiting for him to say something. His voice was soft, almost absentminded, and you couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness.

“Spence,” you said gently, tugging his hand slightly to bring him back to the present. You could tell he was lost in his own thoughts, and you wanted to pull him out of it. “What do you think about it?” you asked, your tone encouraging.

You were practically giving him permission to ramble, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Spencer’s eyes lit up at your question, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He loved the way you always asked for his opinion, the way you genuinely seemed to care about what he had to say. Most people tuned him out when he started talking about things he was passionate about, but not you.

You listened. You always listened.

“Well,” he began, his voice gaining confidence as he turned back to the painting. “The use of color here is really interesting. The artist is playing with contrast—see how the cool tones of the blue and green are balanced by the warmer accents here and here?” He pointed to specific areas of the canvas, his words flowing easily now.

You watched him as he spoke, a soft smile playing on your lips.

And as the two of you moved through the exhibition, discussing almost every painting in detail, you found yourself wishing this moment could last forever.

But soon enough, the two of you had talked your way through nearly every piece of art in the room, and you were inching closer to the unsub’s painting.

Most of the artists stood proudly beside their work, ready to discuss their creations with curious visitors, and the unsub was no exception.

He stood there, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room with an analytical gaze.

He seemed to be searching for something or someone.

You and Spencer exchanged a quick glance as you both spotted him. The unsub’s painting was just ahead, a dark, brooding piece filled with jagged lines and splashes of red.

It was unsettling, to say the least. You and Spencer stepped closer. You pretended to study the painting, your hand still firmly clasped in Spencer’s, while keeping the unsub in your peripheral vision.

The unsub’s eyes locked onto you almost immediately, and you could see the flicker of satisfaction in his expression. He had found what he was looking for.

A happy couple, just like the others he had targeted.

Spencer must have noticed it too because his grip on your hand tightened slightly.

Spencer leaned down, his lips brushing close to your ear as he whispered, “You okay?” His breath was warm against your skin, and you had to close your eyes for a second to steady yourself. His voice, so soft and concerned, sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your heart race in response.

“Yeah,” you nodded, turning your head slightly to look at him. His face was inches from yours, his hazel eyes searching yours.

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, and all you could see was him. His lips were so close, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to close the distance between you.

But before you could say anything, the moment was shattered. The unsub stepped closer.

You could feel Spencer tense beside you, his protective instincts kicking in as he subtly shifted his stance, positioning himself slightly in front of you. His grip on your hand tightened. But before either of you could say anything, the unsub broke the silence.

“Hello!” the unsub said in a cheery tone, his voice a stark contrast to the dark, brooding painting behind him. His smile was wide, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and you couldn’t shake the unease that settled in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied, turning to face him fully. You forced a polite smile, trying to ignore how queasy it made you feel to talk to a man like this, a man who had caused so much pain.

“I love your piece,” you said, gesturing toward the painting with your free hand. “Especially the red stripes in this corner. They add such a striking contrast.”

The unsub’s smile widened, and he nodded appreciatively. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes flicking down to your and Spencer’s interlocked hands.

His gaze lingered on the rings on your fingers.

Before you had left for the mission, Derek had handed you both simple silver bands, props to sell the married couple act. You remembered the way your heart had skipped a beat as you stared down at the ring, your fingers trembling slightly as you slid it onto your finger.

Spencer, standing next to you, had done the same, wiggling his ring finger slightly.

He hadn’t been able to suppress the big smile that spread across his face as he looked at you, and you’d felt your cheeks heat up at the sight.

Now, as the unsub’s eyes narrowed at the rings, you felt a fresh wave of nerves. Spencer was still silent beside you, undoubtedly profiling the unsub. You weren’t sure how to continue, so you took the lead, hoping to fill the awkward gap.

“My husband loves paintings,” you said, your voice natural despite the way your heart was racing. “He decided to bring me here on a date.” You paused, glancing up at Spencer with a soft smile, but the moment the word “husband” left your lips, Spencer’s brain, which was always working overtime, seemed to short-circuit.

He froze, his eyes widening slightly as he stared down at you. You could practically see the gears in his mind grinding to a halt. The red crept up his neck, spreading to his cheeks, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at how caught off guard he looked.

You looked up at him, your eyes slightly widening in a silent plea for him to snap out of it. When he didn’t, you quickly turned your attention back to the unsub, hoping to distract him from Spencer’s awkward silence.

“I think he made the right choice bringing me here,” you continued, your tone light and conversational. “I love your painting. It’s so… evocative. What was your inspiration?”

The unsub’s eyes lingered on you for a moment before he finally looked away, his gaze shifting back to the canvas behind him.

“Love and heartbreak,” he replied, his tone heavy with emotion. He stepped closer to the painting, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the frame as if caressing a memory. “They’re two sides of the same coin, aren’t they? You can’t have one without the other.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as the unsub’s words hung in the air. But before you could respond, you felt Spencer’s hand slowly untangle from yours.

Instead, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you gently into his side. His hand settled on your lower back and you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at the sudden closeness.

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly. He didn’t like how close the man was standing to you, and his protective instincts were kicking into overdrive.

You, on the other hand, were trying desperately to keep your heart from leaping out of your chest. The warmth of Spencer’s hand on your back, the way his body pressed lightly against yours.

It was all too much, and yet not enough at the same time.

The unsub continued to ramble about love and heartbreak, his voice growing more animated as he delved into the darker aspects of his inspiration.

But Spencer had finally decided it was time to step in. He had let you lead the conversation for long enough.

“It’s fascinating,” Spencer said, his voice calm as he interrupted the unsub’s monologue. “The way you’ve captured such complex emotions in a single piece. It’s… visceral.” He paused, his hand still resting on your lower back as he glanced down at you, his lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “My wife has always had an eye for art, but even I can appreciate the depth of your work.”

Your heart stuttered at the word wife, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. You had been the one to bring up the “husband” angle earlier, but hearing Spencer say it so casually, so naturally, was something else entirely.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and slightly dazed, and for a moment, you forgot where you were. The unsub, the mission, the danger. It all faded into the background as you stared at Spencer, your lips parting in surprise.

Spencer, for his part, seemed completely unfazed by your reaction. If anything, the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and you could have sworn his hand pressed just a little more firmly against your back.

He was enjoying this, enjoying the way you were flustered, the way your breath caught when he called you his wife. And despite the situation, despite the fact that a psychotic serial killer was standing mere feet away, you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

The unsub, oblivious to the silent exchange between you and Spencer, nodded enthusiastically at Spencer’s comment. “Exactly,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement. “That’s what I was going for—raw, unfiltered emotion. Love, heartbreak, betrayal… it’s all there, if you know how to look.”

The unsub beamed at the praise, clearly pleased with your reactions. But as he launched into another detailed explanation of his creative process, you found it increasingly difficult to focus. Spencer’s hand on your back, the way he kept glancing down at you with that soft, almost dreamy expression.

The conversation dragged on.

Spencer could tell that the two of you were done with the job here. He straightened up, his hand slipping from your back to take your hand again.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” he said, his tone polite as he addressed the unsub. “But we should probably get going. We have… dinner reservations.”

The unsub nodded, though his expression was slightly disappointed. “Of course,” he said. “Thank you for stopping by. It’s always nice to meet people who truly appreciate art.”

“Thank you,” you replied, forcing a smile as Spencer gently tugged you away.

You walked out of the art exhibit, Spencer’s hand still wrapped around yours.

“Do you think he bought it?” you murmured, casting a quick glance over your shoulder.

The sky had begun to darken. Right on schedule.

The plan had been for you to leave as the exhibit closed, ensuring that the unsub would mark you as his next target. Now, you and Spencer just had to make it to the car and drive to the safe house, where the team was waiting.

“I think so,” Spencer replied, though his voice was a little distant.

You both had the same thought running through your minds, but different words lingering there.

Husband. The word echoed in your head, refusing to fade. It had felt too easy, too natural, to call him that.

Wife. That was the word Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about. The way it had slipped from his lips so effortlessly, like it was something he had thought about before. Like it was something he had wanted.

Neither of you said anything as you reached the car. Spencer walked ahead, pulling the passenger door open for you. A small, old-fashioned gesture, but one that made your heart stutter nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you said softly, sliding into the seat.

He walked around to the driver’s side, settling in but he didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he sat still for a moment, hands gripping the wheel, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the windshield.

You turned to him, brows furrowed. “Spence?”

His grip on the wheel tightened briefly before he finally spoke, his voice softer than usual. “You called me your husband.”

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising to your face. “Well… yeah,” you said, attempting to keep your tone light. “That was kind of the whole point of the mission, remember? Happy couple and all that.”

Spencer let out a breath that was almost a laugh. He finally turned to look at you, and for once, you couldn’t decipher what was going on behind those warm, hazel eyes. “I know. It’s just… you said it so easily.”

You blinked. “Was I supposed to make it sound awkward?”

“No,” he said quickly. Then, after a beat, “It didn’t sound awkward at all. That’s what’s messing with me.”

The car felt smaller suddenly. Your heart was pounding again, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the way he was looking at you or the fact that he hadn’t even tried to start the car yet.

Spencer's fingers were still tapping anxiously against the wheel. He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether or not to continue, but then he spoke again, voice quieter this time. “I liked it.”

Your breath caught.

You weren’t sure if he meant the act, the mission, or something more. And you weren’t sure if you had the courage to ask.

Before you could say anything, Spencer finally started the car, the engine humming to life and breaking the moment like shattering glass. He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly on the road as he pulled away from the curb. “We should get to the house. The team’s probably waiting.”

You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to look out the window, even though your mind was still spinning.

But one thought lingered, circling back over and over.

Spencer liked it.

And so did you.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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whimsydoe · 1 month ago

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i’m back with my cowboy joel brainrot… this got freaky

okay so, joel had his eyes on you for a couple of months now, but he was unsure about your feelings towards him because ‘she’s just nice like that’ (yeah right mister) completely unaware that you’re just utterly smitten with his southern charm.

so one summer evening after he worked up the courage by two glasses of whiskey and a pep talk from tommy, he walked to your house and knocked on your door, as he nervously waited for you to open it. once you did, he took off his cowboy hat (hell yeah) and put it over his heart, mumbling about how he’s sorry to interrupt your evening, but eventually he gets to the reason of his late visit. “it would be my honor to take you out on a date” and you say yes, because why the hell would you say no, and he’s over the moon.

cut to the actual date, he’s at your door, in his nicest baby blue button up, freshly washed jeans, belt and boots, which he polished with a leather wax he bought for the occasion. his usually tousled and messy hair was combed and styled (tommy helped), his beard trimmed nicely, and all this just for you!! he left his signature cowboy hat at home to look more serious (tommy told him to) but he feels so self conscious without it (you’re sexy either way joel!!).

when he sees you in a pretty floral dress, and cowboy boots you wore just to impress him, he just about passes away. he’s babbling things like “sugar, you look like angels guard your every step, and flowers grow when you giggle” so yeah the date is everything and more a person could wish for. you guys went out for drink, and after he took you to his favorite spot, where you two watch fireflies buzz acroos the sky, stopping to rest on leaves and the grass, and it’s just perfect and so so romantic, and you guys kiss!!! actually scratch that, you guys HEAVILY make out on the grass, his baby blue shirt eventually gets unbuttoned and your skirt is pushed up to give him better access (if you catch my drift… hell yes you do, who am i kidding).

so yeah, things happen, underwear gets tossed aside, his pants pushed down along with his boxers, and you guys make love there at his favorite spot in the whole entire world, with the fireflies lighting up the surrounding area. and he says things like “oh sugar, you’re so beautiful, takin’ me so well. look at you, being such a good girl cummin’ on my cock”. and when you guys are done, he gently holds you to his chest, caressing your hair as you both get down from your highs, murmuring sweet nothings like “did so well. so gorgeous f’me. prettiest thing in town” and he’s already planning date number two, and you’re already thinking about your next outfit, planning to wear your blue lacy matching set that’s the exact same color of his button up.

(on date number two you guys fuck in his car, which is cramped but like who gives a shit when you two are so in love already?)

(also completely unrelated but i thrifted a nightgown woth small cherries on them and i kid you not lana del rey started playing at the store when i tried it on)

#cowboy joel #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #i might actually go insane

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chimera-dreams · 1 year ago

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Satoru, who...

Did you ask for more fluff? I did, ehe~

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

CW: pure fluff, just fluff, no angst, only happiness | proposal, marriage, pregnancy, husband!Gojo, dad!Gojo, soft!Gojo, categorically fucking whipped Satoru, domesticity, kinda slice-of-life, mildly suggestive at the end

The starstruck boy, Gojo Satoru, who is utterly obsessed with you in every way possible.

AN: while I’m in the middle of writing an absurdly long fic, I wanted to post some shorter stuff to 1) keep my hands loose and brain active/busy, and 2) post something while I’m working on the fic to come. I won’t post much about it rn because I want to actually finish it first and not make any promises, so enjoy a lil fluff in the meantime <3 just something short and sweet

WC: 3k

Satoru, who is smitten with you from the very moment he first lays eyes on you. Sure, he's had infatuations before, but they were short-lived and typically lasted no longer than a week. A quick fascination, then poof. You, on the other hand – you are different.

And it is plain to see for pretty much everyone. He is normally cocky and outgoing, even during the little fads he’s had, he never let down his façade of bravado. You, though? You melt all his walls until he’s a goopy puddle of a blushing, giggling school girl.

He is whipped, almost to an annoying point. He rambles off Suguru's and Shoko's ears enough times for them to know when he’s about to start singing your praises and avoid him, or distract him somehow (which is a monumental task when his ditzy head is full only of thoughts of you).

Even so, they are conflictingly bewildered and happy for their friend. For him to have found someone that he is interested in for longer than a week – let alone several months, now – is a riveting change of pace. He seems so genuinely delighted any time you two interact, bubbly, dreamy sighs leaving him as hearts dance in his eyes.

He has fallen for you bad.

Satoru, who’s a stuttering disaster when he tries to ask you out on a date, and damn near collapses in relief when you’re able to decipher what the hell he’s going on about and agree to go to the new café that opened up near campus with him.

One date turns into two, then three, then a dozen more that become routine for you. You meet up after classes let out, then head to the café side by side. Or, if one is running late, you have each other’s orders memorized. You even go the extra mile and order him a sweet he hasn’t tried yet to surprise him with when he bursts into the establishment, panting like he ran a marathon. He might as well have, he booked it for the café as soon as he was free, dying to see you.

Satoru, who is somehow in even more shambles when he gets the nerve to ask you to go steady with him, despite the two of you being borderline boyfriend and girlfriend by now. He’s jittery, sweaty, downright vibrating with tense energy when he brings you to the sakura tree near the back of school that you two had laid claim on. Oh, and when you say yes? He’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven. Nothing can explain how an angel like you decided to grace him with your existence as is, let alone love him – even while you called him an idiot and said you thought you two were already dating.

Satoru, who was already protective over you when you first met, dials it to eleven after you agree to being his girlfriend. Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, could inspire fear and respect simply by being in the room with his confident and brash nature, completely relaxed and faithful in his skill. But if, gods forbid, something happens to you? Gone is that cocksure attitude. Gone are the coy smirks and passive-aggressive taunting meant to rile others up. Gone is everything but his one track mind that focuses solely on two tasks: protecting you, and destroying whatever harmed you.

Satoru, who spoons you to his chest and watches ASMR, random videos, or movies on your phone with you 'til you both fall asleep. It became routine shortly after you began officially dating. You'll climb into bed first and decide what you want to watch while he finishes his nightly regimen, then he'll slip under the blankets and pull your back flush against his front, prop his chin atop your head, slide a thigh between your legs, and off to cozy dreamland you two go as whatever you choose acts as white noise.

It brings him an immense amount of comfort, and though he doesn't need as much sleep as normal folks, he'll refuse to leave bed until you're awake (with the exception of any needs he might have to take care of that will only see him away for a couple minutes at most before he’s cradling you in his protective hold again).

Satoru, who salts and peppers your face with endless, ticklish kisses to wake you up, saving the best kiss for when your sleepy, pretty little eyes open: right on your lips. He always wakes up before you do, and spends hours watching your blissful, precious face as you snooze, content and relaxed like a cat with full trust in its human. The comparison always makes him smile, because he, truthfully, envisions you both as being cats all the time. Lazy ones that cuddle in the sun, your smaller form using his ridiculously fluffy and larger one as a pillow-slash-blanket. His tail twined with yours, your ears twitching as he grooms you with kitten licks, ah, the dream.

Satoru, who wants to slap a ring on your finger the very moment he can. You two spend so many days and weeks raving about your imaginary wedding that he so desperately wants to be real, setting up plans, picking out what you would want for decor, scrolling through forum boards for ideas on a wedding dress for you. He is practically more excited at the prospect of getting married than you are, eager to help in every step of the process and more. 'Let me handle all the hard stuff, baby,' he nearly begs.

He won’t tell you the cost of anything, and insists you go all out. Get the dress you want, don't you dare look at the price tag. Choose the perfect venue, he doesn't care if it's in Japan or fucking Dubai, he'll handle paying for everyone's travel and hotel needs on top of the whole wedding. Only the absolute best for you, nothing less, everything more.

Satoru, who is a train wreck of nervous excitement, anxious anticipation, and giddy trepidation when the day comes for him to propose. He takes you to the perfect location – up a short and easy hiking trail that leads to a cliffside with the most magnificent view of the ocean and setting sun. You think it's just a sweet date trip, until you see the path of tea candles guiding you to a romantically set up picnic blanket, a basket resting atop it, waiting to be opened.

When you turn around to express your shock and confusion, you find Satoru on one knee, looking up at you as if you are the most gorgeous and divine creature to ever exist. He's confident and boisterous, as always, as he plays out his little speech about how much he adores you and wants to keep you by his side, forever and ever, but he's a shaking trash fire inside. A shivering little dog that's relieved he didn't stutter or screw up the speech he practiced a hundred times over and then some.

Satoru, who's thanking every god to ever possibly reside above (and even below) when you throw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as a flood of yeses pours out of you, slurred as you ramble through your tears and tell him you love him, how happy you are, and a plethora of other things that make him genuinely the most elated person to ever live.

Satoru, who slides the brilliant engagement ring he had custom made for you onto your finger; smooth, with an inset blue diamond that shares the same shade as his eyes, nestled in with a dozen tinier crystals in vine-like spirals flowing outward from the center. Swarovski, of course. He made sure that it was all flush with the platinum to ensure it wouldn't snag on anything.

He was practically breathing down the jeweler's neck during the entire process, needing to guarantee it’s positively perfect for you. And, when he sees the glimmering jewelry cozy on your finger, the evidence of your bond and the next step in your journey to unite as one, he knows he made all the right choices.

Satoru, who only uses the finest material for your matching wedding bands, and has the insides of both engraved with each other's names. Yours in his, his in yours. He has the same jeweler as before (poor guy) design them to have two stripes of platinum within the gold of your rings, delicate and stunning for himself and his wife.

Satoru, who's jubilant and so incredibly ecstatic that you're now his wife that he can't help but tell everyone he knows, everyday, multiple times a day, even those that were at the wedding. He just can't get over it. You're his wife, the girl he's been crushing on since highschool, the girl he swore to make his, and to devote himself to. It feels like an incredible dream, and he worriedly pinches himself from time to time to make sure it's real.

He did it. He married you, and now you carry his name in yours, in your wedding band, everywhere he could put it to subtly (not really) show you off as the unquestionably precious treasure you are, his wife, and how overjoyed he is that he managed to catch you and keep you.

Satoru, who forgets how to function when you hold up a pair of white and pink sticks on his birthday, from different brands, both showing positive symbols. You. You're pregnant. With his baby. He swears his brain short-circuits because one minute, he's staring at you like you'd grown a second head, and the next, he has you wrapped up in his arms as he showers your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, lips, neck, ears, anywhere he can reach, with kisses.

He's a babbling, sniffly mess as he practically crushes you to his chest and coos and preens and weeps with elation. He reveres you like a deity and he’s your loyal and pathetic servant who was blessed beyond measure that you decided to give him the gift of life. He's going to be a father, and it's all because of you.

Satoru, who completely spoils the living hell out of you during your pregnancy (as if he hadn't already been), bending backwards for you for everything. Weird cravings? He's on it. Swollen ankles and nausea? He's rushing to the store for medicine, then rubbing your feet to ease the ache. Insatiable horniness? He's your slave for you to use for your pleasure. Hormones swinging wildly back and forth? He's there with a box of tissues and his firm chest for you to beat on when you feel like you're going crazy. It's his fault you're pregnant, after all. You're doing the hard work of not just carrying his child, but of nurturing it, growing it, letting it take from you to develop strong and healthy. Of course he's going to take care of you.

Satoru, who refuses to let you do any work. You're on indefinite parental leave. From the moment you show him those positive tests, he sits your pretty ass down on the couch and tells you firmly that your only job now is to help your baby develop. He'll take care of everything else, don't even think about lifting a finger.

Satoru, who's there at every appointment with you, clutching your hand tightly as you talk to your doctor about everything you need to know. And when you have your first ultrasound, and see your fetus together for the very first time, he's crying right alongside you.

Satoru, who spent meticulous hours packing a duffel bag with everything you'll both need for when it comes time for you to go into labor. Spare changes of clothes, plenty of water, blankets to keep you warm, a couple pillows, anything and everything. He refuses to go in unprepared. As soon as it's all packed and ready to go by the 8 month mark of your pregnancy, it's in the backseat of the car. The baby car seat is in the trunk of the sleek and top-of-the-line SUV he purchased specifically for your soon-to-be family. He doesn't care that it's taking up space, or that it’s too early, he refuses to go in unprepared.

Satoru, who immediately ditches work the very instant your water breaks. Who gives a fuck if he's in the middle of something important, nothing takes precedence over you and the incoming birth of your infant. He's breaking several driving laws to get you to the hospital, but neither of you care. Not when you're panting in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the grab handle with a palm pressed to your stomach, grunting and crying out in pain any time you have a contraction. It's a miracle he doesn't get pulled over, and he's incredibly thankful (and proud of himself) for thinking of calling the hospital ahead of time so that they're ready for you.

Satoru, whose entire world becomes a blur from the second you reach the hospital, to the second you're crushing his hand in your grip, screaming as you fight to bring his baby into the world. He's letting you yell at him and blame him for the pain you're in, easily accepting and agreeing because it is his fault.

But while your shaking sobs and shrieks of agony wound his heart beyond any possible measure, he also can't help his elation at knowing it's time, all the waiting has been worth it, every minute spent catering to your every need, want, and desire. He'll do it indefinitely, wait on you hand and foot for the rest of his life, treat you like a queen, because you deserve it and so much more.

Satoru, who's shocked by how well he's holding up when the nurse puts the wrapped up, pudgy little newborn in his arms, gazing down at the tiny being. His tiny being, your tiny being, the fragile and priceless life you both created. Looking down at his kin, his reason for being, he knows he'd do anything and everything to protect you and your child.

Satoru, who sees you, a disheveled and tired disaster, with your hair all tangled, frizzy, and astray, strands stuck to your sweaty skin, your body slack in relief as the hardest part is finally over, watching your husband hold your baby, and he thinks you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell; your legs are sticky with residue blood, amniotic fluid, placenta, and whatever else that needs to be cleaned off (though your legs are covered with a few layers of blankets to keep you toasty warm while you recover from labor), your face is a little pale and sallow, you're barely clinging to consciousness, and he's marveling at how he's never seen anything or anyone as utterly blest and sacred as you.

A goddess amongst men, the only one the strongest man in the world would ever willingly bow down to without you even needing to ask.

Satoru, who helps place your baby on your chest, the nurse having opened the blanket for skin-to-skin contact as you feed it, and finally lets himself release all his pent up emotions of raw, unfiltered joy. Every cell, every fiber, every atom in him is dancing in overwhelming happiness. He'd do it all over, again and again, as many times as you'd let him, if it means he gets to see you this blissful and tranquil. The glow of maternity suits you like no other, even in all your unkempt and chaotic glory.

Satoru, who can't believe he's a dad. He goes above and beyond, insisting he takes care of the baby at night so you can sleep – he doesn't need as much rest as others do, after all. He murmurs to his newborn about how much he cherishes and adores you, how much you mean to him, how you're the best wife and mommy a man could ever ask for and more. He reads the kiddo bedtime stories to help it sleep, feeds it, changes it, whatever it is that is needed, he's there and doing it.

On top of that, he continues to be your doting, devoted, caring husband. He makes sure you're taking your vitamins, takes you to all your postpartum appointments, aids you through your subsequent depression, all of it. He's sworn himself to you for life, not just in this timeline and universe, but in any and every single one of them.

He made and said his vows with purpose and conviction. He meant every word, and upholds them like his life depends on it. Because, in his mind, it does.

Satoru, who is patient with you, and firmly commands you to not push yourself to do things you can't do while you're still in recovery. He doesn't care if he has to wait months or even years for you to be ready to lay with him again, he'll wait it out. He might not be a patient man, but for you, he'd wait until all the stars die.

Oh, but you, darling little minx that you are, do your best to take care of him, too. Even when he urges you to rest, or not worry about it, or anything other arguments he might have against it, you tend to him in whatever way you can. Touching, sucking, rough and heavy petting, whatever it takes. You refuse to leave him alone to suffer through months and months of dryness with no relief save for his hand and the toy you surprised him with to help take the edge off.

Satoru, who can't be more grateful to you. You're more than his wildest dreams, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person as a whole in the entirety of the universe. He really can't help boasting about being the Chosen One, because he really is, if the cosmos decided to gift him with you.

Satoru, who swears to take care of you for the rest of your lives, and does well on his promise.

Satoru, who fights for the sake of you and your kin alone. He refuses to leave you in any way, shape, or form. He refuses to let the world be a danger to any of you. He refuses to have anything happen to his family. Nothing will tear you apart, not now, not ever.

Satoru, who loves you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

—-—-•(-•ʚɞ•-)•—-—-

Banner by cafekitsune ♥ thank you for reading

#gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #fluff #chimera-writes #dad!gojo #husband!gojo

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jjwistar · 8 months ago

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( drabble ) vampiro ̨ ! 𓉸ྀི 一 이해찬 ՞

vampire!haechan x f!reader • NSFW (mdni)

genre: smut cw: oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), dirty talk, creampie, yandere vibes; reqs: open | m.list

vampire!haechan who was absolutely and completely obsessed with you. he's seen a lot of attractive people in his life, but you were by far the most enchanting creature he's ever laid eyes on—which says a lot considering he's been alive for the best part of the last 500 years.

vampire!haechan who would follow you at night just to make sure you were safe. he wouldn't call it stalking as he had no intention of hurting you or anything like that, but just knowing you were safe would put his non-pumping heart at ease.

vampire!hyuck who was a huge bit of a perv. he knew where you lived, obviously. and sometimes he'd sneak into your room to watch you sleep, utterly smitten with you. and sometimes, during your deep slumber, he'd snag a panty or two—he'd have them wrapped around his thick and aching cock during the nights when his thoughts were solely focused on you and your addicting scent:

"fuck y-y/n... wish i was fucking your pretty pussy instead right now" he'd moan into the late hours of the night. "bet you'd be so tight and warm... fuck i wanna ruin you..." after replacing the image of his fist with fiercly fucking into your tight walls, he came in no time.

vampire!hyuck who finally introduced himself to you and was able to get close to you and actually ask you out and become romantic partners. it didn't take long for the both of you to let your relationship grow hot and heavy...

haechan was fucking into you with so much fervor, you thought that you were going to pass out. you're not entirely sure how you both ended up here; your ass up, back arched, and face smushed into the sheets while haechan was practically splitting you open. but honestly, you're too fucked out to care. "fuck, baby, you're squeezing me so good."

your brain was mush; all you can comprehend was the beautiful man hitting all the right places inside of you. your mind could only repeat his name like a mantra 'hyuck hyuck hyuck' god you could feel him in your guts, you could feel him in the back of your throat, you could feel him absolutely everywhere.

before you could process anything next, haechan unloads so much of his cum into your spent pussy. "ugh baby... fu-uck yeah, just like that. take it, take all of it. g-gonna fill you up for days..." your eyes rolled so far back into your head, you swear you see heaven. you feel oh so deliciously full; full of his cock, full of his cum, and so full of his love. no lover of yours has ever made you so loved before.

you can't even come down from this high properly because he's already flipping you onto your back and slotting his head between your thighs. haechan was nothing if not a messy fucker. immediately, he got to work on your cum-filled hole. he was eating you out like a man starved. you were so overstimulated and sensitive, you knew you weren't gonna last. "hyuck... n'more please." there were pathetic tears in your eyes, and they only spurred him on even more. moving his face away from your perfect cunt, he pleads, "c'mon baby, gimme one more. please baby, i know y'got one more."

he goes back to making out with your sensitive pussy; no rhythm in his technique, just desperately wanting to get more of your addicting juices from you. you were spasming from the overstimulation, and before you knew it, you came. you were practically a gushing waterfall and you covered haechan's entire face in your essence. god, he'd bathe in your cum if you'd let him.

"fuck, baby... you squirted everywhere." he had a crazed look in his eyes, and his fangs were protruding; so sharp, so dangerous, so arousing.

hey! first drabble on this account, yay! i suck at endings but i hope you guys enjoy this! :3

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iluvies · 1 year ago

Text

IT’S ONLY A LITTLE CRUSH!

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, megumi, yuji, sukuna, choso, yuta, higuruma

summary: he could name all of the moments you’d caused his cheeks to turn pink just from the way you’d smile at him. . . or was it because you’d catch his eyes lingering on you a little too long? whatever it is, they are completely smitten with you! scenarios with the jjk boys who are completely enamored and obsessed with you.

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, suggestive content in toji n sukuna’s, reader is called pretty a lot, sukuna calls reader brat

GOJO SATORU

୨୧ . his eyes followed your movement, locked on the way you smiled and laughed at his jokes. although satoru soon frowned slightly when your hands came up to try and cover your face. “why are you hiding your face?” he’d asked, reaching over to gently tug your hands away much to your displeasure, “you look cute when you laugh.” satoru was almost offended. why would you want to hide your face from him? especially when he was admiring the strands of hair that’d fall in front of your eyes with each warm smile and giggle. “i love that flustered smile of yours.” if only you could see the way he was internally kicking his feet.

୨୧ . “satoru, you’re spilling water everywhere.” your voice interrupted his thoughts as he looked down at the spilled water all over the table. his face turned a deep red color and he smiled sheepishly at you, mustering what was left of his confidence to make a joke—which really wasn’t a joke—to hide the fact he was embarrassed, “i must’ve gotten lost in your eyes.”

୨୧ . both satoru and an exhausted looking nanami sat together on a small bench by nanami’s workplace. unfortunately, the tired man had gotten caught up in satoru’s rambling about you; how perfect you are, how he couldn’t possibly be in love with someone so utterly perfect, and how he just wanted to kiss your pretty lips until you needed to breathe. “just tell them how you feel.” nanami said, taking a bite of the small bread in his hands. “i can’t. i’ll embarrass myself again. . .” satoru sighed, causing nanami to shake his head a little. unbeknownst to satoru, you had been rambling to nanami about your growing affection for him as well.

GETO SUGURU

୨୧ . you had sought company from suguru while crying your eyes out after a rough day. he let you inside and wrapped his arms around you, letting his hands fall to your hips and trace lazy circles with his fingers. “it’s okay, you’re okay.” suguru murmured, soaking in the warmth of your soft skin. “i’m sorry, suguru…” you whispered quietly, gripping the back of his shirt. he squeezed your hips gently when he heard the sound of your voice. why would you apologize for needing comfort? he would gladly comfort you if it meant holding you in arms each and every time.

୨୧ . suguru draped the blanket over your body, watching as your chest rose and fell with every breath. in his eyes, you looked peaceful, beautiful even. “i don’t want to be alone tonight.” you murmured, peeking your eyes open to find his. he offered a smile and tenderly tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “you won’t be. i’ll be here for as long as you need,” suguru promised, his thumb rubbing your shoulder in an attempt to reassure you, “don’t worry that sweet head of yours, okay? i’m not going anywhere.”

୨୧ . the nights were peaceful when the two of you walked alone together. lingering glances at each other and the soft “sorry”s that’d leave his mouth when he’d accidentally brushed his hand against yours. “you look really pretty, y’know that?” suguru said, a small smile gracing his lips as he looked at you from the corner of his eye, “so pretty.” with a dismissive wave of your hand, you turned your head away shyly. feeling him press a hand to your lower back, you peeked at him. “suguru. . .” you managed to breath out, before you noticed the sly smirk beginning to present itself on his face. oh, he knew what he was doing.

NANAMI KENTO

୨୧ . he stood in front of your door holding a small box of custard-filled hot cakes, eyes drifting to his watch with each passing second. he texted you ten—no, twenty minutes ago letting you know that he would be coming over. he was sure you got his message. before he could check his phone, you open the door with an apologetic grin. “sorry for keeping you waiting, kento. i was doing some touch-ups to make sure i looked—“ “you always look good.” you blink a few times in confusion. “huh?” nanami went stiff, a subtle blush on his cheeks. he had assumed you were going to say “good”, but judging from the look on your face he had been mistaken. this thought was immediately lost when you laughed, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “you always look good too.”

୨୧ . nanami’s coat hung loosely on your shoulders, his cologne immediately filling your senses. “you’ll catch a cold.” he said firmly, leaving no room for arguments. you hadn’t expected it to be so cold that night, leaving you in clothing that didn’t protect you from the freezing breeze. fortunately for you, you were walking with a gentleman. “thank you, nanami.” you offered him a kind smile, in which caused him to turn his head to the side, hiding the flustered expression on his face. “i just don’t want you complaining about being sick tomorrow.”

୨୧ . “stay still for me, sweetheart.” his calloused hand wrapped around your ankle, gently yet firmly pulling it closer to him as his fingers found the laces on your shoes. his eyebrows were furrowed whilst he tied your shoelaces, completely focused on making sure they were tied properly. “it’s not too tight?” nanami asked, glancing up at you. you shook your head, cheeks burning red. seeing how you reacted so shyly, he chuckled lightly and patted your knee before standing up. the things this man would do for you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

୨୧ . the both of you had an argument yesterday, resulting in you pettily giving toji the silent treatment. what you didn’t expect was to see the man at your door holding a bouquet of flowers. watching you stand there awkwardly, he rolled his eyes and held out the flowers, smiling sarcastically at you, “i didn’t buy these flowers for myself, sweetheart.” hesitantly grabbing the bouquet, you let out a sneeze. “i’m allergic to flowers.” “just take them.” you pouted slightly and feigned an exasperated expression, “i don’t know if i can forgive you. . .” your voice trailed, causing him to sigh and glance away, resting his arm against the door frame. “i’m sorry.” toji grunted with an annoyed look to his face. if only you knew how hard his heart was thumping in his chest.

୨୧ . toji stood behind you as you prepared some ingredients for your dinner date, his hands resting on the counter on either side of you and his chest pressed up against your back. you could feel his hot, shaky breath on your neck, lips dangerously close to pressing wet kisses to it. he was impatient and so desperate to feel you—your bare skin—touching his. “are you almost done?” his voice was low and gravelly. “almost.” you answered breathlessly, heat beginning to coil in your stomach and bit lower. “that’s good enough for me,” toji’s hands grabbed your hips, turning you around and sitting you on the counter, “i’ll be nice and take my time tonight.” a lie of course.

୨୧ . “what are you doing?” you let out a small yelp, practically jumping out of your skin. “toji! don’t sneak up on me like that! make some noise at least.” you had been so caught up in trying to scare him you hadn’t noticed him walk up from behind you. “hypocritical, much?” he muttered with a small smirk, raising his eyebrows at you as he stared at you knowingly. as you came up with different excuses, his eyes watched your lips and how they would move with each word spilling out of your mouth. your lips would feel so soft against his, your hands would push and pull at his hair whilst his kisses linger on your— toji knew he was long gone.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

୨୧ . you and megumi were sitting in a small restaurant awkwardly waiting for yuji and nobara to show up. “did you want to get some drinks?” you asked quietly, fidgeting with your fingers as you barely glanced up at him. his cheeks had a faint blush that increased gradually, his eyes shifting to your face before quickly looking elsewhere. “we should.” megumi mumbled, reaching for the menu on the table, accidentally brushing his hand against yours as you had gone to reach for it too. “sorry.” he retracted his hand almost immediately, his face burning in embarrassment. “it’s fine.” you reassured, giving him a small smile, albeit nervously. your knee bumped into his, but instead of pulling away like he did when your hands touched, he stayed still. “maybe we could share a milkshake? to save money.” real smooth, megumi.

୨୧ . a small whine fell from your mouth as you failed to knock the last pin down, “i really wanted that panda plushy.” megumi’s eyes narrowed at the pin that stood standing. oh, he was going to win you that panda. you let out a dejected sigh and began walking away slowly, not noticing the boy now determined to stay at the stall until he wins you the panda plushy you wanted. “maybe next time, huh, megumi. . . megumi?” your head turned so that you were looking over your shoulder, just to find him holding four different stuffed toys and most importantly, the panda one.

୨୧ . your hands patted down the snow, trying to make the spherical shape of the snowman’s head. with a confident smile, you took a step back and showed megumi your wonky looking snowman. “how does it look? i put a lot of effort into it.” he blinked a few times, trying to process what he was seeing. “it looks good.” megumi replied rather stiffly. he couldn’t help but melt a little at your expression, a little lie wouldn’t hurt, especially if he got to see you smile because of it. “i knew you’d like it! it looks like you, doesn’t it? all cute and grumpy looking—“ “i do not look cute or grumpy.” “i can see you blushing.” “i’m just cold.”

YUJI ITADORI

୨୧ . “let’s watch that one!” you looked over to where yuji was pointing on his phone, finding the movie he has been talking about nonstop. not to mention, the movie that you’d already watched before. “no.” his jaw dropped, hands flying to grab your shoulders. “please? just this once?” yuji gave you his best puppy eyes before you reluctantly nodded with a sigh. “one more time.” you said, giving him a playfully stern look. he smiled widely and hugged you tightly, swaying you side to side, “so this is like a date then?”

୨୧ . yuji’s hand steered the wheel, eyes glued to the racing game displayed on the screen. “i’ll win for sure!” you both made a bet that the loser had to buy a game for the winner, and he was sure to win. unfortunately though, you surpassed him in the last the second, driving the car across the finish line. “that’s not fair, you distracted me!” by distracted, yuji meant he couldn’t stop looking over at you when he noticed your concentration and focus in winning the bet. it made a light blush dust over his cheeks and his brain to fog up with thoughts of you.

୨୧ . his hand reached over to steal a bit of your food. “i saw that.” he looked away with a cheeky grin, shrugging his shoulders a little while he quickly brought the food to his mouth. “no you didn’t.” yuji said, feigning innocence. “i’m watching you right now, idiot.” a small chuckle forced its way out of his mouth before he began laughing loudly, causing you to laugh along with him. yuji felt comfortable around you, despite all the times he would become flustered when you’d catch him doing dumb things. he hopes you feel the same too.

SUKUNA RYOMEN

୨୧ . he thought it was cute how you would hesitantly reach for him. sukuna was a large man, undoubtedly towering over everyone that came across him. but you were different. all these little things you would do from your expressions to your actions, it had his cold heart defrosting piece by piece. “why are you looking at me like that, brat?” his voice held clear amusement, eyes basically glaring at you. because of your obvious height difference, he purposely placed things out of your reach, finding enjoyment in you struggling to grab the items you needed. “you need to use your words.” sukuna was going to give you those things either way, he just couldn’t resist making you end for it first. but you’re his favorite human after all, he couldn’t upset you now when he still had so much more waiting for you.

୨୧ . even the king of curses needed breaks, especially with your hands gliding up and down his back with a cloth. “do you think i’m made out of glass?” sukuna grunted, a hint for you to apply more pressure to your scrubbing. his arms rested on either side of the tub, peering down at you through the corner of his eyes while you focused on scrubbing his back. not that you would notice his growing soft spot for you, but his words weren’t as hostile when directed at you. “you make yourself useful. perhaps you can use your hands elsewhere.” he muttered slyly, his lips curling up into a smirk.

୨୧ . “you think i want this pathetic thing?” you had taken the time to make him a bracelet despite the fact that you knew he would dismiss your efforts, you were slightly disappointed and taken aback by his tone. “i just thought. . . i’m sorry.” you bit your lower lip and pulled your hand back before he grabbed your wrist, making sure to stop you from moving away. sukuna didn’t feel bad. at least that’s what he told himself. “i never said i didn’t want the bracelet, brat.” this was out of pity, not because he wanted to see you give him that warm smile of yours or that pretty blush on your cheeks.

CHOSO KAMO

୨୧ . “this feels nice.” your hands combed through his hair gently, thighs on either side of his head. “does it?” you asked. choso hummed and kneaded at your calves absentmindedly, eyes closed while he just enjoyed the feeling of your touch. you were so wonderful, and sweet, and perfect, and everything he’s absolutely wanted in life. if only he could spend all of his time laid back on your couch, head squished between the plush of your thighs, with your hands messaging his scalp. notice how it’s all ‘your’? he can’t picture anyone else in your place. especially that place in his heart he’s reserved solely for you.

୨୧ . this man is no doubt completely lovesick with you. the way you handle yuji with such care and kindness. . . it has his heart aching. “thank you.” choso said, looking over at you. he thought everything about you was absolutely beautiful, from the sweetness in your gestures all the way down to the heartfelt words spilling from your lips. “for?” you asked, looking at him with a tiny chuckle. “looking out for my brother.” his eyes softened at the sound of your laugh and how you shake your head. “you don’t need to thank me for that, choso.” he loved you so much it just wasn’t fair how you weren’t his yet.

୨୧ . although he came off as blunt and emotionally detached to most, the man sobbing in your arms definitely didn’t come off as that. choso’s tears stained the front of your shirt, the one you reassured him not to feel bad for getting wet. “my brothers. . .” he didn’t need to finish that sentence and you understood. you always did. the deep love for his brothers who he had no way of showing it to anymore broke his heart. “deep breaths, everything’s okay. you’re allowed to cry.” your embrace was his favorite, and will always be.

YUTA OKKOTSU

୨୧ . he had his head propped up with his palm as his elbow rests on the desk, his eyes following and admiring your every moment. you were so pretty. . . the strands of hair that fell in front of your eyes while you leaned over the notebook to write notes or do small sketches. yuta was jealous of the others who could openly talk to you. he could barely talk to you without stuttering or turning a bright red, his face immediately turning down towards the ground. just like now. “did you want to hang out after school?” you asked curiously, “we could get some ice-cream?” he nodded, still avoiding your eyes. “as in a-a. . . date? y-yeah, that would be nice. if you don’t mind!” yuta’s heart was racing, hands sweating profusely. he wasn’t dreaming was he? “it’s a date.” please, kiss him now.

୨୧ . the way you stood over him, staring down at his tired form on the ground made his skin blaze. “it’s like you’re letting me win. do you like losing, yuta?” by you? he would gladly let you win. even if he probably didn’t have a chance of winning in the first place. “i-it’s not like that! i just—“ his voice immediately shrunk into nothingness, lips pressing together when he watched you lean down. yuta prepared himself for what you were going to say, the serious expression on your face making his heart sink a little. your lips parted slightly before he tried spluttering an apology, making you giggle at him amusedly. “i was only teasing.” you made him feel so lightheaded.

୨୧ . yuta never thought the day would come when you would fall asleep and rest your head against his shoulder. not that he was hoping it would happen—a lie. you let out the most quiet breaths, lips parted just enough to show a gap where your upper and low lip met. the train wasn’t too crowded at this time, thankfully for the both of you. should he wake you up soon? “i’m sorry, yuta. . .” your voice pulled him out of whatever thoughts he was having about you, “i didn’t mean to fall asleep.” a gentle smile graced his face, his hand hesitantly pushing your head back to his shoulder. “it’s okay, i don’t mind as long as it’s you.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

୨୧ . a low groan reverberated from his chest, eyes rolling back. “thank you.” he murmured, the tension in his shoulders easing until he felt like putty in your hands. “you’re always so stressed, hiromi,” you sighed, continuing to massage his shoulder blades, “i wish you would take some time just for yourself.” before he could stop himself, the words spilled off his tongue, “why would i need to take some time just for myself when i can spend it with you?”

୨୧ . your perfume was one of the many things he loved to be welcomed with when he stepped into his office. no— it was the only thing he loved to be welcomed with when he stepped into the dull room he called an office. you always smiled at him when he looked in your direction, offered him coffee when he’d let out a yawn, and stole glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. he was utterly infatuated with you. “are you alright?” higuruma’s head turned in your direction. “sorry?” you tilt your head with slightly furrowed eyebrows. “are you feeling okay?” he paused for a moment before replying with a muttered response, “just thinking.” “about?” higuruma swallowed thickly, his gaze finding the files on his desk. how could you expect him to respond when you looked at him like that? “nothing of importance. . . to you.”

୨୧ . this man enjoyed having petty arguments with you, watching you either miss the joke he made or get upset at him for pointing something out. the way your eyebrows would furrow and your lips would form a tiny pout when he would bring up embarrassing moments of you. don’t think he did this to mean, he just loved getting a reaction out of you. “the office wasn’t built for you to slack off.” he said, giving you a sideway glance as a smirk grew on his face. “i’m not slacking off.“ you scoffed and narrowed your eyes at him. higuruma simply shrugged and chuckled slightly, “just kidding.”

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luvscribbles · 2 months ago

Text

Ikemen Villains as Romance Tropes

fan headcanons.

𑁍ࠬܓ self insert (x reader), gender neutral, sfw, italics = villain speaking

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Ellis - First love, Friends to lovers

Fake dating

“Uh Ellis, they’re gone now…you don’t have to hold my hand anymore.” You smiled politely.

“Oh, right, sorry.” He chuckled, rubbing his neck bashfully.

“...”

“…”

“…You still haven’t let go.”

Jude - Forced proximity, Grumpy vs sunshine, Bully romance

Enemies to lovers

Jude examined your bruised arm, his eyes darkening. “Who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” You hid your arm from his view, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. The last thing you needed was Jude teasing you about being weak.

“Tch, that ain’t what I asked ya.” He tipped your chin towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes. Much to your surprise, he looked pissed. “Who was it?”

William - Star crossed lovers (doomed relationship), Fated to be together, Tragedy

Forbidden romance

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whispered, clutching onto William’s shirt with urgency— a clear contradiction to your timid words.

“You’re right. We shouldn’t.” Will mumbled while leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. “Do you want to stop?”

“…No.”

Roger - Workplace romance (Lab/research partners), Academic rivals, Personal trainer, Randomly met at a bar (e.g., “Hey, can you pretend to be my boyfriend so this creep can stop flirting with me?”)

Bodyguard romance

“No point in walking fast. I’ll catch up.” Roger casually strolled behind your retreating figure.

You stopped in your tracks, angrily spinning around to face him. “Do you really have to follow me to the bathroom?”

“The boss says I can’t let you out of my sight.” He leans in close, a playful smirk on his lips. “Not even for a second.”

Victor - Opposites attract, Arranged marriage, Royal Guard x Commoner, Age gap

Bakery Lessons

“It keeps falling apart.” You sighed in frustration as another ball of dough crumbled within your hands. “I must be doing something wrong.”

Noticing your pout, Victor smiled encouragingly. “Don’t give up yet, my star pupil!” He came up behind you at the countertop, smoothly placing his hands over your own. “Here, follow my lead.”

“Okay.” Right away, your heart began to pound. Kneading flour was the least of your worries now that Victor was standing so close— his scent completely engulfing you.

Alfons - One night stand, Unrequited love, Reunion romance, Secret affair, Friends with benefits

No strings attached

Alfons leaned in for a kiss, just as he did on many night like this one, but you placed a firm hand on his chest, “Wait, we need to talk.”

“Oh?” He quirked his brow, both surprised and amused by your reaction. “What is it?”

You tried to mask the pain in your voice but it was futile. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The confession only seemed to entertain him further. “My, my. Where’s this coming from? Have you fallen for me already?” He leaned in once more, this time right next to your ear. “You know that’s against the rules.”

Elbert - Secret admirer, Soul mates, Art collector x Struggling artist, Strangers to lovers

Love at first sight

Elbert looked towards the sky. Little by little, raindrops began to land on his face until there was a sudden downpour. “How strange. I didn’t know it would rain today…”

With no shelter nearby, he continued to walk back home— until he heard the sound of rain puddles splashing underneath hurried footsteps. “Excuse me, sir!”

Elbert watched as you approached. You quickly held your umbrella over his head. “Hey, you’ll catch a cold if you walk in the rain like this. Are you alright?”

Even over the heavy rain, the concern etched in your voice was unmistakable. He remained silent, fascinated by your efforts to shield him with such a tiny umbrella. Within moments, he was utterly smitten.

Liam - Blind date, Mutual pinning, Coffee shop romance, “Somehow we keep meeting under oddly specific circumstances ?”, Idiots in love, Costars

Celebrity x Ordinary person

“Oh no.” Your heart sank at the sound of flashing cameras just outside the hotel building. The front entrance was completely blocked off by fans and paparazzi alike. “We can’t possibly leave without being seen.”

Liam beamed at the idea. He held out his hand for you to take, laughing excitedly. “Well, looks like we have no choice, do we?”

You hesitated. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course.” He pulled you in so close that loose strands of his hair ticked your face. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Harrison - Secret dating, Private detective x Suspect, Dessert shop romance

Bookstore romance

You frantically searched for the newest book release from your favorite author. There was only one copy left, and you were determined to grab it— though it seemed someone else had the same plan.

Just as you made a reach for the shelf, your hand accidentally collided with another. You instantly locked eyes with Harry, who seemed equally as surprised.

“Sorry, go ahead.” He pulled away, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly flustered (and charmed by his looks), you shook your head. “No, no, you take it.”

“Hm?” Harry tried offering you the book, his expression puzzled. “You don’t want it?”

“It’s fine. I was just…browsing.”

He briefly went silent before laughing. “You’re a pretty bad liar, you know.”

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theofthevalley · 2 months ago

Note

This is my third time trying and asking for a blog to do this(I'm desperate)

Can you do goddess!reader with Hermes where she for the first time goes into her titan form(or wtv)and he falls for her even harder pleasee(my reference was The Little Mermaid Ponyo's parents if you watched it)

“In every shape & form, I’d still fall for you.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hermes x Goddess!Reader (Established Relationship)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hermes adores you. It’s as simple as that: you smile at him? He’s smitten. But then again, how could he not be utterly in love with you? Especially with your smile, affection, and that look that tells him you love him just as much as he loves you.

How on earth did he manage to make you fall in love with him? How did Hermes, of all gods, capture your heart?

Well, the answer's simple: Around him you feel true joy that you can't find anywhere else. . He makes you laugh and takes you on adventures to who knows where, but it doesn’t matter where you’re going as long as it’s with him. As for Hermes, he still doesn’t know how he ended up with a woman like you. In his opinion, you were almost of his league.

But now? You were all his, and he was so going to shout it out and brag about it for the million of centuries to come. As of right now, you were spoiling him rotten with kisses. He giggled with each kiss he received and sighed and leaned back against the tree he was resting on. Both of you were currently in some random forest, adventuring as usual, but for now, you were taking a break to admire the scenery instead.

You hummed as he giggled about another kiss you just gave on his cheek. He then cupped your face whilst smiling at you, kissing your face in turn.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, darling.”

He then pecked your lips and pulled away. His face turned bright red as he began giggling like a drunk. You sighed in amusement at his antics and then pressed another kiss on his cheek as you brushed a strand of his hair out of his face. You adored his laugh; it filled you with joy knowing he was happy being with you.

“Mhm, you think so?”

“I know so. To me, you’re dearer than anything else.”

A rush of heat made its way to your face at his words. He sure does know how to fluster you. In response, you press another kiss against his face. He sighs dreamily. You laugh at his reaction to your kisses. You then stood up and yawned as you stretched your body out. He stood up as well and wrapped his arms around your figure. He rested his head on your shoulder and hummed.

“Come on, Hermes. I thought you wanted to adventure today. Or are you not up for it? Hmm?”

Your tone was slightly mocking as you stood there waiting for him with your hands on his hips. He then raised his eyebrow at you; you practically challenged him.

“Not up for it? Of course I am! Now, onwards we go!! Let's see how far you make it!”

He then laughed and cheered as he dragged you away into the forest starting up the adventure again. You giggle at his antics and follow his lead. The deeper into the forest the more it seemed like nature was taking over. Even so, your surroundings were beautiful, birds chirping in the distance and other sounds of the world.

As he dragged you through the forest you looked around at nature itself, Earth truly was such a beautiful world. It’s nothing like home in the skies, I guess that’s why Hermes likes spending time here going off on adventures. There were creatures all over the place, big and small, it made you smile. Even in silence the world was still so loud.

Hermes then suddenly stopped and grinned at you as he then presented you with a run-down shrine. You raise your eyebrow at him, giving him a questioning gaze at the sight. The shrine didn’t have a roof anymore, and the walls were collapsed. It seemed like nature took over it completely!

“Hermes, what is this, or rather, why are we here?”

“It's a shrine! Or rather, it used to be. I like going here during my personal time- it's quite peaceful.”

He then hummed and walked into the crumbled shrine. He traced his hand along the walls as he walked deeper into it; his fingers dug into the cracked bricks and clay that were struggling to withstand even his gentle touch. You blinked at the sight; the shrine was standing on gods knows what; it looked like even the smallest breath could crumble it down.

As you look around, and to be fair, it does seem peaceful, but it makes you wonder what happened here. If it’s a shrine, that would mean this belongs to a divine being. What could have possibly happened here for it to be in such poor condition?

“Whose shrine is this anyway?”

“It’s mine, darling. It was destroyed years ago, after the mortals found out about a certain mishap of mine... Nothing to dwell on, though!”

He shrugged at you and then gently grabbed your own hand and squeezed it in an attempt to show you that it didn’t bother him at all. You huffed and began to grow upset- though not at him. But the fact that these people dared to ruin a shrine, for a god no less. Especially your god, it made you slightly upset.

Sure, it made you upset, but you couldn't dwell on that. Instead, to fix the mess that is the shrine, you became bigger in height- your form was now much taller than it was before! He was in awe; you were upset for him? How sweet!

You began grumbling as you started to fix up the shrine. Hermes stood there, much tinier in comparison, still in awe as you fixed his ruined shrine.

“A shrine of a god should be a sacred and respected place, and yet they left it to rot. Blasphemy!”

He giggled in joy at how you were doing it all for him. Just for him! He adored how much you care for him.

"You're stunning like this! Absolutely stunning!"

He shouted, mouth agape as his eyes flicked over you. You’re standing up for him even though he doesn’t really care? How sweet of you! His face then turned a bit red. You managed to fluster the messenger of the gods by doing practically nothing!

He flapped his wings and flew up near your face. He was so small that he fit perfectly in the palm of your hand; adorable!

“Darling, truly, it’s fine! On another note, I never knew you had this form.”

You smiled at him and shrug at his response as you turn small again. Of course, you had a bigger form, all gods do, including him as well. So it was a bit funny that he'd be so shocked about yours.

“Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

He then shrugged back, and laughed at his own silliness. He then smiled back at you and flicked your forehead.

“I just forgot, it seems. Although you really didn’t have to fix this place up for me, darling. Great job, though!”

As you walk back towards the shrine, you begin picking up crumbled pieces of marble and stone, pushing them to the side as well as clearing the place up of its overgrown greenery. You weren’t done cleaning and fixing this place up. Oh no, this was only the start.

“Uhuh, so are you going to help me fix this place up or not? Because it seems like I'm doing this all by myself.”

“Alright alright, I’ll help, but you know that’s rather boring…”

“Boring or not, someone needs to fix this place up. It’s rather embarrassing for the messenger of the gods, isn’t it?”

“Well…when you put it that way, I guess I’ll help…”

He signed in reluctance at being put to work by his own lover. But then again, that’s why he liked spending time with you. You may baby him sometimes, but you recognize that he’s a god with responsibilities, and you treat him seriously because you know that he can actually get work done if he puts his mind to it. You both grow in height to fix this place up even more.

At some point, once you’ve both gotten most of the mess out of the way, you start to rebuild it. Placing stones where they were originally before they were ruined. Unfortunately for you, this man was picky with the way he wanted things to look for the remodeling of his shrine.

“Darling, a little to the left. Hm…actually more to the right! Oh dear…maybe turn it slightly that way?”

You sighed and followed his directions. By now, you were exhausted by how picky he was being. After he was finally satisfied with that specific pillar, you decided to take a break and turn small again as you plopped yourself down on the stairs of the shrine, leaning back on the pillar you just maneuvered.

“You’re tiring to work with, Hermes. Very tiring.”

“And yet you love me anyways.”

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that.”

He huffed at your reply and turned small as well as he sat down next to you. You sighed and rested your head against his shoulder while he wrapped his arm around your waist. He then began to sing a familiar tune, you smiled as you still recognized it from all the time that has passed.

“Is that the song you played for me when we first met?”

“Yup! I’m surprised you still remember it!”

“Of course I would! Why wouldn’t I? I probably couldn’t erase the memory from my head if I wanted to. After all you did make a fool of yourself in front of-”

He surged to cut you off, covering your mouth with his hand as his face was bright red. He was not going to relive that embarrassing memory. You double over with laughter as you remove his hand from your mouth, recalling the memory.

“Oh come on! Don’t you remember when Apollo had to grab you and take you away before you had further embarrassed yourself?”

“Don’t bring that up! I don’t want to relive that! It was utterly embarrassing, ughhh…darling…”

You covered your own mouth to muffle your laughter as he stood there huffing about it. Back when he was trying to court you and make you fall in love with him, he had tried to serenade you with a song- with the help of his brother Apollo, of course.

It was a failure. He had humiliated himself in front of you. It wasn't that his singing was bad- It was the lyrics that were the problem. He made them on the spot…and they were horrible to the point Apollo felt secondhand embarrassment for his brother and ended up dragging him away, stopping him from further embarrassment.

Looking back at it, he thought it was an utter failure and he can’t even think back upon it without cringing at himself. You, on the other hand, thought it was sweet and funny. It was one of the reasons you'd fallen in love with him.

“But you were so sweet! It was cute! Come on, it wasn’t that bad okay? You genuinely made me blush that day. Hermes, come on, my love…”

“…If you say so…did I really…?”

“Mhm, you did.”

You then pressed a kiss against his cheek and he smiled in response. He turned his head to face your face and then he grinned at you.

“I guess my charms really did woo you! Well, of course I did, I’m the messenger of gods after all.”

“Oh no, don’t even start, Hermes.”

That compliment only served to further boost his ego and encouraged him to start ranting away about how great of a charmer he is.

You rolled your eyes in response and sighed at him. Nonetheless, it made you smile. You kissed his cheek and laid back against the pillar as he chattered away endlessly. You yawned and listened to him go on as you watched the sky darken.

Since you were in no rush, as with Hermes, time feels infinite, you didn't tell him about the time- and just let him talk his heart away. If he was happy, so were you. And besides, you always had tomorrow to finish fixing up his shrine.

He then kisses the side of your head as he notices how sleepy you were.

“Tired, darling?”

“Mhm, but it’s fine, you can keep talking.”

“Nope! I think it’s time you get some rest, even if we don’t necessarily need rest.”

You quickly give up as you already know that if you don’t relent he’d bother and insist until you do. So instead, you drape yourself over him and rest your head by his neck. He hums in approval and rubs circles into your back, humming that tune from so long ago as slumber takes you in its great embrace.

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A/N: WOO! This was a bit of a harder one! Took me a while longer than usual, then again I am busy with other things. Credits to @snorkelborg for being my editor!!! Hope this was up to your expectations!!!

Word Count: 2,142 words

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