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orcelito · 5 months ago
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Bought a stupid suit thing. Disgustang.
#speculation nation#i got it on sale but it was still kinda expensive. ughhhh#hates every part of that. it's so stiff and uncomfortable and unnatural feeling.#but business professional is the recommended attire... so to that i went...#felt bad staying so close to close but the employees were nice about it at least. and i still got out b4 they closed (barely)#i wanted to go shopping earlier today. in between class and orchestra. but allegedly attendance is required in the lab.#so i went. didnt really feel like attendance was taken. but i still went.#still gotta finish prepping my resume but i dont think itll take Too long... i got a template to follow#from my web coding class actually. bc we just happen to have a resume building assignment this week.#so by working on my resume im working on the lab!! yay!!!#except im not doing the lab resume rn. just the normal resume. the template is still helpful tho.#also need to do a bit of research into the companies that are there and the interview style thingie#GOD this is going to be a whole hassle. i dont wanna wrinkle my stupid suit so i shouldnt stuff it in a bag.#and i dont wanna BIKE in the stupid suit. so im thinking of driving up to campus. forking over the money for guest parking#do the stupid career fair then drive back home to change and then go back up to campus on bus or bike in time for bowling#hopefully. we hope. nonzero chance of having to miss bowling and web coding classes tho. depending on how long i spend at this thing.#ultimately career bullshit is more important than one day of bowling so like. whatever.#but i still want a reward for sucking it up and going to the stupid career fair anyways. even tho i Really dont want to.#im already planning on skipping my first class. he made it sound like it would be fine + expected. so we can go to the career fair.#and that opens up a good amount of time so. doing that. and then hoping i can make it to bowling class...#it's funny to imagine if i didnt have time to go back home to change. me showing up to bowling in a suit.#im not doing that tho. this shit was too expensive to risk it doing physical activity.#BLARGH i am so supremely grumpy going to this thing. i dont want to. at all. i hate all this Professional Attire bullshit.#but i need to... and i already went thru the hassle of getting the damn suit... might as well just go.#i will simply pout and grumble the whole way. until tomorrow where it'll be full social smiles and whatever the fuck.#need to get enough sleep to make talking easier. no time for any fun stuff tonight.#need to find my damn. razor. bc i need to shave my little mustache thing probably. for 'professionalism'. ugh.#kicking and screaming this whole way. man i dont think i even own an ironing board. gonna have to hang the shit up and hope for the best#longest sigh imaginable... i just wanna write....... or play video games...... wahhhh#at least itll be over tomorrow. but then i will have to do presentation stuff for thursday. ughhhhhh
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seoforindiam · 2 months ago
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Maintaining Academic Curiosity: Fostering Lifelong Learning
New Post has been published on https://www.justwebdevelopment.com/blog/maintaining-academic-curiosity-fostering-lifelong-learning/
Maintaining Academic Curiosity: Fostering Lifelong Learning
In the fast-paced world of today, the search for knowledge doesn’t end when one leaves the classroom. Be it in high school, college, or bridging to the working world, keeping one’s curiosity in academic pursuits is the key to both personal and professional development. Life-long learning not only expands the mind but also makes one more adaptable, innovative, and resilient. For learners in the UK, developing the culture of lifelong learning can positively impact academic performance, especially when combined with the right academic support, such as assignment help, contributing to long-term success.
    Why Academic Curiosity is Important
Academic curiosity goes beyond a love for reading textbooks or earning high marks. It’s the natural urge to learn new things, grasp complicated concepts, and challenge the world. This curiosity ignites critical thinking, enhances problem-solving abilities, and sparks innovation. In today’s competitive educational environment, particularly for students looking for assignment assistance, being curious is a great advantage.
  Advantages of Academic Curiosity:
Increases Engagement: Inquisitive students are more inclined to engage actively in class, ask questions, and initiate projects.
Promotes Deeper Learning: Rather than memorizing facts, inquisitive learners seek to comprehend the “why” and “how” of concepts.
Improves Career Opportunities: Employers prefer applicants who demonstrate a desire to learn and evolve.
Develops Self-Motivation: Inner motivation supplants outer pressure, decreasing stress and burnout.
  Strategies to Encourage Lifelong Learning
Lifelong learning starts with habits and a mind open to it. Following are practical strategies for maintaining academic curiosity outside the classroom.
1. Establish Personal Learning Objectives
Instead of having only formal academic tests as targets, set goals based on oneself. They could be acquiring new knowledge, enhancing writing, or learning something other than what one is studying. Setting goals keeps learning goal-oriented and systematic. When paired with resources like assignment help, these goals become more achievable, allowing students to stay focused while also improving their academic performance.ic.
2. Adopt Curiosity-Motivated Research
Students tend to conduct research purely for the purposes of assignments. Instead, spend time reading journals, watching documentaries, or listening to thought leaders on subjects of interest. This practice turns learning into an adventure.
3. Leverage Digital Tools Properly
Technology is either a distraction or a valuable tool. Utilize learning platforms, online courses, and podcasts to broaden knowledge. Bookmark good academic databases and organize digital notes for easy reference.
4. Work with Your Peers
Study groups aren’t only for homework assistance; they are chances for knowledge sharing. Breaking down concepts to peers solidifies understanding and gives way to varied ideas.
5. Read Broadly and Regularly
Make reading a part of daily life. Read books, blogs, articles, and research papers as part of regular study. Select material that defies assumptions and promotes critical thinking.
6. Reflect and Review
When a module or project is done, reflect. What went well? What did not? What might have been examined in more detail? Reflection reinforces learning and identifies areas to work on.
  Lifelong Learning Integrated into Daily Life
Learning need not be limited to lectures and libraries. It can be woven into daily activities to ensure that it is sustainable and enjoyable.
Microlearning Moments
Divide learning into bite-sized, manageable pieces. Listen to a podcast on the way to class, watch a 10-minute educational video, or read an article at lunch.
Interact with Thought Leaders
Subscribe to academics, industry leaders, and professionals on sites such as LinkedIn or Twitter. Interacting with their posts provides exposure to new trends and fresh ideas.
Gamify Learning
Utilize apps and websites that transform study material into interactive games. This technique is particularly helpful for revision and problem-solving practice.
Go to Events and Workshops
Look for low-cost or free events, lectures, and workshops organised by libraries, local organisations, or universities. These have a hands-on learning experience and opportunities for networking.
Although the rewards of lifelong learning are evident, there are obstacles confronting many students that deter academic inquisitiveness. These should be identified and dealt with.
Time Constraints
With classes, part-time work, and private obligations, time can be difficult to find. Make learning a priority by integrating it into daily life and employing scheduling tools to optimise the use of time.
Lack of Motivation
Burnout and academic stress can drain enthusiasm. Divide tasks into smaller objectives, mark progress, and discover new learning modes to rekindle interest.
Fear of Failure
Fear of error usually prevents students from venturing into new areas. Practice a growth mindset—errors are good learning tools, not failures.
Limited Resources
Availability of good materials may be a problem. Use university libraries, open-access journals, and free online courses to get around this.
  The Educator’s and Institution’s Role
In addition to the student’s responsibility to own learning, institutions have a critical role as well. Learning environments must be created that encourage curiosity and independent thinking.
Fostering Inquiry-Based Learning
Rather than rote memorization, educators should encourage questioning, problem-solving, and critical examination. This establishes a firmer foundation for a lifetime of learning.
Making it Relevant to the Real World
Connecting theory to real-world applications makes learning more relevant and interactive. Case studies, field work, and simulations close the gap between classroom and life.
Flexible Learning Opportunities
Providing various learning forms like online modules, blended classes, and self-paced courses enables students to learn in a manner that accommodates their lifestyles.
  Building a Personal Learning Ecosystem
Lifelong learning is viable when underpinned by a strong personal ecosystem.
Create a Learning Space
A dedicated study space minimizes distractions and tells the brain to focus. It doesn’t have to be fancy—just comfortable, quiet, and tidy.
Keep a Learning Journal
Record what is learned on a daily or weekly basis. Add reflections, questions, new terms, and next-step subjects. This consolidates retention and supports self-awareness.
Issue Learning Challenges
Monthly challenges—e.g., reading a book, learning a skill, or taking a short course—keep things rolling and create a sense of accomplishment.
  Utilizing Assignment Help Effectively
Supporting services can become key to maintaining interest and increased confidence. Effectively utilizing assignment help can also alleviate stress as well as facilitate deeper understanding.
When to get assistance:
Stuck on trying to grasp something despite persistent effort
Requiring direction on composing or organizing assignments
Meeting many deadlines at one time
Picking Reliable Aid:
 Services that emphasize maintaining academic integrity should be sought along with personalized advice. This avoids having students acquire habits from using the support versus becoming dependent.
  Embracing the Mindset of a Lifelong Learner
At the end of the day, cultivating academic curiosity is about adopting a mindset. Lifelong learners are flexible, receptive to change, and always looking to improve.
Traits of a Lifelong Learner:
Curiosity: Constantly asking questions and seeking greater understanding
Resilience: Bouncing back from failures and seeing them as opportunities
Self-Discipline: Setting and staying on track with personal learning objectives
Flexibility: Willing to change one’s views based on new information
  Conclusion
Sustaining academic interest is not a one-off exercise but an ongoing process. It turns students into thinkers, problem-solvers, and innovators—attributes that are priceless in both academic and professional settings.
For those who need guidance in a structured manner along the way, websites such as Assignment in Need (assignnmentinneed.com)  can provide assignment assistance while promoting independent learning and academic development. With the right attitude, tools, and mindset, lifelong learning becomes not only possible but profoundly rewarding.
Keep exploring. Keep questioning. Keep learning.
  Justwebdevelopment can also help you in... WordPress Development  | WordPress Theme Development  | PSD To WordPress
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assignmentmentor · 8 months ago
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mugglebornmarvelite · 5 months ago
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Game Night
Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)
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Summary: Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.
Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 
Warnings: Fluff, banter, friendly competition, implied threats, destroying property (Bucky and Sam), romantic tension everyone can feel, and some overprotective Bucky because that man does not play about his sunshine.
Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay; I was helping my friend with a research project. Ugh, it feels choppy, but I hope this is to your liking, babes ;)
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Divider by: @strangergraphics
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The living room buzzed with energy as the Avengers tried to recover from the chaos of their most recent mission; the munching of chips and clinking of drinks in glasses filled the space.
Peter and you were talking animatedly about the mission, with Peter recounting how he flipped mid-air, webbing a bad guy to a nearby wall.
“I mean, I swear, the guy didn’t see it coming. I was way higher up than I thought, and then BAM!” Peter dramatically mimicked the motion with his arms, sending you into fits of laughter.
“It’s honestly kind of unfair that you can just flip your way out of everything, Pete,” you teased, elbowing him.
He shrugged, all smugness. “I mean, someone’s gotta make the web-swinging look good, right?”
Before you could reply, Steve stood up from his spot, clapping his hands for attention. “Alright, team! Time for some mandatory bonding!”
A chorus of groans erupted from the group, each one from someone hoping to escape Steve’s relentless enthusiasm for ‘team-building’ nights.
“Tonight is Charades.” Steve declared.
That’s when Steve decided to assign the partners. He glanced around the room with a twinkle in his eye and paired you with Bucky, clearly anticipating the fun to come.
You gave Bucky your signature puppy dog eyes, and he looked away with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to give in and show that he was happy to be partnered with you.
“Oh, great,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. “This is gonna be a disaster.”
You didn’t let his grumpiness throw you off. “Bucky, come on!” you said, plopping beside him on the couch. “We’ve got this! We’re unstoppable!”
Bucky raised an eyebrow and shot you a skeptical look. “Sure, sure. We’ll see about that.”
He didn’t seem convinced, and as Sam overheard, he couldn’t resist adding his two cents.
"Oh, this is gonna be easy," Sam declared loudly, rolling his eyes. "Grumpy Barnes can’t even smile, let alone act."
"You’re gonna regret that," Bucky shot back, his tone thick with warning. 
His words weren’t loud, but they were laced with enough warning that Sam quickly leaned back into his seat, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Okay, okay, I get it," Sam laughed, but you caught the wariness in his eyes. "But not holding my breath, this will be easy."
Then, leaning in toward you, he whispered, “If we lose to that clown, I’m never letting it go.”
You gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, pretending to be shocked. "Who knew you cared so much about winning?"
Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Don’t mess this up," he teased.
You winked at him. “You’re with me. How could we lose?”
As the game started, it quickly became clear that Bucky treated charades less like a fun group activity and more like a tactical mission. His intense focus was almost comical, but you fell into an unspoken rhythm. 
When it was your turn to act, Bucky’s sharp eyes locked onto you, and after a few gestures, he almost always guessed your clues. When it was his turn, he leaned into the ridiculousness of it all, whether miming a gorilla or pretending to be a ballerina, just to keep your laughter ringing through the room.
By the end of the game, the scoreboard showed a landslide victory in your favor. Bucky allowed himself a small, smug grin as you squealed in delight and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. 
“We’re the dream team!” you exclaimed, giggling as you clung to him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, though his grip on you was secure, his metal arm effortlessly supporting you. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Much to everyone's amusement, he carried you back to the couch, where he promptly plopped you into his lap. “You’re comfy,” you declared with a grin, making yourself home. 
Sam, clearly displeased, waved a hand in your direction. “This has to be rigged. There’s no way those two didn’t cheat.”
Natasha snorted, leaning back in her chair. “They didn’t cheat, Wilson. They’re just disgustingly in sync.”
Sam grabbed a pillow and chucked it at you. “Sync this!”
The pillow hit you square in the face, and you burst out laughing, holding it in your lap. “It’s just a pillow!”
But Bucky didn’t see it that way. His gaze turned sharp as he caught the second pillow Sam threw mid-air. “If you throw another one at her...”
Sam, of course, took that as a challenge. “What are you gonna do, Barnes?” he quipped, hurling another pillow that you easily dodged.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”
Sam’s smirk faltered. “Wait, what?”
Without a word, Bucky carefully brushed your hair out of your face, placed you gently on the couch, and stood up. The room went silent as he walked purposefully toward the hallway. 
“What’s he doing?” you asked, looking to Steve for answers.
Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, hiding a smile. “He’s going to smash Redwing.”
Sam’s eyes widened in panic. 
“Barnes, you touch Redwing, I swear-” He bolted after Bucky, and the two disappeared down the hall. 
Moments later, a loud crash echoed through the compound, followed by Sam’s yelling and Bucky’s retorts.
Natasha chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back on the couch. “This happens all the time.”
You glanced between her and Steve, bewildered. “Doesn’t anyone stop them?”
Steve shrugged. “Nope. They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”
From a distance, the team could hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Sam bickering echoing through the compound. 
“Touch Redwing, and you’re paying for a whole new one!” Sam’s voice was laced with fear.
“Oh, don’t worry, Wilson,” Bucky shot back, his tone mockingly calm. “I’ll make sure to recycle the pieces. I hear it’s good for the environment.”
A loud thud followed as if Bucky had knocked something over or thrown something against the wall. 
“Man, what is your problem?” Sam hollered. “You act like I threw a brick at her!”
“You hit her in the face!” Bucky retorted.
“It was a pillow!” Sam defended himself. “It probably felt like a marshmallow.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky countered. “You don’t throw things at her. Ever.”
Back in the living room, you stifled a laugh as Natasha shook her head in amused disbelief. “It’s always like this,” she said, smirking. “I don’t know why Sam keeps testing him.”
Steve folded his arms, looking like the exasperated dad of the group. “Because Sam likes pushing buttons. And Bucky…well, Bucky only has so much patience.”
Another crash echoed from down the hallway, followed by Sam’s yell. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t even Redwing! That was my lamp!”
“You’ve got terrible taste in decor, Wilson,” Bucky said, completely unfazed.
“YOU OWE ME A NEW LAMP!” Sam shouted.
“I did you a favor.” Bucky said dryly. “So say ‘thank you,’ it's polite.”
You couldn’t hold back your giggles any longer. “Should we...I don’t know, step in?” you asked, looking at Steve.
Steve shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Let them hash it out. Bucky’s not actually going to break Redwing. Probably.”
“Probably?” Natasha echoed. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in him.”
From the hallway, Sam yelled again. “THAT’S IT, BARNES. YOU AND ME. SPARRING MATCH TOMORROW.”
“Fine,” Bucky fired back. “But don’t be mad when I wipe the floor with you, bird brain.”
Natasha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You know he’s only this protective because it’s you, right? He doesn’t care this much when we get hit with stuff.”
You blushed, glancing down at your hands. “He’s just…looking out for me. Like a guardian.”
Natasha snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
Steve smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything. 
The sounds of Sam and Bucky’s argument gradually faded as they came back.
Sam was glaring, his hair disheveled, and he muttered under his breath about never forgiving Bucky. 
Bucky, on the other hand, was smug, like he had just won a personal victory.
Sam threw himself back down on the couch, muttering something about "not talking to Barnes for the rest of the week," to which Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug.
He sat down beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of the couch. His eyes flicked down to you, and without a word, he reached out to brush his knuckles lightly over your knee.
“You okay, sunshine?” he asked quietly, only for you to hear.
You smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Bucky’s lips quirked upward, just slightly. “Good,” he said softly. “No one messes with you. Not even Sam.”
The others shared amused looks, but neither of you paid them any mind. Bucky’s protective side made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand, and you sank further into the couch, curling into his side.
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Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp
If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!
Much love x
- Maeve
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soniapandey77 · 1 year ago
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delugyu · 1 month ago
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by a string
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summary: Yeonjun’s got a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to worry about being a star student, but he also has to be the city’s web-slinging hero. And a lab intern. And a semi-decent roommate. And a little bit in love with you.
pairings: yeonjun x fem!reader
word count: 18.9k
tags: fluff, smut (mdni), some angst, spiderman!yeonjun, his webs shoot from his actual wrists like tobey maguire’s spiderman, college au, yeonjun is a cute awkward charming nerd, inaccurate science stuff sorry, blood, physical violence, lots of spidey shenanigans, campy weird action scene teehee, small arguments
smut tags: making out, heavy petting, webs as cuffs LOLLL, thigh riding, edging, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, cum eating, oral (f rec.), yeonjun is so playful and such a tease
notes: omg she’s finally here!!! i am so excited to get this out to u guys hehe<3 tysm for all the love on the teaser, i hope spideyjjun steals ur heart. enjoy the fic !!!
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Saving the city can suck sometimes. Homework sucks significantly more. If Yeonjun had the option to zip through the city chasing some bad guys instead of sitting here trying to finish his calculus assignment, he’d be flying out his window in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, responsibility is a virtue, and Yeonjun cannot swing through the city for no good reason.
The one good thing about this tedious, awful calculus homework is that if it’s hard enough, he always gets a text from you. His body springs to life when he hears his phone buzz, rushing to pick it up and check the notification.
[you] have u done the calc homework
[you] how do you solve #4 :(
Do most of your conversations revolve around your shared class? Yes. Does Yeonjun ever get tired of teaching you the concepts? No, never. In fact, he stretches out his explanations as long as possible to keep you talking to him longer. Yeonjun never knew before that math talk could make his heart flutter.
“So, does that make sense?” he asks after a long-winded explanation. He’s almost out of breath after spewing out so much math jargon, but being on a call with you for ten minutes has similarly breathtaking effects.
“Yeah. Thanks, Yeonjun.” He bites back a giggle upon hearing your words. “You should seriously be teaching this class,” you say with a laugh.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t—I mean, I’m—I’m more of a science guy,” he stammers out, lips tightening into a thin line at the embarrassment of stumbling over his own sentence. “Our professor’s pretty cool, too,” he adds as if that saves him at all.
“Is he? Maybe I should start going to his office hours,” you muse.
Oh. Well in that case, your professor sucks. Yeonjun can’t have you stop coming to him for math help; you’d never talk to him at all if it came to that!
“He’s not that cool,” Yeonjun says. You laugh, and he huffs out a short chuckle too.
“Noted. I’m gonna go now, but thanks for helping me. You’re the best.” Your praise goes straight to Yeonjun’s head, making him feel like the greatest man to ever live. He doesn’t even feel this accomplished after going out on his little spidey-missions.
He’s a beat too late to say goodbye or good night to you, the call already hanging up as he opens his mouth to speak. He melts into a puddle over his desk, sighing out as he plays back his conversation with you in his head. He thinks you have the prettiest voice he’s ever heard. You’re so smart, too. He never has to over exert himself to get you to understand, though he would happily do that for you.
He jolts up as his roommate walks into his dorm. Yeonjun glances at him quickly as he straightens out his posture, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework.
“Hey,” his roommate, Soobin, greets quietly. Yeonjun didn’t know Soobin prior to this semester, but he’s been pretty nice. He’s very quiet, but very respectful of Yeonjun’s space. It’s much appreciated, considering Yeonjun’s hiding a few of his red and blue spandex suits in his closet.
“Hey. How was your day?” Yeonjun asks, only half-interested in the conversation.
He watches Soobin shrug from his peripheral as he slides off his shoes. “Normal,” he answers.
Yeonjun nods. “Cool.” The conversation kind of dies after that, which is fine. Soobin isn’t the most extroverted person, and Yeonjun doesn’t push him to talk more than he’s willing to. He sometimes forgets he even has a roommate with how quiet it gets in the room.
Yeonjun regains his focus a minute into the silence. His eyes widen when he realizes that there’s now a doodle of your face on his calculus homework—when did that get there..? His face heats up as he grabs an eraser from his desk’s drawer. Thank god he didn’t do this assignment in pen.
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
Yeonjun’s not really paying attention to the professor, finding more interest in taking quick glances at you. You’re wearing a different bracelet today. It’s really pretty—maybe he should compliment you on it. Is it weird to lean in and tell you that? Are you close enough where he can compliment you without looking weird and creepy?
He rests his head in his hand and starts doodling in his notebook, mindlessly scribbling on the page while he waits for the lecture to end. He thinks of quick conversational things to say, something to discuss in a few minutes when it’s time to pack your bags and leave. Interesting class, right? Who would’ve thought—Yeonjun looks up at the projector to see the professor’s notes—the shell method… would be so cool… Maybe he shouldn’t say that, actually.
He’s honestly better off not trying to strike up a conversation with you at all; the chances of it leading to total and utter embarrassment lean greatly towards one hundred percent. He just wishes he had a little more spine, or that he was naturally a little cooler. The only interesting thing about him is something he can’t even talk to you about, or with anyone at all.
Yeonjun barely registers it when the professor dismisses class. He steals one last glance toward you, lips parting like he finally built up the courage to speak, but the words build up in his throat and die on his tongue. He seals his lips and focuses his gaze back on his own things, closing his notebook and shoving it in his bag. It’s not worth it. He decides he’ll just keep his mouth shut.
“Hey Yeonjun?”
Yeonjun almost jumps out of his seat, and he has to fight away his nerves as he turns to you. You’re packing your things back into your bag, not even looking at him. A part of him thinks he might be hearing things until your eyes meet his, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah?” he responds, voice coming out strained. He clears his throat.
“We’re friends, right?” you ask. He blinks, feeling like this is some kind of trick. He analyzes your face, making sure there’s nothing snide or teasing hidden in your question. You look honest enough, which puts him at ease.
“Yeah, for sure.”
“I hope that’s not sarcasm,” you say, getting up from your seat and adjusting your bag over your shoulders.
“It’s not! Really, we’re friends,” he reassures. You walk past him and he follows, leaving the classroom and entering the busy hallway.
“Well, good. I wanted you to go with me somewhere.” Your statement is wildly cryptic, and it leaves Yeonjun’s mind whirling with the possibilities of what you might offer.
“Right now?” he asks. “I-I have class…” As much as he likes you, he really can’t risk dropping his grade due to missed attendance.
You laugh, “No, tonight. There’s this party, and I”—you keep talking, but Yeonjun barely registers it. He’s never partied in college before. What would he even do at a party? He can’t handle his drinks well, and he’s not sure how well he’d blend into that kind of environment. He’s scared he’d make a fool of himself.
As you leave the academic building, you turn to Yeonjun, raising a brow in question. You must have asked him for his confirmation. Yeonjun forces his brain to rack up a response.
“Could you text me the details..?” Yeonjun asks. You relax a little at his words, nodding happily. You pull out your phone, ready to text him now. Yeonjun feels his heart pounding. He catches sight of the time on your phone, noticing he’s only got five minutes until his next class. The hall he’s supposed to be in is at least a three minute walk from here.
“There,” you say, awarding Yeonjun with a grin so bright that being late to class might just be worth it. “I really hope to see you there.” You tilt your head a little, and Yeonjun feels starstruck.
“You will,” he promises mindlessly.
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Yeonjun feared he might’ve been in trouble when his professor asked him to stay after class. Turns out, it’s something much worse.
“Yeonjun, do you think you could help in the lab later today?”
Yeonjun doesn’t think much before he nods. “Yeah, of course, how much later?”
“Around 6 this evening,” his professor answers. Yeonjun’s heart drops. That would be perfectly fine any other day, but he promised to go out with you today. Of course the party would start at the same time Yeonjun’s professor wants him to stop by the lab.
“I’m not sure I have the time,” Yeonjun says quickly, suddenly fidgety and feeling antsy to leave the room. “I’ve got this… thing to do.” His professor doesn’t look too convinced. Yeonjun wants to facepalm himself. Yeah, great excuse.
The professor sighs, but Yeonjun starts up again before his professor can say anything. “I can come in earlier! I’m free right now, so I could just go over after this.”
“The cells we’re working with need a full 24 hours in culture for the sake of our research. Are you sure you can’t push your plans forward? Or back?” he asks.
Yeonjun’s stomach twists with guilt. He knows he shouldn’t let his professor down. Yeonjun’s kind of counting on him to write his recommendation letter for a graduate program, too.
“I’ll push the plans back,” Yeonjun says, giving in. He hopes the dejection isn’t too evident in his voice. His professor smiles and pats Yeonjun’s shoulder in thanks. He half-listens as his professor gives him the usual rundown of what to do during and after the process, nodding along and holding back the frown that tries to tug at his lips.
When Yeonjun finally leaves the building, he lets out the heaviest sigh of his life. His shoulders sag, and he feels like he might be the unluckiest person in the world. You finally give him attention outside of just asking for homework help, and the universe just had to intervene. This is laughable. It’s also stupid. Annoying. Frustrating.
There’s a pout etched onto Yeonjun’s face as he walks back to his dorm. He’s got a couple hours until he needs to go to the lab, so maybe he can take a nap or tidy up his room a little. His head hangs low, gaze transfixed on the sidewalk, kicking along a small pebble that keeps him company on the way.
He only picks his head back up as he walks past a certain field of grass, one he often finds you sitting in. Sometimes you’re on your laptop, sometimes you’re taking notes in a textbook, but most of the time you’re just lounging and doing nothing. It’s almost inspiring. Yeonjun would probably benefit from relaxing and decompressing more.
You’re there, sitting cross-legged on the grass, peaceful and silent. You look up suddenly, making eye contact with Yeonjun. His face flushes, but before he can turn his head in embarrassment, you raise your hand and wave. Yeonjun almost stops in his tracks. You’re waving at him, acknowledging his existence yet again.
He smiles and waves back, failing to tame his heartbeat as he takes the sight of you in. He’s forced to look away when he nearly stumbles over the pebble he’s been kicking around—“Oh, shit!” he utters, quietly enough to not draw attention to himself.
He glances back at you casually, making sure you didn’t witness him tripping. Fortunately, you’re on your phone, no longer paying him any mind.
Back at his dorm, Yeonjun stands by his closet, contemplating what exactly to wear tonight. He also has to make sure his outfit is lab-friendly, so the loose sweater he’d been eyeing is a no-go. He sighs, looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe the t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing now will suffice.
Time passes slowly, slow enough for Yeonjun to clean his half of the room, make himself a small meal in the communal kitchen, and even read a chapter ahead in his calculus textbook. He almost feels relieved when his alarm sets off to go to the lab, eager to get his work over with.
He’s determined to get this done quickly enough to still see you tonight. The thought of letting you down the one time you ask him to hang out is almost painful. He imagines the frown you’d wear next time he sits next to you in class. He can’t let that happen; he has to make sure he gets to you.
He throws on his lab coat and adjusts the goggles to fit onto his face. He sighs as he grabs containers of various chemical compounds from the cabinet, leaving them on the counter as he fetches the other materials he needs. With everything set out in front of him, he grabs the petri dish of cells and glances at the procedural note his professor left.
Yeonjun’s done this enough times to get into the swing of things, so he’s not too concerned with double checking his every move. His bigger priority is getting this done as fast as possible so that he can get to you. Lab work is never particularly fun or interesting, so he passes the time thinking about you.
The smell of the chemicals burns Yeonjun’s nose a little, and he wonders for a second if he’d been zoning out too much. He picks up the procedural note and glances over the measurements again, making sure he’s been adding the right amounts of everything. If he does something wrong and messes with the cell culture, he risks not being allowed back in the lab. He should probably slow down a bit, even if it means making you wait longer.
He’s more careful throughout the rest of the process, pushing back the worries that he might’ve messed something up. He continues to reassure himself that everything’s okay as he finishes up his work, placing the lid back on the petri dish and storing it away. He writes the date and time on a piece of tape that he sticks onto the lid, then finally lets his body relax as he steps back.
He cracks his knuckles to alleviate the stiffness that had been building there and rolls his shoulders back, groaning at the soreness of his muscles. All the fine motor movements from working in a lab does a number on his arms and fingers.
He hears a rattle, and he turns quickly to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in his haste. His eyes scan the room, but nothing looks amiss. He shakes the feeling and sheds himself of his lab gear, eager to head to you at the party already.
It’s been over an hour, and the thought of you waiting so long for Yeonjun’s arrival strikes guilt inside his chest. He opens his phone to find the path he needs to walk to get to the house the party’s being held in, eyes bugging out when he sees that it’s a twenty minute walk from the lab. Shit, by then you’ll have been waiting an hour and a half for him to show up!
He groans, trying to think if there’s a better way to get to you. The buses around campus don’t stop at the street he needs to get to, and it’s not like he has one of those electric bicycles or scooters that everyone seems to love. He wonders now if it might be a worthy investment. He pouts and throws his head back, totally drained from everything happening today. His eyes land on the tops of the academic buildings and the tall trees overhead. Maybe there is another way to get there after all.
No, he shouldn’t. That would be way too reckless. He’s already gone through the whole power and responsibility spiel, and he’s not in the mood to get himself in trouble for acting rashly. But if no one sees…
He turns his head and scans for people in each direction. No one’s around. No one would know, and he really needs to get to the party before he makes himself look like an asshole. He checks for anyone one last time, then aims his wrist towards the sky.
“Yeonjun! What’s up!”
Yeonjun startles and brings his arm back to his side hastily. He whips around to see who’s talking to him and lets out a breath when he sees his friend who had just exited the lab building. “Taehyun, hey man,” he says, ignoring the anxious pounding of his heart. That was way too close. Lesson learned.
“Didn’t catch you at the physics meet last week. Everything alright?” Taehyun asks. Yeonjun really hopes this conversation doesn’t take too long. The last thing he needs is another ten minutes piled on top of how late he already is.
“I’m good, I was just”—controlling a fire set by some idiot arsonist, then trapping said arsonist with his webs until the cops arrived—“uh, kind of sick.”
Taehyun hums and nods. “Well, we missed you bro, hope you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around!” Yeonjun waves and returns the smile his friend gives him, then walks as fast as he can to the location you sent him. He manages to get there in fifteen minutes instead of twenty, only at the expense of heavy breathing like he just finished a marathon.
When he gets to the entrance, there’s two men Yeonjun has never seen in his life guarding the door. He almost scoffs. What is this, some kind of nightclub?
“You got the money?” one of the guys ask.
“What?” Yeonjun scrunches his brows and leans his head forward a little, thinking he might have misheard him.
“No money, no entrance,” the other man says.
“Dude, come on!” Yeonjun whines.
“House rules. Stop wasting our time and get out of line.”
“No, no, I’ll”—Yeonjun sighs, reaching into the back pocket of his pants to fetch out his wallet. “How much?” he asks. The men tell him, and he bites back the complaints that almost push past his lips. Yeonjun slaps the bills into the guy’s open palm. They finally open the door for him, and Yeonjun steps inside.
He’s taken aback by how many people are cramped into this place. The house is pretty big, but there’s at least a hundred people mingling around, which makes space tight. He squeezes past the crowd with muttered apologies, but no one seems to pay him any mind. He scans every room for you, but it’s a little hard to do it efficiently when there’s so many faces to check. A part of him fears you might’ve left already.
He pulls out his phone, ready to text you and ask, before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns at the action and smiles when he’s met with your pretty face. “Hey, you!” you exclaim. “I thought you bailed on me.” There’s no real bite to your words, but it still makes Yeonjun frown.
“I’m sorry. I had to do this lab thing, and”—
“It’s alright, don’t explain. You’re here now!” you say. “Did you have anything to drink?”
Yeonjun shakes his head. “I don’t drink much.”
“Me either,” you say. You look out the window, then grab onto Yeonjun’s hand. His brain short-circuits, and he has to stop his eyes from going all dumb and wide. “It’s kinda stuffy in here. Let’s go outside.”
Yeonjun puts up no fight as you lead him out the back door, walking out into the yard. There’s almost as many people out here as there are inside, but the lack of walls means there’s more space to move. It’s much more breathable.
He takes quick glances at your face, trying to decipher what you’re staring so hard at. Your gaze is fixed on a small group of people just sitting and laughing. All the guys have girls in their laps, and a few girls stand around them, sipping their drinks. They all look happy. And drunk.
“Did you want to join them?” Yeonjun asks. He doesn’t know any of those people, but he’ll go if that’s what you’d like. It’s not like there’s much else to do when you’re not drinking or dancing.
The LED lights that line the house reflect in your eyes, making them dazzle extra bright. Your eyes dart to the group one last time before you shake your head. “Nah. Let’s just sit down and talk.” Yeonjun gladly obliges.
You find an empty spot to sit at, looking up at Yeonjun after you situate yourself. He laughs a little, “You really like sitting on the grass, huh?”
You smile at him and pat the ground next to you. “Don’t act like you’re too good to connect with nature.”
“It’s more about getting grass stains on my pants,” Yeonjun says, but sits beside you anyways.
You turn your head to him, and something about seeing your face this close makes it hard for him to keep eye contact. It’s quiet for a few seconds before you speak up, “So how come you said yes to the party?”
Something about your question strikes fear inside Yeonjun. Did you find him out? Do you know he likes you? Maybe this is some kind of humiliation ritual you’ve set him up for.
“Cause you asked,” he answers, voice a little meek as he fidgets with his hands in his lap.
“And if it was someone else who asked?”
Yeonjun thinks for a second, but he can’t come to an answer. “I don’t know. Like who?”
You hum and look into the crowd of people. Your head turns back to him after a couple seconds. “Like Yerim,” you say.
Yeonjun laughs as if the scenario is ridiculous, mostly because it is. Yerim would never even give him the time of day. She’s notorious for being cold to anyone who she isn’t interested in. Somehow, that seems to attract a bunch of guys to her. Not Yeonjun, though.
“No chance I’d go,” he says.
“So what makes me different?” you ask.
A lot of things. You’re nice, and you’re smart, and you’re down to earth, and you’re a beacon of warmth. Everything makes you different.
“Cause we’re friends,” he says instead. He wants to punch himself after the words leave him. This was his chance to flirt with you, yet he couldn’t even muster up the courage to give you a single compliment.
You nod. “I’m just asking cause… well, I guess I’m just surprised you agreed to come.” Your eyes meet his, warm and kind. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
Yeonjun’s stomach does flips when you look at him like that. “You’re welcome.” It goes quiet for a moment, so he continues, “I think this was worth handing over the last of my cash for.”
You burst out laughing. “They made you pay?! Why didn’t you just say you’re here with me?”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he says. He bites his tongue after the words leave him. Who is he to assume there will be a next time? He hopes you don’t call him out on it.
“We should just go somewhere else next time. There’s a lot of places downtown that I want to visit,” you suggest, bumping his shoulder with yours. Yeonjun almost explodes.
“We should do that then,” he agrees. He’s not sure what suddenly drew you to him as more than some kind of tutor, but he thanks the universe for bestowing him with all this luck.
“There’s that bakery that opened a couple months ago,” you mention.
Yeonjun lights up. “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to go there too!”
You squeal in excitement and clasp your hands together. “Let’s do that next. Tell me you’re free on Sunday,” you say.
“I don’t know, things come up last-minute sometimes. I’ll let you know.” It’s hard to make plans when he’s basically living a double life. Then again, he did agree to going out with you tonight on a whim. He’s not very consistent with his rules. He pushes the thought back.
Your eyes land back on the group of people hanging out and laughing. Yeonjun frowns, and he wonders if he’s not entertaining you enough. He doesn’t want to keep you from having fun.
“Why do you keep looking at them?” he asks, curious and soft. He hopes he’s not prying.
“They’re just some friends,” you answer.
“Oh. Why don’t we go say hi, then?” he offers.
You pull your lips into a tight line. “I’d rather not.”
“That’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You give a small smile in appreciation.
“What about you?” you ask. He tilts his head, not knowing what you mean. You continue, “Who’s in your friend group?”
Yeonjun laughs awkwardly and shrugs. “I mostly hang out with the physics honor society,” he admits.
“That’s cool. You must have a good bond.”
“We do,” he says. “How’d you meet your friends?”
You smile at him, and something in your face tells Yeonjun that it’s a complicated story. You sigh dramatically and lean back a little, “I met them at parties. Does that surprise you?”
Yeonjun’s not sure if that’s a rhetorical question. “No. You’re friendly. I can see why people come to you,” he answers.
“Thanks,” you say, voice a little quieter.
“Are you friends with your roommate?” he asks.
“I don’t have one. I live in a single dorm.”
Lucky. If Yeonjun had the extra money to spare, he’d be dorming alone too. It would definitely make heading out as Spider-man easier; he’d just be able to change in his room and jump out his window. Assuming no one is around to see, that is.
“That must be nice,” he says.
You shrug. “It’s alright. What about you? You got a roommate?”
“Yeah. We’re…” Yeonjun struggles to find a word to describe his relationship with Soobin. They’re not exactly friends, but they’re peaceful with each other.
You laugh and finish the sentence for him, “Roommates and nothing more.” There’s a lilt to your voice when you say that, and you wiggle your eyebrows like that’s supposed to suggest something.
“Ignoring your insinuations, yeah, pretty much.”
“I’m just kidding,” you say. He’ll let you make jokes at his expense all you want, it doesn’t bother him. Especially not when it means he gets to see you all giggly and happy. He thinks that you look the prettiest like this. Yeonjun would stare at you smiling up at him forever if he could.
The sound of a guy calling your name pulls Yeonjun from his stupor. He blinks at the man standing before the two of you, then looks at you with scrunched brows as if to ask who is that?
His unspoken question is answered the next second. “Hey, Kai,” you say. When Yeonjun gets a better look, he realizes that this is one of the dudes in the group you kept looking over at.
“Who’s this guy?” Kai asks, jutting his chin toward him.
“I’m Yeonjun.” He goes to hold out his hand for Kai to shake, but quickly puts it back down upon realizing that might be weird.
“Oh, Yeonjun from calculus. I know you,” he says.
“I didn’t know you’re in that class too,” Yeonjun muses.
Kai laughs, “I’m not. Y/n just talks about you.”
Yeonjun nearly melts. You talk about him. This is the best day of his life.
“Anyway,” Kai continues, looking at you again. “I need a couple more people on my beer pong team. You guys down?”
Yeonjun turns to you to gauge your reaction. He can’t really tell what you're feeling, not even when you face him as you contemplate your answer. Yeonjun shrugs, as if to tell you that he’s down for whatever you want to do.
“I think I’m good,” you say.
“Ah, alright, you bummer,” Kai jokes, stepping back and sending you a bright smile. “Continue your convo with the calc lord, I insist.” He’s gone after that, jogging off to the rest of his friends, setting up the game.
“Calc lord?” Yeonjun repeats, amused.
Your laugh is accompanied by a roll of your eyes. “He means it nicely, I swear.”
“Well, depending on how well he does in this game, I might start calling him beer pong lord,” Yeonjun says. You push at his shoulder as your laughter continues.
Yeonjun already knew he likes you a lot, but as the night goes on, he finds out that you’re even better than he thought. Conversation unfolds easily with you, even if Yeonjun’s answers are dorky and awkward at times. He feels exactly how he thinks you look when you sit in the grass alone: content and peaceful.
He’s not sure how many minutes or hours have passed when you ask him to walk you back to your dorm. All he knows is that tonight could have stretched into infinity, and that would’ve been fine. He follows you into the building, then into your room. He’s not sure why. It just feels right.
“Thanks for bringing me back,” you say. Yeonjun smiles and nods. He leans against the wall and stares out the window. You live on the top floor of your building, so the view’s pretty different from Yeonjun’s second story view. This would be a fun room to swing out of.
“Do you need anything else?” Yeonjun asks. A smile slowly takes over your face, and you cross the room to stand in front of him. You blink up at him, and something about it feels flirty. If he wasn’t biting his tongue so hard, his thoughts would have slipped right past his lips: you look cute.
You break the short moment of silence with a giggle. “Just for you to promise me we’ll hang out again,” you say, voice barely over a whisper.
Yeonjun has to remind himself to breathe and be normal. “I promise,” he says. He even holds out his pinky to seal the deal. You curl your pinky around his, accepting the playful gesture.
“Did you want to stay?” you ask. You look out the window, then back at him. “I’m okay with sharing my bed.”
That definitely flusters Yeonjun. “Oh, no, I’m—I was gonna just walk back to my dorm or something. Or take a bus. I don’t know. Thank you, though.”
You laugh. Hopefully not at his sputtering and rambling, but Yeonjun has a feeling that might be why. “Alright, then. Good night, Yeonjun.”
Your soft voice has Yeonjun wanting to backpedal and say he’ll stay the night, but he swallows down the words. He smiles at you as he backs away toward your door. “Good night,” he says, standing in your doorway.
“Yeonjun,” you call, stopping him before he could leave. He turns, waiting for your words. He’s surprised to see that you look a little shy. “I’m really happy I asked you to come with me. Tonight was fun.”
Butterflies erupt in Yeonjun’s stomach, and he feels like he could float from how giddy he is. “I’m happy too,” he says.
He steps out into the hall, thoughts lingering on how overwhelmingly good his time with you was. His mind is clouded with rosy memories of his night with you, and he finds himself repressing the urge to twirl around and jump for joy. He’ll probably be skipping all the way home, imagining all the possibilities of what could come next between you.
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
It’s Sunday, and Yeonjun knows exactly why you’re calling. He stares at his phone, then back at the man in front of him tangled up in webs. Yeonjun shoots another web over the guy’s mouth.
“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says. “Stay right here.” He slings himself onto a branch of a tall tree nearby, just to make sure no one can listen in as he accepts your call.
“Hey Yeonjun!” Your voice is so cheerful that it makes Yeonjun giggle. He even swings his feet in the air as he sits on the branch.
“Hi Y/n,” he greets, hoping his voice isn’t too muffled through the mask of his suit.
“Did those last-minute plans end up showing, or are you down to try out that bakery?” you ask. Yeonjun frowns, hating to let you down when you sound so happy.
“I’m really busy today, I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging from how awful he feels. He’s got a whole lab procedure to write once he’s done sorting out the crime scenes of today.
“No worries, maybe we can go after class sometime.”
He frowns. “I wish I could, but I got another class right after ours. Let me check my schedule, I might be able to”—
“Are those sirens?” you interrupt, and Yeonjun looks out to the street. He’s grown so accustomed to the sound of those things that it didn’t even register. “Where are you?” you ask.
“I’m… uh,” Yeonjun stammers, focusing on the cops getting out of the car and making their way towards the criminal.
He tunes into the cops’ conversation. “Looks like Spider-shit’s been here already,” one of them comments in a gruff voice.
The other cop huffs out a laugh. “He’s always meddling in with petty crimes. What do you think this guy did?”
“Jaywalking?” The cops chuckle.
“Not like he can explain with that over his mouth.” He points to the web Yeonjun placed on the man a minute ago.
Yeonjun scowls. He’s not sure why the cops hold so much scorn for him, but if they’d like to know, then the petty crime that Spider-shit helped stop was an armed robbery. If these guys were a little better at their jobs, he wouldn’t have to meddle in all the time.
“Hello?” you ask, and Yeonjun reels his attention back to his conversation with you.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just coming back from the store. Crazy stuff going on today.”
“Oh. Well, stay safe,” you say.
“Thanks, I will.” He sees the cops looking around, probably trying to spot him, so he flattens his back against the tree and tries to talk a little quieter. “I’ll see you in class, I gotta go.”
“See you!”
Yeonjun sighs once the call ends. His suit doesn’t even have pockets, he just carried his phone with him today in case you contacted him. Stupid? Mildly. Inconvenient? Very. He had one less hand to work with when dealing with today’s crime culprits. To hear your voice, though? Worth it. He smiles like an idiot as he swings over to the next nearest building, making his way back to his dorm.
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
Yeonjun’s professor accompanies him to the lab today, overseeing the procedures for the day. The feeling of his professor watching over his shoulder is more nerve-wracking than any day spent fighting crime on the streets. He’s usually careful with his work in the lab, but he’s extra, extra careful on these days.
He pauses when he retrieves the petri dish of cells. He briefly considers the possibility that he’s crazy and just seeing things, but Yeonjun’s pretty sure that the clump of cells just moved. Like, uncanny movement. He holds his breath.
He stares at the clump, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. It doesn’t jerk around anymore, so maybe it was just his imagination. Fear still creeps up his neck at the idea of the research going wrong. He remembers feeling like he messed up at some point last time he was here, and the realization is making his skin grow clammy.
“What is it?” his professor asks, taking a step closer to Yeonjun.
“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he quickly responds, keeping his voice calm and steady. He brings the petri dish to the table and does his best to forget what he saw earlier. Yeonjun fears how his professor would react if he told him something unprecedented might be occurring. It happened so quickly that he can’t even tell if his mind was just playing tricks on him. Maybe he’s just extra nervous today.
He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his lab coat, bringing the necessary materials to the table to continue the research. His professor reads off the instructions slowly, and Yeonjun pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach twisting as he works with the cells.
He tries to calm down as he walks back to his dorm, but there’s a permanent chill shooting down his spine. There’s no way the clump should have moved like that—it shouldn’t show any observable motion at all, not without some kind of electrical stimulation.
Maybe he just jerked the dish too harshly. He was pretty nervous, so it would make sense. He must have been shaking and just didn’t realize. That would explain it. That would put Yeonjun at ease.
He can try to convince himself that everything’s fine, but he can’t stop the anxious thrum of his heart. Apparently the fear reads on his face, too, because Soobin’s quick to notice it when Yeonjun enters the dorm.
“Are you okay?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun’s not sure what must have given himself away. He pays more attention to breathing slowly and talking casually.
“I’m good,” he answers. He doesn’t expect Soobin to push the subject considering how quiet he always is, but Soobin’s gaze isn’t leaving Yeonjun. He must be really concerned.
“Did something happen?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun sinks into his desk chair, covering his face with his hands as he groans. “Sorry,” his roommate apologizes, turning away from Yeonjun to look at his laptop instead.
“No, you’re good, it’s just…” Yeonjun sighs. He might as well get this off his chest. “Some lab thing.”
Soobin nods, not asking any further. Now that Yeonjun’s started though, he doesn’t feel like stopping.
“I think I might’ve fucked up,” Yeonjun admits.
“How?” Soobin’s playing some video game on his laptop as he talks, which actually puts Yeonjun at ease. It feels less pressing, less like an interrogation or a confession and more like a normal conversation.
“The cells I’m working with are being weird. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I saw it right. I just feel crazy now.” Yeonjun rubs his palms against his eyes in frustration and exhaustion, soothing the headache he’s got building up.
Soobin hums. The little shooting sounds and animated voices coming from Soobin’s game fill the room until Soobin speaks again, “Did anyone else see?”
“No. My professor was there, but he didn’t notice.”
Soobin shrugs. “You’re probably fine then.”
Honestly, Soobin’s nonchalance to the situation eases Yeonjun’s worries a lot. He knows he can get in his head sometimes, especially when it comes to doing everything right, so to hear he’ll be fine lifts a weight from his shoulders.
“Yeah, probably,” he agrees. He basks in comfortable silence for a minute now that his heart isn’t beating so hard.
“By the way, have you bought more laundry detergent yet?” Soobin asks.
Ah, shit. “Tomorrow, I promise.”
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
Being Spider-man is tasking, but it’s usually pretty cool. Not everyone gets to zip around the city and restore peace in people’s neighborhoods. Not everyone, however, has to worry about getting stabbed by a criminal in the middle of the night.
Yeonjun always stays until the cops arrive. It almost feels essential, just to make sure justice gets served. This time, he can’t.
He has to stop himself from groaning too loud when he feels the knife pull out from his side. The man in front of Yeonjun is already stuck to the side of a building, held there with a thick layer of web, so there has to be someone else. He turns around to look at the perpetrator, but the world moves a lot slower than normal.
Yeonjun blinks hard, focusing on breathing and staying conscious. The coward who stabbed him is wearing a ski mask, and he’s running away quickly. Yeonjun can’t let him leave. He moves forward and ignores the searing pain that sets his body alight. He straightens out his shaky arm and aims his wrist at the man, but the web that shoots out is just as weak as Yeonjun is.
Frustrated, Yeonjun growls and forces himself to move faster. It burns, he’s never felt any kind of pain like this, but he can’t let this man walk free. He can’t let this man stab another innocent person. Even with his staggered pace, limping as he tries his best to catch up to the man, he advances quickly.
He breathes hard and holds the air in his lungs as he aims again at the man, brows furrowed with angry determination beneath his mask. He lets out a loud grunt as he shoots his web out, and finally, it lands. The criminal falls as the web captures his ankle, keeping his leg stuck to the ground.
Yeonjun huffs as he traverses the rest of the way toward the man, nothing but fury in his veins as he shoots another web out. This one’s bigger, covering the man’s back and securing him to the pavement. He picks up his head and looks at Yeonjun with fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He can’t. All he feels is pain and anger and pain and pain and so much fucking pain.
Yeonjun’s not the vengeful type, but getting stabbed really tests a person’s limits. He shoots more webs over the guy, making sure he won’t be able to move a muscle until the cops arrive.
Yeonjun doesn’t waste his breath making snide comments, though he does have a few choice words for him. He takes off the man’s ski mask and resists the urge to deck his face. He’s got fear etched into his expression, but Yeonjun finds it hard to feel sorry for him. The man starts begging for his life, and Yeonjun scoffs. Of course he’s not going to kill this man—no matter what, he doesn’t end people’s lives. A city’s hero shouldn’t get to decide who lives and dies.
Yeonjun stumbles away after finding a passerby to call the police. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, Yeonjun feels less mad and more scared. He’s really bleeding now; his hand comes up soaked when it presses against the wound. What the hell does he do? He can’t die like this.
He can’t go to the hospital with a stab wound. There’s no way for him to make up some alibi that wouldn’t just trace Spider-man’s identity back to him. He hisses through gritted teeth as he frantically scans his surroundings, looking for somewhere to go. The only thing that’s coming to mind is you, and it’s aggravating. He could be dying right now, and all his useless mind can do is think of you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, and he’s just getting delirious, or maybe it’s a sign. It’s not like he has many good options right now.
There’s not enough time to think about it. He zips through the city and back onto campus as fast as he can, ignoring the splitting pain in his side that shoots up his body every time he moves. It’s getting harder to breathe, suddenly feeling suffocated by his mask, but he has to hold on. He’s not far away now.
He remembers the view from your window. He remembers exactly which room to shoot himself up to. He adheres himself to the wall outside your room and pulls his mask off, leaning his forehead onto the cold glass of your window with a sigh of relief. He catches his breath and knocks with a shaky fist. He’s really sorry for having to wake you up at this hour, but he has a feeling you’ll understand.
He doesn’t wait long. You're trudging out of bed and making your way toward the window, tired eyes blinking slowly. You look really cute. Everything is spinning around him, but he focuses on you. You’re still groggy and out of it until you meet Yeonjun’s eyes through the glass. As soon as you see him, it’s like you wake up immediately.
He watches your jaw drop, your frantic hands racing to open your window. His vision is nearly blacking out, and he tries to blink away the dizzy feeling in his head the best he can.
“Yeonjun?!” you squeak as he drags himself through your window and into your room. He can’t even hold himself up anymore, weak body collapsing to the floor. He groans and leans against the wall, clutching his side. He ignores the sickening feeling of blood dampening his hand, sticky and warm against his palm and between his digits.
You pick him up by the underarms, grunting as you heave him toward your bed. He notices how shaky your arms are, and he tries his best to pick up his own weight, even if it hurts like hell. He’s burdening you enough as is coming here so late.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to go to,” he says, catching his breath as you guide him to lay on your bed. He’s half-aware of how bloody and dirty he is, but you seem fully ready to let him stain your sheets. Concern and confusion fill your wide eyes, and Yeonjun can hear every word that you don’t say.
Luckily, you save the unnecessary questions for later. “What do I do?” you ask. Your hands tremble as they peel the shirt of his suit up, just enough to expose his midriff and the nasty damage to his side. You gasp upon seeing how bad it is, hardly able to stomach it, opting to look into his eyes instead.
He wants to respond to you, if not to answer your question then just to comfort you, but breathing is enough of a chore on its own right now; talking seems almost impossible. Watching you panic about this is shattering him. He makes an effort to move his arm out toward you, just to hold your hand and reassure you, but he doesn’t have enough strength.
You lift from the bed and open up a bottle of water, pouring some of the cool liquid over his head. It’s relieving against his burning skin and keeps him from losing consciousness. It also makes him realize how dehydrated he is.
“Please sit up,” you beg, placing a hand underneath his head to lift it a bit. He comes up just enough to drink some of the water you feed to him, swallowing down the rest of the bottle. He collapses back against your pillow once he’s finished, feeling much better just from that.
You come back with another bottle of water and pour small bits at a time over the gash in his side. He hisses and tenses up each time it hits his skin, but he knows you have to do this. He doesn’t want to make it harder by thrashing around and complaining, so he bites his tongue and keeps his body stiff.
The sheets soak beneath him as you continue emptying the water bottle over the wound. He should help you clean up after this; he doesn’t want you dealing with his mess all alone. A few minutes pass before you discard the plastic bottle and grab a t-shirt from your dresser.
You press the bunched up cloth against his injured skin gently, and he holds back any grunts that threaten to slip out. It’s like you can sense his pain despite his efforts to hide it, because you keep murmuring apologies to him.
“I’m okay, don’t be sorry,” he reassures. He doesn’t think you believe him, judging by the way lips stay tugged into a frown.
A quietness falls over the room. You pull your t-shirt away from his body and observe the wound, and your fingertips on his torso send electricity throughout his body. It doesn’t hurt so much now.
“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you point out.
He hums. “That’s good.” Your hand grazes the skin just outside the gash. There’s a soothing effect in the way your fingers glide against him, pressure so light that it’s barely there.
“You need stitches,” you say quietly, like you hate to break the news to him.
Yeonjun doesn’t mind. “You got a needle?” he asks. You fidget with the fabric of Yeonjun’s suit as you sigh and look away.
“I do,” you say. You don’t sound too confident, though. He doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better.
You grab his hand like it’s second nature to do so, and the action would be romantic if only you didn’t have that nervous look on your face. He can practically feel your heart pounding, and he’s dying to let you know that everything’s okay.
“I trust you,” he breathes out. He makes sure he’s looking you in the eye so you can see how much he means it. He’s risking everything by trusting you, but he’s not scared. He feels safe even with his life in your hands, his secret identity in your knowledge. If there was something more sacred and dangerous to give up than that, he’s sure he’d be okay lending that to you too.
It feels much more real when you have your needle and thread in hand. Yeonjun can’t contain his noises anymore, whimpering in pain when he feels the sharp tip pierce his skin.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say quickly and desperately. “I’ll do it fast.”
He hisses as he feels the thread start to tug his wound shut. He throws an arm over his eyes, as if not watching you treat him will stop the piercing feeling. All his muscles are tensed up no matter how much he tries to relax, but he keeps his breathing steady and lets you do your work.
It’s not too long before you’re tying off the final knot and discarding your needle onto your nightstand. You run your thumb over the stitch, gentle and slow. Yeonjun takes his arm off his face and fixes his gaze on you, watching you scrutinize your work with scrunched brows.
“It feels fine. You did perfect,” he says, wanting to keep you from judging yourself too harshly. He wants to thank you, but the words feel so awkward building up in his throat.
“I don’t have a big enough bandage to put over this,” you say, still fixated on his injury. Yeonjun tries to sit up, but your hand on his shoulder eases him back down. “Don’t move too much.”
“Y/n…” he starts, but you give him a pointed look, and he decides to shut up and listen. He relaxes against your mattress.
“I wish I had some clothes to change you into,” you mutter after he pulls the shirt of his suit back down. The spandex isn’t super comfortable against his fresh stitches, but it’s easy to ignore in comparison to the searing pain of the open wound. He’ll have to throw out this suit; it’s bloodied beyond repair, and he has plenty of back-ups anyway.
“It’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You shuffle on the mattress until you’re laying down beside him. “Aren’t the sheets wet?” he asks, surprised at how unfazed you seem.
You let out a small laugh, and that frown finally leaves your face. “I don’t mind. I wanted to lay down.”
“I’ll buy you new sheets,” Yeonjun promises. “And a new needle. And I’ll explain everything to you, I swear. Please don’t”—
“Yeonjun,” you cut off. He shuts his mouth. “That stuff doesn’t matter. Are you okay now?”
He nods. “I’m okay.”
“That’s all I care about.”
The room falls into a comfortable silence. Yeonjun stares at the ceiling and wonders how much this is going to change things between you. He has some hope that this will make you two even closer, but a small part of him fears that you won’t want to associate with him anymore. He wouldn’t blame you; it’s not like being close to Spider-man isn’t a riskless situation. He doesn’t regret coming to you tonight, though.
He feels your eyes on him a moment later, and he can only bring himself to look at you for a second before returning his gaze to your ceiling. You must find that funny, because he hears you chuckling beside him.
“You know, I wasn’t expecting this when you said you’d hang out with me again.” There’s a softness in your voice that makes Yeonjun feel lightheaded. Not the losing-too-much-blood kind of lightheaded, but the oh-god-I-really-like-her kind—this one’s much more preferable and much more welcome than the former.
“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he says.
“How do you plan on doing that?”
He turns his head to face you, and something feels awfully domestic about getting to lay this close to you in your bed. It’s hard to breathe when you’re smiling at him so eagerly, when there’s a glint in your eyes that tells Yeonjun you’re having fun. There’s an itch all the way down to his bones that begs him to push forward and kiss you already, but he resists.
“I’ll find a way,” he whispers.
The room gets quiet again, and Yeonjun supposes he should leave. It’s not like he can wait for the sun to rise and walk out of your room in his bloodied Spidey-suit glory. He’s not sure what time it is right now, but he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon and get some sleep, he’ll be passing out in his classes.
“Thanks for fixing me up,” he says, pushing himself off your bed and stretching his limbs. He feels beyond sore, wincing at the pain that shoots through his body. You sit up immediately, scrambling to stop him.
“You’re leaving? Are you crazy? Stay here!” you insist, trying to drag him back to the bed. He turns his head to you and smiles, and something about the silent plea in your eyes lights up his heart. He keeps his feet on the ground and resists your efforts, even though he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. It’s just not smart and not worth the risk.
“I can’t,” he says. You pout and stand before him, blinking up at him so prettily that he almost changes his mind. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know. I just wanted to keep you.” That makes Yeonjun giggle.
“Sorry. Maybe next time.”
You swat his chest. “Don’t let there be a next time. You almost scared me to death.”
“I’ll make sure to tell the next knife-bearer you said that,” Yeonjun jokes. It gets the laugh that he was hoping for out of you.
“Well…” you start, eyes darting between his own. He barely has time to register it when you press a kiss against his lips, your movement so hesitant and shy. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s over before he knows it. He blinks at you dumbly—it’s all he can do to not pass out like a dork in front of you. Your smile is just as soft and sweet as your kiss was. “Just stay out of trouble,” you finish, patting his chest gently.
“I’ll try.”
“I guess I’ll see you in class, then,” you say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. He should go now. He should make use of his feet and back away, but he stays planted in his spot. You sway girlishly in front of him, hands clasped behind your back.
“Good night,” you whisper. Yeonjun can’t help it—he pulls your face in so he can feel your lips on his again, more properly this time. They’re pillowy and dreamy, and Yeonjun could just melt into you. He doesn’t linger longer than he has to, backing up just enough to see your face. You mirror the glee that he feels in his own expression.
“Good night,” he echoes. He backs away and grabs his mask, slipping it back on. He opens your window back up and slings himself to the nearest tree. Each time Yeonjun looks over his shoulder, he sees you leaning at your window smiling right back at him. His heart does a little flip. On second thought, maybe getting stabbed is kind of cool.
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
Despite how well last night went, Yeonjun wakes up with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Every ounce of confidence that his interaction with you last night might have given him is completely gone the moment he remembers it, and sheds away at itself further when he notices you skipped class. A dreadful thought creeps up his spine: are you avoiding him?
Maybe you woke up regretting it all. Maybe you realized how ridiculous and stupid getting involved with Spider-man is, and you’re just protecting yourself before you can be burdened further. The classroom feels hot and suffocating, and fresh air sounds really nice right now, but Yeonjun stays put in his seat. He doesn’t want to make a scene and start freaking everyone out. To the best of his ability, he pushes his fears down and saves his panic for later—preferably for after he talks to you and gets some answers.
He doesn’t even open his notebook in his last class of the day. He shows up just for attendance purposes, then zones out staring at his desk for the rest of the hour. Time passes far too slowly; Yeonjun’s itching for the lecture to end so he can talk to you already. He’s practically running out of class as soon as it’s dismissed, but finds himself slowing down the moment he’s outside the building.
He’s pretty sure he knows where to find you. The bigger issue is figuring out what the hell he’s going to say. Is there any way to start this conversation without being awkward? Hey, thanks for saving my life last night. Also I am indeed that hero or whatever taking care of criminals in the city, hope you don’t mind! He feels so lame.
It’s wishful thinking to hope that you won’t care about what happened last night—well, except for the kissing part, but that’s probably not as important right now. He’ll push aside that conversation until the more important one happens.
He wants to run away the moment he sees your figure in the distance, sitting exactly where he thought you’d be. His tongue suddenly feels like lead, too heavy and useless to try talking to you. He gathers his breath and walks across the field, not letting himself back out now. You deserve to be given a little peace of mind. He’s sure today must have been confusing for you, that clarity hit you like a train this morning the same way it did to him.
You look over your shoulder when he reaches you, staring up at him and squinting your eyes from the sun. “How’d I know you’d come find me?” you ask, half-amused.
Yeonjun gives you a short laugh, unsure of himself as he sits on the grass beside you. It feels a little like he’s invading your space. He’s seen you sitting alone on this field as if it was all yours so many times.
“I thought I should thank you again,” he says, a little shy. He feels like he owes you a lot for last night. The whole city probably owes you a lot for saving him, honestly.
You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head on your bent knees. “Mhm. Shouldn’t I be thanking you, Spider-man?” There’s a teasing quality to your voice, and it makes Yeonjun laugh nervously. He should probably address that.
“I really hope you won’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe anyway,” you say. Your sentences are all laced with a tiredness and exhaustion that Yeonjun can’t help but to feel at fault for. “It’s just weird to know it now.”
Yeonjun hums. He can sympathize with you on that—it must be really bewildering to know your classmate is the one swinging around town shooting webs at criminals. He just hopes you can forgive him for dragging you into this.
“Spider-man’s a little less cool now, huh?” he jokes, keeping his voice quiet even though no one’s around.
Your smile is full and genuine, and Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “I always thought he was a little lame,” you answer. Yeonjun’s ego bruises at that. You continue, “But I think he’s kind of interesting now.”
He can only hope that you don’t see the blush that takes over his face. He looks away to hide it, but he feels your gaze on him. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting,” he says, acting all humble. It’s clearly bait, and he hopes you’ll catch it.
“I can be the judge of that. Let me get to know you more,” you offer. Yeonjun bites his cheek to stop himself from grinning at this massive win.
“Well, we still have that bakery to go to,” Yeonjun mentions, and judging by the way your eyes gain a new sparkle, you seem to like the idea.
“You don’t have any more classes today, do you?” You already look ready to go.
Yeonjun doesn’t bother hiding his excitement anymore, letting his smile take over his face. “I don’t.” You’re standing up the next second, and Yeonjun’s quick to follow.
The bakery is a cute, cozy little place near some other restaurants downtown. There’s no seating inside due to the lack of space, but that’s made up for by the giant row of sweet selections to choose from. Yeonjun’s stomach rumbles in anticipation as his eyes jump around to look at each confection.
After buying your treats, you lead Yeonjun to a nearby bench. You both open your pastry boxes and bite down on the baked goods eagerly. You hum in satisfaction, nodding at the taste. “Wow, we should go here again,” you say, going in for another bite.
Yeonjun chose a sweet cheese bread, which he completely devours within a couple minutes. You don’t eat as fast as him, but he doesn’t mind waiting for you. He makes conversation in the meantime: “How come you skipped class today?”
You laugh a little around your mouthful of food, swallowing before you answer, “I barely slept. There was no way I could’ve focused if I went.”
Yeonjun hums in understanding. “I barely slept too,” he says.
“But you still went,” you add. “I guess you’re better than me.”
Oh god, he hopes you didn’t take it that way. “Not at all!” he rushes to say.
You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know. You’re just a star student, that’s all.”
Is that a compliment? Yeonjun blushes anyway. “I like to do well,” he says.
“I mean, considering everything you’re balancing, yeah, you are doing pretty well.”
Yeonjun laughs awkwardly in response, barely able to take your praise. He’s pretty sure you’re alluding to what you found out about him yesterday. “Thanks,” he mutters, all humble.
“Do you wanna talk about last night?” you ask, finishing your last bite.
“Sure,” Yeonjun answers, feeling a smidge of nervousness returning to him. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Did you have any questions?” he asks. He feels more bashful than anything else, but it’s better than coming off as braggadocious.
You hum in thought, pouting your lips while you conjure up some ideas. “Was that your first kiss?”
He’s completely taken aback by your question—and a little embarrassed, quite frankly—and he scrambles to spit out a response. You’re stifling your laughter before he can even get his defense out. “No! I had my first kiss in, like, high school!”
“I’m just teasing,” you admit. “You’re a good kisser.” The compliment goes to Yeonjun’s head, playing in a loop while he floats on cloud nine. You liked kissing him. He should do it again and again, just to keep you happy. And for more selfish reasons, too.
Your voice breaks through his thoughts when you speak again, “Do you feel better today? Are you healing alright?” The joking tone leaves your voice, replaced with genuinity and care.
“I feel fine,” he answers. He pulls up his shirt to show you the wound, all stitched up and starting to heal over.
You wince. “Good thing I finished my food already. That killed my appetite.” Yeonjun laughs at your grimace and releases his shirt, falling back into place. “You should really put a bandage over that,” you suggest.
“I don’t have any.”
You shake your head in disbelief, though your amusement reads on your face. “You should be more prepared.”
Your concern is cute to Yeonjun. “I know,” he says.
“So who stabbed you?” you ask.
He shrugs. “No clue. He’s probably in a cell now.”
“Did it hurt?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.
“Like hell,” he says.
“How’d it even happen?” Honestly, Yeonjun’s not too sure about that either. He can usually sense imminent danger before it comes, but maybe he was too focused on the crimes he’d already been dealing with.
“He came up behind me while I was handling another criminal,” he answers.
You hum, getting off the bench and tossing your trash in a bin nearby. You start walking off then, and Yeonjun follows mindlessly. “Must be tough being Spider-man,” you say.
“Careful how loud you say that.” Yeonjun tenses as someone walks past the two of you, praying they were out of earshot when you said that. He sighs in relief when he sees the person had headphones in.
“Right, sorry. There’s just so much I wanna know now.” You turn a corner, taking a path leading back to campus.
Your curiosity excites Yeonjun, and he’s ready to answer whatever question you come up with. Some of his stories have serious entertainment value to them.
“Ask me, then,” he invites. You twist your head to smile up at him for a second.
“How’d you get like this? Were you just born this way?”
Yeonjun laughs at the idea. He swings his head around to make sure no one’s around when he answers, “No, a radioactive spider bit me.”
“When did that happen?” you ask. Yeonjun reminisces the first few weeks after the bite, thinking back to those initial feelings of fear and dread when he realized something had happened to him.
“In high school,” he says. It was super bewildering back then to change so drastically, yet be forced to act so normal. It’s much easier now—he’s had years to adjust—but he was a teenager when it first happened. That’s a lot for a kid to take on. He had to act like he was the same Choi Yeonjun his classmates had grown up with, and not some mutated superhuman dealing with the stresses of his new identity. Of course, he did that whole Spider-man thing to himself, but it was the right thing to do. He doesn’t regret it.
“Does anyone else know?”
“My uncle did, but he’s gone, so now it’s just you.” He looks at you, lips twitching upward.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you apologize, voice growing soft. He realizes that you’re in front of your dorm building now, and he supposes this is where he should leave. His eyes dart between yours, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. To ask him to stay.
“Are you doing anything today?” he asks. Maybe he sounds desperate. He doesn’t really care.
“Catching up on some work,” you say.
“I’ll give you my calculus notes.”
You smile. “That would be nice.”
Yeonjun didn’t even take notes in calculus today. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
“Can I stay?” He’s teeming with hope and bravery today. You open the door to your building and signal him inside, and he has to hold back the victorious giggle that almost escapes him as he trails behind you.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of questions and answers. Yeonjun’s never talked so openly about being Spider-man before, and a part of it feels healing. You study hard while he rambles about stories of the little things he’s done throughout the years. Some are funny and make you cackle, and some draw your attention away from your textbook so you can look at him in shock. It’s impossible for Yeonjun to wipe the grin off his face—not when he bids you good night, not when he walks back to his dorm, not even when lays in bed to sleep. His heart never lets up on that jittery rush it has for you.
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
A quintessential part of the college experience, Yeonjun’s come to find out, is trying out all the different ramen brands to see which one is the best. He’s a fan of whichever one he’s chowing down on right now, and a 5-pack of this barely puts a dent in his bank account. Seems like a winner.
He glances over at his dorm’s door when it opens, curious to see that Soobin brought someone over. Yeonjun isn’t bothered by that, though; if this guy is anything like Soobin, he’s not worried about getting annoyed.
“You can remember to buy ramen but not detergent?” Soobin asks, chuckling. Yeonjun chooses to read that as a joke instead of a passive aggressive comment.
“Ugh, dude, I keep forgetting, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Yeonjun points at Soobin’s friend and continues, “This your friend?”
“Yeah, I’m Beomgyu,” the friend introduces. Something about him looks a little familiar.
“Nice to meet you,” Yeonjun greets with a nod.
Soobin grabs some clothes from his closet then turns to the door. “I’m gonna go change and then we can head out,” he says to Beomgyu, then heads off to the bathroom.
When the door shuts, Yeonjun returns his attention to his ramen and ignores Beomgyu’s presence as best as he can. That doesn’t last too long, though, cause soon enough, Beomgyu’s breaking the silence: “Are you still hanging out with Y/n?”
Yeonjun turns in his seat to face Beomgyu. He’s not sure how Beomgyu would know that, but Yeonjun entertains the question nevertheless. “Yeah. You know her?” he asks.
“She’s my friend,” he says. “Kind of.”
Yeonjun already feels something weird in the air. He’s waiting for the turn that this conversation is bound to take. He finally pieces together why this guy looks so familiar; he’s one of the boys at the party in the group that you kept looking over at. Now Yeonjun’s really curious.
“Why do you ask?” The question comes out a little hesitantly.
“I’m telling you this man-to-man, I think you might be getting played,” Beomgyu says.
Yeonjun’s immediate reaction is only confusion. How would you be playing him? You’ve been nothing but sincere with your feelings—or, that’s what it seemed like, at least. Now Yeonjun’s doubting himself. A part of him doesn’t believe it and doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation any further, but he’d start spiraling whether or not Beomgyu explains himself now. Worry swirls in Yeonjun’s stomach.
“Why?” he asks despite himself.
“This is just what I’ve heard, but apparently she had a thing with Kai, and he started talking to another girl, so she wanted to get back at him. I don’t know, though.”
Kai. That boy who came up to you at the party. Yeonjun remembers him.
He doesn’t want to show how much those words affect him, but shit. Hearing that hurts. His body feels weightless, like he’d be falling over if he wasn’t sitting at his desk. He nods as he exhales slowly, keeping his heart from going haywire.
“Huh,” is all he says. Soobin comes back the next second, and Beomgyu heads out with him after that, and the world keeps spinning on, but Yeonjun feels trapped in that moment. He waits to wake up in a sweat, hoping this is all some nightmare that’s going to end, but the wake never comes. He’s forced to deal with his whirling thoughts instead.
None of this can be true. It wouldn’t make sense. You kissed Yeonjun. You said you were interested in him. If this was all a lie, how will Yeonjun ever trust anyone again? When he came to you bleeding out, you saved his life. When you found out his secret identity, you kept it safe. Yeonjun miscalculated something that night—there is something more sacred and dangerous to trust you with than those things: his heart.
He doesn’t even want to finish his ramen anymore. His fingers brush against the wound that’s healing pretty well thanks to you, and a thought crosses his mind. The night that you kissed him was the night you found out he was Spider-man. An especially sickening question starts to haunt him. Did you only start liking him because of that?
Yeonjun feels played. He’s always known that he was a fool, so he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, but really? Beer pong lord?
Five minutes is hardly enough to process the information Beomgyu dumped onto Yeonjun, but that’s all he gets, because now his alarm is going off and telling him to go over to the lab. He drops his head to his desk with a groan. It’s like an anchor’s been tied to his heart, sinking further and further until it makes him his stomach churn.
The fresh air feels good in Yeonjun’s lungs as he walks over to the lab. A permanent pout is etched onto his lips, unable to stop thinking about you. Good things. Bad things. Everything. Each memory hurts now.
He probably looks like some depressed college kid, walking around with his hood up and head down. He should be less pathetic, pick himself up and get himself together. It’s not like you two were really anything anyway. A kiss doesn't always mean something to everyone. Maybe it’s his fault for assuming that for you, it did.
It’s not just that, though. Yeah, kissing you made Yeonjun feel alive in a way that only swinging through the city could compare to, but there’s so much more to you than that. It’s the way you talked to him, the way you cared for him, the way you looked at him. How the hell do you fake that kind of connection? Hurt splits him at the seams like he’s being torn in two, but he keeps walking like nothing’s wrong.
“Yeonjun!” He recognizes that voice immediately. He pulls his eyes off the sidewalk and catches sight of you walking up to him. He almost forgot that he walks past your little field on the way to his lab.
It feels like he’s the one keeping a secret, palms clamming up as you stand in front of him. He stops in his tracks to allow you the conversation. “Hey,” he says.
“What are you up to?” you ask. He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Should he just act normal? Should he let you get away with using him? When he thinks about it like that, it puts a sour taste in his mouth.
“I’m headed to the lab. Got some stuff to do, and it’s time sensitive, so…” he trails off awkwardly, looking off into the distance instead of at you.
“Oh, okay,” you say, sounding a little dejected. Yeonjun shouldn’t be feeling bad for you right now, but he can’t help it. It makes his chest clench to hear the joy leave your voice. “Maybe we can hang out after? Just to study or something,” you offer.
Yeonjun sighs, “Maybe.”
You’re quiet for a second as you assess him. “Are you okay?” Concern fills your voice, and when he brings his vision back to you, he can see it in your eyes too.
“I’ll talk to you about it later,” he says.
You frown, taking in his flat expression. You must gain some insight from that, because then you’re asking, “Did I do something?”
He wants to hold his head, feeling defeated and frustrated and sad and a million other different things. He’s not sure how to label it. He’s never felt emotions this complex before, probably because he’s never liked anyone this much before.
“Oh god, did I?” you repeat, more fear in your voice at Yeonjun’s lack of a response. It strikes him and deflates his will to be dismissive about it, not wanting you to sit here worrying for the rest of the day. Curse his soft heart.
“Just come with me,” Yeonjun says, continuing on the path to his lab building. You follow beside him, taking long strides to match his quick pace. He notices you struggling to keep up, so he slows down, even though it might make him a few minutes late.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize. He can feel you looking at him, but he keeps his eyes ahead.
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he mumbles.
“Tell me then,” you plead. The thought of having to talk about this with you makes him feel sick. He doesn’t know if he can even choke up the words without getting nauseous.
“Let me clock into my lab first.” The rest of the walk is silent; you keep quiet even as you enter the room with him, watching him take off his sweatshirt and put on his lab coat. You’re quiet even as he goes through the study procedure, not even lingering near him to see what he’s doing. He feels a little cruel for it, wondering if he’s just torturing you by forcing you to stand silently and worry about what he must be upset at you for.
He steals a glance at you. You’re leaning against the wall by the door, so many steps away, keeping so much distance. He bites his lip and looks away, figuring it’s time to start the conversation.
“I want to talk to you, but I don’t want you to lie to me,” Yeonjun says, breaking the long stretch of silence. He walks toward you, stopping before he gets too close.
“I won’t. I’m not gonna hide anything from you.” It’s funny you say that.
“Do you like Kai?” His question catches you off guard, your frown leaving your face.
“No,” you answer.
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay. So why did Beomgyu tell me you used me to get back at him?”
He watches you stiffen at the question. “How do you know Beomgyu?” you ask.
“Please just answer me,” Yeonjun says. He doesn’t want to run around in circles, he just wants to hear the truth from you.
“I don’t like Kai anymore.” Something about that sentence hits like a stab to the gut. Yeonjun would know the feeling.
He tsks and shakes his head, ready to walk away and end the conversation, but you continue, “Please let me say the whole story.” Yeonjun sighs and meets your eyes. He decides to hear you out, only because a part of him is dying for you to make this right.
“Go ahead,” he says.
“I invited you to the party because you’re my friend, and I think you’re cute, but also for really petty, stupid revenge. It was so dumb and I’m so sorry, I feel so fucking bad for that now,” you explain. Yeonjun thinks back to how excited he was when you asked him. He remembers the rush of butterflies, the nervousness that pooled in his stomach, the adrenaline through his veins when he realized he finally had your attention.
You continue, “But I swear on my life, Yeonjun, the second we went outside at that party, I realized how unfair it was. I wanted to make Kai jealous, but when we were standing out there, I couldn’t do it. You’re a good person, and I felt fucking awful, and I didn’t go through with anything, and I’m glad I didn’t. You gave me one of the best nights of my life that day. I mean that. Seriously.”
There’s sincerity in your eyes, so Yeonjun knows you’re not lying. The ache in his chest is dull now, but still there. He can’t believe you planned to use him as some pawn to get back at Kai.
“Why’d I have to hear it from someone else? Why couldn’t you tell me yourself?” he asks. It’s pathetic how his voice carries more heartbreak than anger.
“Cause I didn’t want you to misunderstand and leave!” you explain, desperate. “Yeonjun, please. I don’t care about Kai anymore. I haven’t even talked to him since the party.”
Yeonjun wishes he could feel comforted by your words, but all he feels is hurt. He has this terrible thing where he can’t stop asking questions that will only batter him worse. “So you didn’t really like me?”
You take a step closer to him, placing both hands over your heart. Yeonjun’s not blind; he can see the fear in your eyes, the worry that he might walk away. He doesn’t have it in him to relieve your stress right now.
“I always liked you. I like you more every day,” you answer. There’s honesty in your words, which Yeonjun appreciates. It doesn’t quite melt away his insecurities, though.
Yeonjun can’t bear looking at you any longer, dropping his gaze to the floor and stepping back. He’s ready to leave, thinking he needs the night to himself to stare at the ceiling and contemplate this whole situation.
You stop him before he can get too far. Your hand hooks onto the sleeve of his lab coat, shaking as you cling to him. It’s so pitiful that it ruins the monstrous image Yeonjun’s trying to fit you into in his mind. Against his better judgment, his eyes meet yours again.
He’s about to speak—maybe to console you, to get some of that sadness out of your eyes—but the sound of glass breaking behind him makes him turn with wide eyes, searching for the damage. He’ll be the one stuck replacing any broken equipment; he can only pray that it wasn’t a more expensive piece.
His eyes flit across the room, but he finds nothing. Is he seriously losing his mind? Every time he’s in this lab, there’s something new giving him a mini heart attack. He brushes this off as some kind of paranoia. He considers talking to his professor about taking a break from the lab, just until he can restore his sanity.
“Let’s just head out of here,” Yeonjun says, unable to rid himself of the chill down his spine.
“Do you still like me?” you ask, unable to move on from the conversation. You stay planted in your spot as Yeonjun takes off his lab gear. He groans internally at your question—of course he still likes you. Do you think his feelings are so malleable? His adoration for you feels like an immovable boulder. He can’t even stay mad at you for as long as he wanted to, though he tries not to let you win too easily.
He sighs out your name instead of answering. He waits for you at the door as he throws his sweatshirt back on, and you trudge forward with a pout. Once his sweatshirt is slipped over his head, he catches sight of something behind you, heart stopping entirely.
“What the hell—?!” he emits, eyes growing wide as the cell clump he’d been working with expands out past its storage spot, spilling out onto the floor. The broken glass earlier must’ve been from the petri dish—shit, he should’ve checked. It’s discolored now, so dark it’s nearly black, and growing more rapidly than it should be able to.
You spin on your feet to see what Yeonjun’s looking at, yelping when you see the growth. You back up quickly and bump into Yeonjun’s chest. “What’s happening?” you ask, turning your head back to look up at him.
“I don’t know,” he answers. He has to think fast, because it doesn’t look like the cell replication is stopping any time soon—if anything, it looks like it’s growing exponentially. The clump is a goo-like substance, slowly spilling out further and further onto the floor, looking something like tar as it expands out. “We’ll have to trigger rapid apoptosis,” he says.
“How do we do that?” you ask. Yeonjun’s not sure either, so he doesn’t bother to answer. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out all the different liquid chemicals he can find. One of these is bound to do something.
You hold yourself and watch him carefully, still looking shy and desperate and nervous from your argument. Yeonjun’s not sure why you seem to be more bothered by him not reassuring you that he likes you than by the clump that grows behind you. Your attention remains on him the whole time.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask.
“No,” he answers sharply and quickly. He has bigger issues to be worried about than staying mad at you.
“I promise I wasn’t lying. I won’t talk to Kai ever again.”
“Why are we having this conversation right now?!” Yeonjun asks, frustrated.
“Because it’s important to me that you know!”
He ignores you in favor of unscrewing the lid to one of the acids, hoping it could digest the cells. When he pours it onto the clump, a loud hiss rings through the room and smoke comes up from the mass. It doesn’t seem to dissolve the cells, though.
He emits an exasperated groan, opening the lid to another chemical substance, and you rush to do the same. He can’t stop to think about how dangerous this is, too focused on controlling the problem before it gets irreparable. You and Yeonjun pour chemicals onto it at the same time, and it seems to react. The tar-like blob thickens now, erecting itself up from the floor languidly.
You and Yeonjun back up, watching with fearful eyes as it stands. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s a living organism. It’s eerily silent for a room as you two stare at the mass in shock. Then, rapidly, it comes charging at you, attaching itself to your cardigan as you shriek. Yeonjun acts fast, running to you and grabbing your waist, adhering his feet to the floor to keep you from getting dragged any more. You shed your cardigan quickly before tugging it back from the blob. It tears from how harsh you pull it, but you don’t seem to care, chucking it to the opposite side of the room.
This is an unfortunate time to see you in a tight-fitting tank top. Your chest heaves from the panic of being grabbed by the organism, rising and falling as you start to steady your breath. You look over at him, and he finds himself blushing and removing his gaze from you in embarrassment. God, now he’s the one struggling to focus on the bigger problem.
Yeonjun directs his wrist at the blob, shooting a web at it to keep it from charging at you again. The web sends the mass flying back until it collides with the wall. Though it can’t remove itself from the confines of the web, it still slowly grows, and it will be able to expand enough to attack again soon. Still, this should buy you two some more time.
“You should leave,” Yeonjun says, coming to you and cupping your face. His eyes beg you to go, strung up on the possibility of you getting hurt.
“I won’t,” you say, grabbing onto his wrists.
“Please. You’re too important.” His hand strokes through your hair like you’re something precious.
You take his hand and kiss it. “You are too. I won’t leave.”
He sighs. He knows he’s not winning this, there’s too much determination in your words. Before he removes his focus from you, he thinks he should tell you one last thing. “Just so you know, I like you too.”
You’re barely able to hold back your smile, but Yeonjun can’t stay and watch your reaction. The mass continues to grow over the confines of the web, and he has to find a way to control it before it overcomes the binds. He opens the binder that holds the descriptions of all the lab materials, hoping he can find something useful in there. His eyes flit across the words, scanning for the chemicals that will be his saving grace.
He stops when he reads the description for nitric acid. The words digest and dissolve kick his body to life, hope stirring inside of him. “Come here with the nitric acid!” he shouts over his shoulder.
“Which one is that?” you ask hurriedly, scanning through the different bottles of chemicals.
“It’s in a brown translucent bottle. Quick!” Before he can panic further, you’re racing to his side with a bottle of the acid. Yeonjun quickly pours it over the mass, watching it shrivel when the liquid hits its surface. A weight lifts off Yeonjun’s shoulders when he realizes he finally found something that works. The bottle doesn’t hold nearly enough, though, because Yeonjun empties it out before he can melt the organism completely.
He turns to you expectantly, and you’re rushing back to the counter where all the chemical substances are held. You’re turning each to read the labels, growing more aggravated as you fail to find another container of nitric acid. You curse as you swing the cabinet doors open, checking if there’s any stored away in there.
You pull out a bottle from the cabinet, reading it quickly. “Would sulfuric acid work?” you ask, looking at Yeonjun like you need him to say yes.
“It would react with the nitric acid,” he answers. You groan.
“You think I know any of this stuff?!” You go back to searching through the cabinet.
“Yes! You’re, like, the smartest girl I know!” Yeonjun exclaims, equally as frustrated.
“You must not know a lot of girls then,” you huff. You finally pull out a bottle that seems to match, running over to Yeonjun. He takes it from your hands and pours the liquid over what remains of the clump, watching it dissolve until all that’s left is a murky puddle on the floor. He plops the nitric acid onto a table, finally letting himself take a full breath. He tastes the chemicals swirling in the air, but he can’t bring himself to care about any toxins filling his lungs. He’s worn out, crouching down in exhaustion with a groan.
When he picks his head up from between his arms, he searches for you. You’re bent over one of the tables, head tucked between your arms as half your body rests over the surface. You must be just as drained as him. He stretches his body out as he stands back up, then approaches you at the opposite side of the table. He rests his elbows onto the tabletop, leaning forward to be closer to you.
“You get feisty when you’re working under pressure,” Yeonjun teases, breathless laugh escaping him. You lift your head to look at him, and he can see how you hold back your amusement.
“I could say the same about you,” you respond. You seem winded, still breathing hard as you push yourself off the table and pick up your cardigan from the floor. You hold up your cardigan and examine the damage. It’s stained and ripped and looks disgusting. You pout. “This was my favorite one…”
“Don’t worry, you’re pretty good at stitching things back up,” Yeonjun says, coming up to you and taking the cardigan from your hands to tie it around your waist. You look up at him, something fond shining in your eyes.
“I guess I am,” you say, tugging on Yeonjun’s sweatshirt to pull him closer to you. You wear a dopey smile as you stare at him, hands resting on his shoulders, and Yeonjun really hopes that you do what he knows you’re both thinking about right now.
You don’t leave him waiting long; your hand comes to his jaw to bring his face to yours, and the next second, Yeonjun’s having the best kiss of his life. It feels like a reward after the shitshow that today’s been. For it to come to this, he’d relive it a dozen more times.
“Wait,” Yeonjun says, pulling back. “Are we dating now?”
“Haven’t we been dating?” You look at him like he’s a fool, and it endears Yeonjun endlessly.
“I mean, boyfriend-girlfriend dating,” Yeonjun explains.
“Oh, I’ve already told, like, three people that you’re my boyfriend.” There might be real hearts in Yeonjun’s eyes right now.
“Good,” he says, coming in for another quick kiss. “I’m all yours.” His words are uttered against your lips, since he can’t seem to pull himself away from you.
You gladly accept his kisses, and he has to keep himself from getting too drunk off your taste. He has to remember he’s still in a lab with a bunch of chemicals filling the air—it’s probably a good idea to get out. Even though he doesn’t want to, Yeonjun steps back and looks around at the mess throughout the room. Given everything that happened, it’s not awful. A mop would take care of ninety percent of the problem.
“We should clean this up,” he sighs.
“Yeah,” you agree. Neither of you make a move. You start laughing after a few seconds, and Yeonjun returns his attention to you with a cheeky grin.
“No, let’s just leave,” he suggests. He’s exhausted. He’ll explain everything to his professor tomorrow, he can’t take any more of this today.
“Should we go back to my place then?” you ask. Yeonjun does a very poor job of hiding his excitement. He wants more than anything to hold you to his chest and zip across campus to get to your dorm, but alas, he does the smart thing instead. A ten minute walk has never felt more like ten hours in his life, and seeing your dorm building finally come into view has his heart racing in anticipation.
Yeonjun’s all over you the minute your door closes behind him. He doesn’t let your lips disconnect for a second—not to talk, not to breathe, because nothing’s more important than tasting your lips on his.
Your back falls to your mattress, and Yeonjun’s mind briefly wanders to the last time you two were here. Having you sprawled out beneath him is quite different than you patching him up above him. In a way, that moment felt like the start of something bigger between you. The initial spark came long before it, but that night is what caused fire to catch. He feeds the flame now, fingers untying the cardigan at your waist and throwing it to the floor. Your shirt’s the next thing to go, and he only pulls away long enough to shed the cloth off of you.
His mouth on yours is ravenous and unwilling to waste any more time. He feels up your stomach, cherishing the warm flesh with eager fingers. He trails his hands up to your chest, feeling your breasts over your bra. You gasp when he squeezes experimentally, and it encourages him to continue, movements growing hungry.
You break away from the kiss, panting for air while Yeonjun latches onto your jaw. He’s insatiable, sucking your skin and placing kitten licks over the mark after. He hovers his face over yours, biting back his grin when he sees how hazy your eyes have become.
You catch his face in your hand, cupping his jaw and thumbing his cheek. The action makes his heart soar, and he leans into your warm touch. Your smile turns from soft to wicked when you push your thumb between his lips, and he engulfs the digit without a fight.
“I like you,” you say as he sucks your thumb, blinking up at him adoringly like he’s not doing some lewd act right now. He swirls his tongue around you before popping it out of his mouth, kissing your fingertip then taking your hand in his own.
“I like you too.” His free hand goes behind your back to search for your bra clasp, fumbling with it clumsily until he gets it to disconnect. You pull the material off, and Yeonjun’s cock twitches in his pants when he takes in the sight of you. A part of him feels wrong for doing this, like this is too dirty, but a larger part of him can’t wait to indulge in you. He’ll just make sure to take you out for dinner after.
Yeonjun throws his sweatshirt and shirt to the floor, pride swirling inside him when he sees the way you ogle at his skin. You lay your hand over his chest, trailing your fingers over the expanse teasingly. He takes your wrist and drags your hand away.
“You don’t deserve to touch me. I’m still upset about Kai,” he says. It’s a lie, but he’s in a playful mood. Your hand makes its way back to his chest despite that, so he grabs it and brings it to the bed, shooting a web over your wrist so you can’t move it. He giggles. The whole web-slinging thing comes with some perks.
“Oh, come on,” you sulk as he does the same to your other wrist. He leans back for a moment, looking down at you all proud. A few different sights flash through his mind, endless possibilities of how he could make the most of your hands being restrained. Maybe he should punish you for ever liking Kai in the first place, keep you on the edge until you’re chanting apologies into the air. He could also just indulge in your body greedily, taste every inch of you without your hands pulling him away. The ache in his pants grows at the thought.
You sigh in satisfaction when his hand meets your clothed core. Your hips grind against his hand, and he allows you to use him to find your pleasure. Your hands close into fists as Yeonjun lets you ride his open palm, still fighting against your restraints.
“How much do you like me?” Yeonjun asks. His free hand holds your waist, fingers brushing against your skin gently.
“So much,” you answer, never abandoning your rhythm. “You’re so smart, and handsome, and funny, and—nngh—and good to me…” Yeonjun’s hand travels from your waist to your chest in reward, thumb rolling over one of your nipples.
“Yeah, I am good to you. I stay with you even though you’re mean to me.”
You shake your head at his statement. “I’m not mean to you,” you say.
He laughs at how you try to control yourself, how serious your tone gets. Your hips slow, so he takes measures into his own hands and moves his palm against your cunt instead. If he presses down hard enough, he can feel how wet you are even through your pants.
“You are,” he says. “You use me to get other men.” He knows that’s not true now, but a part of him is still a little bruised by the idea. He figures that airing out his insecurities like this might help him, and it makes him feel less vulnerable.
“No! That’s not true!” Yeonjun ignores you and takes off your pants, letting them join the other articles of clothing on your floor. He short circuits when he sees the wet patch on your panties. A sense of shame must fill you then, because your legs clamp shut to block his view.
“Hey, be nice,” he says, opening your legs back up. He holds you open as he presses his knee to your folds, and he can feel your arousal even through the fabric of his sweatpants. He’s squealing internally, overjoyed to have you soaking for him, but he keeps his calm on the outside.
Your hands push against the webs again, shaking the mattress a little. You pout at him. “I want to touch you,” you whine.
“Sorry about that,” he says. He matches your pout as his hands smooth down your legs, lazily exploring your flesh. He grabs your hips and positions them up a little so that you’re pressing into his thigh. He hears the moan that gets caught in your throat as he drags your cunt against him, holding back a satisfied smirk.
“Should I tell you what I like about you?” Yeonjun asks, something silky and smooth in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips over his thigh. “Say pleaseeeee,” he prompts.
“Please,” you echo. He giggles.
“Again.” He’s having fun.
“Please, Yeonjun,” you beg, sweet voice dripping with need.
He releases your hips so he can pull off your panties, tugging you back onto him once you kick the cloth off your ankles. He can really feel how wet you are now, and it makes a knot form in his stomach. He wants you more than anything.
“I like how pretty you are,” he starts, leaning over you to press kisses against your neck. “And I like how cool you are.” His mouth travels a little lower, sucking at your collarbone. “And I like how I can talk to you for hours and never get bored.” His lips smother your chest, just above your tits, familiarizing himself with every inch of your skin. Your hips buck against him when he presses his thigh more firmly between your legs. “And I like how wet you get,” he laughs.
His mouth finds your breasts then, tongue swirling teasingly around one of your buds. Your nipples perk up, begging for his attention. He drags his tongue over to your other mound, sucking at the swell of flesh, moaning against you. The taste of your skin in his mouth makes him feel high.
You whine, hips rolling more fervently against him, chasing your approaching high. Yeonjun busies himself with delivering kitten licks to your nipples, watching the way they glisten with his saliva after he runs his tongue across them a few times. He peels himself off of you when your rhythm gets unsteady, not wanting you to cum yet. There’s a look of betrayal on your face as he disconnects from you, not touching you at all anymore.
“Yeonjun,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in. “I need to cum.” Your needy cunt grinds against the tent in his boxers, hungrily trying to get yourself off. He lets you have your fun for a minute, enjoying the feel of your warm, wet slit coating his clothed cock, before holding your hips still and keeping you from moving. That doesn’t stop you from digging your heels into his back, pushing him harder against you.
He removes your legs from him, holding you open as he plunges two fingers into your cunt. Your heat takes him in so nicely, the slide of his digits inside you made so easy from how slick your cunt is. You arch your back, moaning out as he curls his fingers inside you.
“Tight girl, gotta stretch you out,” he says, scissoring his digits to prepare you. Your arousal pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress as Yeonjun fucks you on his fingers. “Need to get you ready for me.”
“Mhm, need your dick,” you say. You look so helpless like this, laying back and letting Yeonjun fuck his fingers into you however he wants. He increases his speed just because he can, knowing you can’t pry his hand away, grinning when you emit a surprised gasp. Your walls start tightening around his fingers, a warning of your orgasm, and Yeonjun pulls his hand away before you can get there.
You’re whining his name again, thighs clamping shut to relieve the pressure. He shushes you as he tugs his boxers out of the way, stroking his cock as he watches the way you tremble. Poor thing.
“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. Your legs spread open immediately in invitation. He watches as a glob of arousal drips out from your core.
“Yes,” you breathe out. He pumps his shaft a few more times before bringing it to your folds, letting your wetness coat his tip. “Put it in,” you beg, jerking your hips up. He ignores your plea, bringing the head of his cock to your clit to tap on it a few times. The stimulation sends a buzz through you, and Yeonjun coos at you sweetly.
“Want you to feel so good,” he says, aligning his tip to your hole and starts pushing in. You throw your head back and groan, and he gives your neck a wet kiss. “Wanna be the best you’ve had.” He sinks in slowly, letting your walls adjust to him inch by inch. You feel like heaven around him, and his fingers dig into your hips to keep himself from losing his mind. He wants to meld himself into you.
He grinds his pelvis against you when he bottoms out, steadying his breaths so he doesn’t lose himself too quickly. His moans are deep and airy, while yours are whiny and pathetic. He trails a hand up your body until he’s cupping your face, bringing your attention to him. You look dazed, and he wants to watch you fall apart. He needs to see your perfect face scrunched up with pleasure, eyes glassy and mouth open, going stupid from how fucked out you are.
He presses a light kiss against your lips, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. He finally starts pulling back, slamming back into you with a whimper. Your cunt takes him so readily despite how tight you are, your arousal making him glide in and out of you so easily.
“Gonna be perfect for you,” Yeonjun promises. “Be a good boyfriend. Fuck you every day. Keep you happy.” He lifts himself up to watch your mouth fall open as he thrusts into you. He presses against your stomach to feel himself inside you, moaning whorishly when he does. It makes him fuck you harder, desperation coursing through his system.
You can barely speak from how far gone you are, stuttering out curses and whimpers of his name. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing at the swollen bud to get you clenching around him. He groans at how tight you get, sucking him in like your body was meant to take him.
“Need you to cum now,” Yeonjun says, feeling his high looming over. “Gotta feel you milking my cock, let me see it.”
“Kiss me,” you say breathlessly, mouth hanging open as you wait for him to take it. He obliges eagerly, shoving his tongue into your mouth with a needy whine. He licks into you as if this will coax your orgasm out, and it does. Your walls clamp around him, and he’s barely able to move from how tight you get. He circles your clit diligently, only letting up when your body jolts in overstimulation.
He pulls out soon after, only having to stroke himself a few times before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. He groans as he milks himself for every last drop, hand shaking as he releases the last of it. You look hot painted with his cum; he bites his lip and squeezes your thighs, needing more and more of you.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, making you turn your head away shyly.
“Thanks. You are too.” His stomach flips, feeling proud that he earned your praise. He lowers himself to your torso, lapping at the milky strands of his cum. He cleans you nicely, swallowing down his own release until your stomach’s coated in only his saliva. He brings himself to your slit to lap at it languidly, loving the little whines you emit at the sensation.
“Did so good for me, thank you,” he murmurs into your cunt. He pushes his tongue into your entrance, slowly fucking the muscle inside you. You sigh and roll your hips against his face, relaxed and melting into the feeling.
“Y-you’re good too,” you praise. He licks his way up to your clit, taking it into his mouth and letting his tongue roll over the bud. He likes to hear that he’s being good for you, it makes him feel like he’s worthy of you. He thrives off your happiness, so he feels content as he pleases you with his mouth.
He never wants to let you go. He wants you in his arms forever, he wants to stay in this room and live the rest of his life with just you by his side. This much is enough for him. He glides his hands down your thighs, letting his fingers lightly drag along your skin. He opens his mouth a little more to taste more of you, to kiss your folds more hungrily. He presses the tip of his tongue to your bud, focusing the pressure right against it until he hears you mewl.
“Right there!” you gasp out, pressing yourself further into Yeonjun’s face. He hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, making sure you don’t jolt away when your orgasm creeps up on you. He flicks his tongue over your clit repeatedly, feeling your thighs shake in his grasp. He doesn’t stop until you’re releasing on his face, coating his mouth and chin with your essence.
He detaches himself after a minute, licking his lips and letting go of your legs. He sits up and smiles at you, taking in how pretty you look. He holds your jaw so he can kiss you, and he can’t help but to giggle into the kiss. This is so surreal. He would have fainted if he knew one month ago that this would be happening to him.
“Hi,” you say when he finally pulls his face from yours. This feels like a dream.
“Hi,” he echoes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He cherishes the smile you give him.
“So when does this dissolve?” you ask, tugging at the webs holding your arms in place. Yeonjun scratches his neck bashfully. That's enough of an answer for you. “Yeonjun…” you sigh, body deflating.
“Less than two hours!” he rushes to say.
“Two hours?!”
“It’s not that bad. I think we can pass the time,” he says, failing to hold back his smile.
Your eyes flit down to his stirring cock. “I guess I have nothing better to do,” you give in. Yeonjun sees right through your nonchalant act, but he lets you get away with it. He has better things to busy himself with than arguing about that.
──── ──── ──── ──── ────
You bring Yeonjun to the market after learning about the laundry detergent debacle. You place the item in your basket, shaking your head at him as you do. “I can’t believe your roommate had to tell me to get you to buy this.”
Yeonjun raises his hands in defense. “I get busy sometimes,” he says.
“With coming to my dorm every other night?” you ask with a raised brow, walking into the next aisle.
Yeonjun drops a candy bar into the basket alongside the detergent. “No, with lab stuff, and class stuff, and Spidey stuff,” he corrects. He picks up a bottle of your favorite drink as he passes by it on the shelf. “And with girlfriend stuff,” he adds sweetly.
“Right,” you say unconvincingly, smiling as you nod your head.
Yeonjun grabs a pair of sunglasses off a rack, placing them on his face and turning to you with a grin. “How cool are these?” he asks, pointing at himself.
You laugh and lift the sunglasses up so they rest on his head. “So cool,” you answer. You tilt your head to check the price on them. “You should totally spend the last of your money on them.”
He pulls the glasses off his face to check the price tag, eyebrows raising in reaction. He puts them back on the rack. He can’t get rid of the smile on his face as he watches you shop, endeared and swooned by every little thing you do. It’s small moments like these that make him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.
“We should get bandages. I can’t believe you don’t have any,” you say, looking for where the item would be in the store.
“There’s a lot of things I don’t have. I’m operating on a limited budget,” he explains. It’s not like he can tackle a job on top of everything else he does. He’s grown accustomed to his ways of living, accepting that he’s become the male college student stereotype.
“I’m glad I stepped into your life then,” you say, throwing a box of bandages into your basket. “I’m actually scared you’d die without me.”
Yeonjun can’t help but to laugh at that. “I would die without you,” he agrees. He follows you as you continue walking around the store, aimlessly searching for anything you might need. You stop when you feel your phone buzz, pulling out your phone upon receiving a notification, checking it curiously. He reads the message over your shoulder; it’s an alert from your local news station about some rescue mission for a bunch of dogs that ran loose from their shelter just now. You turn to him with a knowing smile.
“That’s your cue, Spider-man.”
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notes: god i loved writing this so much…. i hope u like spideyjjun just as much as i do<3 i would love to hear ur thoughts if u have anyyy!!! tysm for reading hehe
taglist: @ambsphoria @bananasdiary @beaabz @beomgyusluver @beomsdoll @brrytears @bumgyuz @dawngyu @enhastolemyheart @estrnrea @fancypeacepersona @fatbixchwithanopinion @heejamas @heesmiles @insanityz @i4tzy @jellyyjn @kejingken @lilbrorufr @lovesickchoi @mrsjohnnysuh @raspberrii @sanscupid @saraalovestxt @soobinieswife @starrynightgyu @starstrucktae @taebatu @taysfairies @tubatukimoa @tyongyuta @usuallyunlikelyfox @verco @vvjolyneee @xylatox @younbeanz @yourenzoo @yunverie 🤍
© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload
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belovedroach · 3 months ago
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hear me out.....
Sander Bugs...... it's them but it's bugs..............
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does anyone share my vision-
im not the best at drawing insects, so in case it's hard to tell: Virgil is a spider, Roman is a butterfly, Remus is a moth, Logan is an ant, Janus is a wasp and Patton is a bee.
(click the thingy if you'd like to indulge me in more details lmao)
Virgil, the spider: he already has spiders motifs. Also, spider webs can work as a metaphor for falling down an anxiety spiral (one step down a slippery slope and you're unable to get out).
Roman, the butterfly: the (mostly agreed upon) prettiest bug, for the prettiest boy in the party™. They're not overly romanticized in media for nothing lol. And of course, he's a "monarch butterfly".
Remus, the moth: "like moths to a flame" that represents self-destructive behaviour (unable to go against a desire that ultimately harms you, and could be your doom). Also, he shares the buttlerfly similarity with Roman. Plus he's a nuisance to your wardrobe
Janus, the wasp: they can sting without dying, having more of a defense purpose. Acting as Thomas' self-preservation, he acts like a last line of defense. And the yellow and black color scheme suits him nicely.
Logan, the ant: they're hard-working, resourceful and persevering. Those are pretty much words that easily describe Logan as well. And if anyone would be able to carry two times his own weight, it would be him (?)
Design fun fact: his extra set of arms are retractable! He uses them when he needs and extra pair of hands (lmao). Patton can do this too
Patton, the bee: hard-working too, but more centered in providing for others: he provides the others with affection and dinner (lol). He's sweet as honey. Their existence is helpful to the environment, and Patton's existence is helpful to my mental health /hj
i'd love to hear your own interpretations or even assign them different bugs !!! dont be shy
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rimon40 · 2 years ago
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Expert PSD to HTML, Figma to HTML, XD to HTML Conversion with CSS, Bootstrap, and JavaScript
Are you looking for a skilled web developer to bring your design concepts to life? I specialize in converting PSD, Figma, and XD files into high-quality, responsive HTML websites with CSS, Bootstrap, and JavaScript integration.**Services Offered:**1. **PSD to HTML Conversion:** Transform your Photoshop designs into pixel-perfect, W3C compliant HTML code. I ensure that your website retains its visual integrity across various devices and browsers.2. **Figma to HTML:** Seamlessly convert your Figma designs into fully functional HTML websites. I pay attention to every detail to ensure a smooth transition from design to code.3. **XD to HTML Conversion:** Turn your Adobe XD prototypes into dynamic and interactive websites. I implement the necessary JavaScript elements to enhance user experience.4. **CSS and Bootstrap Integration:** I use the latest CSS techniques and Bootstrap framework to create clean and organized styles for your website, ensuring a modern and professional look.5. **JavaScript Implementation:** Enhance your website's functionality with custom JavaScript features. From interactive elements to dynamic content loading, I bring your design to life with smooth and efficient JavaScript coding.6. **Responsive Design:** Your website will be fully responsive, adapting seamlessly to various screen sizes, ensuring a consistent and user-friendly experience on desktops, tablets, and mobile devices.**Why Choose Me:**- **Quality Assurance:** I guarantee top-notch, hand-coded HTML with attention to detail. - **Timely Delivery:** Your project will be completed promptly without compromising on quality.- **Client Satisfaction:** I prioritize client satisfaction, and I am committed to delivering results that exceed your expectations.Transform your design vision into a functional and visually stunning website. Let's collaborate to create a web presence that stands out. Contact me now to get started!
Click: www.fiverr.com/s/29AwgL
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onlinetutorhelps · 2 years ago
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youtube
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yenhan · 2 months ago
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TF141 & International student neighbor on the verge of a crisis
Next - Masterlist
a/n: f!reader
Synopsis: a tiny, itty bitty breakdown.
You didn’t cry when you moved into your flat. A few tears spilled when the kettle refused to boil, and the radiator wheezed like it was dying, but that hardly counted. You weren’t this close to a soul-shattering mental breakdown in four different languages and two whole personalities. Nope. That was just being a successful woman, completely in control of her life. You lived in a flat that could be described as vintage, or one good gust from collapsing, as your best friend kindly put it when you called. It had four walls, a roof, and the washing machine only flooded the kitchen every other week. It wasn’t the worst deal in the world. At least you didn't have spiders building their little lego-web houses on the ceiling. That would be disgusting.
However, you spent your first night on the couch wrapped in every hoodie you owned, scrolling through your phone with the Wi-Fi from the library nearby that cut out if you breathed wrong, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into.
The move to England had been impulsive, at least that’s what your parents said. “You’re barely out of high school, sweetheart. Isn't it too soon?” But you wanted to prove you could do it; be independent, get a degree, build a career. Whatever that meant. You didn’t know yet. Those stupid tik toks about girlbossing your way through life didn’t help much, either. Classes were hard. Work was harder. You cleaned tables at a café full of old ladies who judged your every move, then crammed lectures and assignments into your evenings, falling asleep to the sound of cats screeching in the alley outside your window.
And then there were your neighbors.
The first time you saw them, your eyeballs nearly popped out. Four men who looked like they’d walked out of an action movie trailer. Broad shoulders, broader chests, paired with alertness that made you sit up straighter when they walked by. Pavlov's a bitch. One of them wore a beanie and had a beard that probably intimidated children. Or made them laugh, it depends on who you ask. You bet he worked as Santa Claus during Christmas time, that beard would do wonders. One limped slightly but moved like he’d break into a sprint at the slightest excuse, he also had a nasty scar on his head. One always had his baseball hat up and gentle eyes. And the last one… he wore sunglasses even on cloudy days and didn’t speak unless he was being sentenced to death. You nicknamed them The Lads before you even learned their names. It was honestly a really bad attempt at copying the British accent, a silly little inside joke meant only for yourself.
It was the limp that pulled you into their circle. Soap. His real name was Johnny, but everyone called him that. Something had happened to him. Not a car crash kind of injury, and surely not a oops-I-got-a-paper-cut issue. Something else. A kind of hurt that reeked of bloodshed and gunfire. He looked so cheerful despite it all... you envied his lack of self-restraint. He helped you carry a box of books up the stairs when you dropped it.
"You don’t look like a librarian." You tried to break the ice.
He grinned. “Cheers, lass. Ye don’t look like yer old enough to be living alone.”
“Rude,” you replied, winded. “But fair.” You became something like their mascot after that. Or a stray pup they all silently agreed to look after.
Price knocked on your door the night your power went out. Just handed you a flashlight and an extra blanket and left, didn’t even wait for a thank you. Gaz noticed your bike had a flat and fixed it without a word. Ghost, well, Ghost scared you a little. A lot. But you never said it to his face. It wouldn't be polite, would it?
You weren’t supposed to become attached to them. They were four grown men with lives and a bond so deep you couldn’t begin to understand. And you? You were just the girl next door. Sweet, a little clueless, a little cheeky, and hanging on by a thread.
You were tired all the time. Tired of pretending you were having the time of your life when really, you felt like you were slowly crumbling. Like the version of yourself that had boarded that plane so full of hope and plans had somehow gotten lost between Heathrow and the broken laundromat on the corner. How could you tell your mum you were regretting everything? How could you face your brother and say that the big sister he looked up to was just a loser? The weather was hell 365 days out of 365, if someone offered you another fish and chips dish you'd crash out, and you were likely forgetting all of the damned languages you spoke because of the humidity eating your brain cells.
Wasn't youth supposed to be the best time of your life? This was the part where you found yourself and laughed and made memories you’d cherish forever... Seriously, what the heck were you doing? You felt cold and alone. Ate one-pound meals at the measly convenience store run by Aunt Wang and listened to her ranting in Mandarin Chinese. What an exciting existence. How dignified.
Until the night you cried in the stairwell. You’d just finished a shift where someone called you incompetent because you didn’t know what a “flat white” was supposed to taste like. Your exam results had come back worse than expected. And your period had started early, like the universe had decided to kick you where the sun doesn't shine while you were already down. Bollocks, Simon's voice rang in your mind. You were curled up by the railing, the hoodie laid over your knees, when the door opened. Boots. Heavy ones. Speaking of the devil, Ghost’s voice scared the shit out of you. “Bad day?”
You sniffled, eyeing him up and down. “No, just peachy. Rainbows and all that.”
“Bollocks." He countered timely. You giggled. It was ridiculous and extremely easy to make your day better. Any of them could with just a snap of fingers. "I'm telling Price y'were here cryin' like a baby."
"Oh, shut it. I'll have you know some of us have beating hearts in our ribcage, Mr. Creep-a-lot."
"Oi, yer fifteen years too young t'make fun o'me."
Perhaps you did have one good thing in your hands, wasting it would be a shame.
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william-jones-249857 · 2 years ago
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Doubt in Web development
I was doing my web development assignment, where I encountered one of the questions which I was unable to answer. Kindly help me with it.
Why is security crucial in web development, and what are some common security vulnerabilities?
Thanks in advance!
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2-faded-memory-2 · 7 months ago
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okay the Spiral and the Eye both are good options here because hes LITERALLY being watched by millions of people every single day. He does go crazy sort of, with everything he ever has known being an illusion though, so the Spiral has us there. Really, I think it could go either way, or possibly both as Fears do canonically work together for a good meal.
Guys what entity do we think Truman Burbank would be an avatar of
I’m thinking Spiral
Do we agree
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forkingandcountry-if · 11 months ago
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For King and Country is an 18+ period immersion fantasy fic which seeks to combine the extensive background work and history associated with high fantasy titles such as LOTR with more ‘realistic’ storytelling and settings. It may contain distressing content like depiction of regressive attitudes (sexism, misogyny and prejudice), major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, abuse and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.
Chapter 1 Out Now! (277k words)
Remember those long summer days when the countryside was green and life was still young, when you were but a little culver and all the world was promised for you.
But summer has ended. Amidst the furore and tumult, autumn crept in unnoticed, finding you unprepared, still a greenhorn.
Now, the old order is dead, yet the Empire endures. In this new and uncertain world, what are you willing to do for your King and Country, O little culver?
Ah little tragedies, that you could not remain in the safety of your family's country manor, that they could not shield you once again from this world.
You must take to the capital at once, like all men and women of good birth, for king and country and the glory of the commonwealth! The spirit of progress and change has swept through the nation. The heady days of revolution are long over, and the streets have been washed clean of blood and filth. Invited to serve in the King's Army and attend university as a ward of the king, you must answer the King’s call. Navigate and become increasingly entangled in the web of intrigue, gossip, violence, and ideas that swirl around the nation. Enter a society radically different from the one you were raised to expect. These are the years that will decide your fate and that of your fellow countrymen. Act wisely, for it is not often that the world is within your grasp.
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Features
Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Assume the identity of a citizen of noble birth and experience the story through their eyes.
Romance one of eight ROs or engage in a polyamorous relationship with a pre-selected two of them. The only possible poly route is the Young King and the Queen Ruler.
Practice and specialise in the skills of the King's Army with the option for swordplay, marksmanship, offensive galderquid and diplomacy.
Define your political leanings on the leading issues of your time.
Debate, engage and make allies and enemies with the various competing factions and interests that flock to the city.
Study at Azma University, earning your lecturers admiration for your diligence, intellect, ambition or adventurousness or cruise through relying on your wealth and ability to hide.
Help to stabilize or sabotage the Empire.
Don't lose your head.
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Critical Lore*
Talent
Galder denotes the practice of magic within our nation, a discipline requiring extensive study and mastery. The ability to manipulate Galderquid, the fundamental essence of magic, is a rare and intricate skill, demanding years of rigorous training to achieve even moderate proficiency.
Every individual possesses a basic affinity for Galderquid, but those with exceptional potential are identified through comprehensive evaluations conducted by village or city physicians around the ages of 12 or 13. These assessments determine the individual's capacity for advanced magical education.
Upon evaluation, candidates are assigned a national rank based on their proficiency. Those demonstrating exceptional aptitude are offered state-sponsored education at the Azma Univetsity at the age of 18. Others are placed in various other institutions or may pursue private tutelage.
Galder is often referred to as the "fifth philosophy," characterized by its non-intuitive nature. Mastery requires adherence to rigorous methodologies grounded in reason, first principles, and established precedents. The study of Galder encompasses several specialized fields, each with distinct applications and techniques:
Sympathetic Galder: This field focuses on influencing the minds of individuals or animals. It includes practices such as illusion creation, language translation, emotional manipulation, and sleep inducement.
Transmutative Galder: Involves altering the intrinsic nature or form of objects. This process generally relies on the principle that the original and transformed items must possess equivalent 'worth.' The approximate worth of common subjects of transmutation can be found in any good transmutation book.
Invocation Galder: Pertains to the summoning and manipulation of natural elements, including water, earth, fire, and wind.
Clerical Galder: Associated with the Church, this field is predominantly closed practice. However, educational institutions provide instruction in healing and charming, which are also fundamental aspects of clerical magic.
Archery: Involves the use of Galder to manifest a bow and arrows composed of energy. These projectiles deliver significant blunt damage upon impact but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by bow-masters.
Blade-Use: Similar to Archery, this field focuses on creating blades, swords, or daggers from Galder. These weapons inflict substantial blunt damage but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by blade-masters.
The Second Civil War
The Second Civil War, also known as the Revolution, erupted ten years ago and lasted for two years, reshaping the political landscape of the realm. The conflict ended with the ascension of King Edmund I of House Wynd, following a tumultuous period of unrest and upheaval. The war’s roots lay in years of widespread discontent under King Wulfric I Wynd, whose governance was marked by controversial policies and growing resentment among the populace.
The immediate trigger for the war was King Wulfric's deathbed decision to legitimize his illegitimate son and name him heir presumptive, bypassing his eldest daughter, who was widely expected to ascend the throne. This unprecedented act enraged both the nobility and commoners, particularly in Redeemist regions, where it was seen as an affront to both justice and religious teachings. Protests erupted across the empire, with laborers and yeomanry deposing officials loyal to the usurper in a series of violent uprisings. Martial law was declared as the disinherited princess rallied loyal houses and nobility to her cause.
The rebellion gained a critical leader in Marshal Walthe Courtney, a veteran of the unpopular Eleven Years’ War. Courtney’s military acumen and strategic alliances with peasant uprisings turned the tide of the conflict. Alongside the Princess’s royal forces, his army executed a series of decisive sieges, culminating in the Siege of the King's Seat, where the usurper was overthrown.
The war concluded with a great council of the great houses instituting sweeping reforms. Though the monarchy was retained, it was bound by a codified constitution, the Grand East Code, ensuring limits to royal power. Tragically, the Princess died on the battlefield, leaving behind a will that named her youngest brother, Edmund, as the rightful heir. She bypassed their older brother, Cassian, whom she described as “too choleric and red-blooded in his aspect for the duties of kingship,” appointing him as regent until Edmund came of age at 18.
The post-war reforms sought to balance power and placate the revolutionary factions led then by Courtney:
Parliamentary Restructuring: The previous weak bicameral parliament that had been unable to prevent the amendment of the Act of Succession was replaced by a unicameral National Assembly with expanded suffrage for yeomanry and laborers owning sufficient land. Eligibility criteria were simplified, and elections were set to occur every eight years.
Military and Noble Oversight: Nobles' heirs were required to serve as wards of the king for 24 months upon reaching the age of 18, receiving military training and living in the capital. This was framed as a means to unite the realm but also served to prevent rebellion and strengthen Edmund's legitimacy.
Expanded Education: Azma University, previously exclusive to the nobility, was opened to all individuals of suitable skill, broadening access to education and opportunity.
General Walthe Courtney, hailed as a war hero, was appointed Lord Protector with sweeping powers to some extent by the demand of the peasant army he'd led. He served as Commander of the Armies and a critical stabilizing force throughout Edmund’s reign and Cassian’s regency. The King’s Council was restructured to include the elected Premier, who could recommend cabinet appointments, although the King retained the final decision. Early in his reign, King Edmund has established a precedent of accepting the recommendations of both the Premier and the Lord Protector, balancing the demands of reformists and royalists alike.
The King's Army and Azma University
The King's Army, colloquially known among the common folk as the Small Army or King's Life Guard, serves as a voluntary armed force in peacetime within the Empire. Its primary role is to function as a national guard, maintaining peace and order across the extensive and diverse territories of the Empire and swear loyalty solely to the King.
During periods of peace, the King's Guard is comprised of volunteers who contribute to the stability of the nation. However, in times of war, the monarch is vested with the authority to implement conscription, thereby obligating the great houses to raise men to fight for their king.
Following the Great Council of 421, significant reforms were introduced regarding service in the King's Guard. Those heirs of great houses are now required to complete two years service and training within the King's Army as wards of the king although this time can be commuted upon ascension as Lord/Lady Paramount of their house. This training is relatively light compared to full military training, designed to balance the economic and educational responsibilities of these citizens with their military duties.
Azma University is a theological university founded in the year 262AR by Trista of Azma, a master of theology and galder and was recognized by the King as a royal college in 289AR. It's Faculty of Theology is unrivaled across the entirety of the world and is considered one of the foremost institutions for education in galder, theology and philosophy.
Azma admits its students on the basis of the national ranking system and the census taken each year, those students with a sufficiently high natural affinity for the study of galder are offered a place in which to study it beyond the common extent offered by tutors and hedge-witches.
Azma has in recent years, following the second civil war and the increase in punishment by religious courts for physicians who attribute false rankings, with an increased student cohort particularly from the yeomanry and international scholars though the large majority of the general cohort remains largely consisted of the children of nobility.
Beyond its Faculty of Theology, Azma University is one of the foremost institutions driving forward the development of innovations regarding farming and building, mechanics and the engine'ering class that has developed in major cities across the Empire.
Situated in the capital city, Azma University benefits from its central location in what is often regarded as a hub of youthful energy and societal activity. Its reputation as a center for young nobles and genteel individuals enhances the college's role as a key venue for social introduction. It is frequently heralded as a place where the most advantageous social and matrimonial matches are made, positioning it as a pivotal institution in shaping the elite's social landscape.
The Empire
The Empire, as it is commonly known, is a vast realm governed by the Nine Paramountcies and the Imperial Household, all of whom rule from the King's Seat. This grand structure of power was forged between the years 23 ANU (Anno Non Unitus, or Year of the Ununified) and 1 AR (Anno Rex, or Year of the King) through the conquests of King Adan I, who earned the title "the Unifier."
From its inception, the Empire adopted an expansionist stance, which has characterized much of its history. This policy of territorial growth has been met with widespread approval among its citizens, largely due to the substantial wealth and resources it has brought to the nation. As the largest empire in the world and the unifier of the continent, it has established itself as the dominant lingua franca of common, further solidifying its influence and stature.
Throughout the Empire's history, the Imperial Household and the title of King have primarily been held by House Galagar, reigning from 1 AR to 399 AR, and later by House Wynd, from 399 AR to 438 AR. There have been instances where other houses acted as regents, temporarily holding the title on behalf of House Galagar, such as House Champion (348 AR-352 AR) and House Abbey (9 AR-13 AR & 154AR-155AR).
Despite its vast wealth and dominance, the Empire has faced relatively frequent rebellions in its paramountcies where calls for independence have persisted. Historically, these uprisings have been met with swift and overwhelming military responses. However, recently in 399AR during the Wyndham Rebellion, King Hendrick the Conqueror succeeded in overthrowing House Galagar and replacing it with his own house who have led the empire since.
*The lore detailed here is accurate but also only extends as far as the protagonist's knowledge of these subjects at the present time of the fic, some detail will be lost or may have been withheld from the MC and they may have misconceptions.
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Romances
When the advisors are not praising his good sense, nor the bards his mirth, the church his piety or the poor his generosity, the question emerges just who is King Edmund I Wynd?
The young king thrust into a position of power who uses it as well as he knows how, having learnt from the mistakes of his grandfather and father and the long shadow of war that is still cast over the continent?
Or is he merely the figurehead, installed after a turbulent civil war, a king whose true authority has been surrendered to the councilors around him, contenting himself with the trappings of kingship rather than its substance?
Alas who is to know?
Name: King Edmund I Wynd
Age: 21
Height: 6'5
Appearance: Edmund stands at a 6'5, noticeably lanky although his seemingly permanent jaunty posture appears to cut an inch or two of him. He possesses short bronde hair styled in such a fashion that it appears wind-swept and fashionably ruffled with various products used to achieve the effect. He possesses a lean athletic physique although it is evidently achieved through some sort of diet or exercise for aesthetic rather than being muscles created by years of work. He nearly always has a relaxed expression with a smile and his pale face is framed by his grey eyes.
(he/him) poly-route, solo-route
Tropes: Life of the Party, Commitment Issues
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Could it be that she, the queen consort, wields the true power behind the throne, acting as a surrogate for her kind lord, who never could bring himself to grasp the reins of authority?
She possesses the strength and allure of a king in her own right. Under her vigilant oversight, the king’s armies have routed the empire's foes, and now her gaze turns inward, determined to root out the treacherous elements within the realm.
Yet, amid her march towards peace at the end of a sword, there are those who seek to see her order destroyed. How long can it last? A queen consort without an heir, without children, lacking a direct claim to the throne, aging, and some even question her bond with the king himself.
Name: Veronica Abbey-Wynd
Age: 36
Height: 5'9
Appearance: Veronica stands straight at a tall 5'9 although her heels often push her to 5'11 or even 6'0. She has long wavy chestnut brown hair although more often than not it is in an updo of some sort for practicality. She has a healthy physique with faint lines and wrinkles, with an olive skin as well as doe-shaped deep brown eyes. Somehow a picture of beauty and severity, all the soft lines of her body somehow harsh.
(she/her) poly-route, solo-route
Tropes: scary hot, masc women
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Walthe Courtney, Commander of the King’s Armies and Protector of the Realm, emerged as a formidable figure in the Second Civil War. Leading the rebels with unmatched martial prowess, he earned the acclaim of being the finest swordsman in the land. His valor and leadership were instrumental in overthrowing the usurper-king and restoring order to the fractured realm.
In the aftermath of the bloody conflict, he was celebrated as a folk hero—a commoner who rose to lead his people to victory and bring about a semblance of peace. His contributions were rewarded with knighthood and elevation to nobility, an ode to his honour.
Now, as Protector of the Realm, Walthe ensures the continuation of stability with a steady hand. Yet, despite his efforts, a persistent thorn remains, a challenge beyond even his considerable grasp, casting a shadow over his otherwise successful stewardship.
Name: Walthe Courtney
Age: 43
Height: 5'11
Appearance: Walthe has short, practical wavy black hair streaked with grey throughout, reflecting years of experience and hardship. their muscled, well-built stature is a testament to their years of service. He has warm tanned skin, indicative of his heritage being from the centre of the continent. His light green eyes stand out against his rugged features, with a determined, piercing gaze.
(he/him/they) solo-route
Tropes: The Stoic, No Sense of Humour, Heroic BSoD
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From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers, would be sent away as a ward.
Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend
His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.
Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve. Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.
Name: Lorn of Greenspan
Age: 18
Height: 6'0
Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training.
(he/him) solo-route
Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat
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The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.
Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.
Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.
For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.
Name: Kent Galagar
Age: 18
Height: 5'9
Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.
(he/him) solo-route
Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold
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The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.
Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.
Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.
Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.
Name: Arfryn Caldwell
Age: 20
Height: 5'11
Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.
(she/her) solo-route
Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine
-
In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and extremely popular amongst all who meet her or have the chance to witness her in action.
She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance.
In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Azma University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.
As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such position.
Name: Dean Champion
Age: 19
Height: 5'9
Appearance: Dean has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her hazel eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.
(she/her) solo-route
Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour
-
Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who gave her legitimacy, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother.
It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.
True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?
She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.
Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly
Age: 18
Height: 5'7
Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.
(she/her) solo-route
Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever
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Additional
Dashingdon Demo: out now!
Cogdemos Demo: out now!
Pinterest: not yet available
Art: not yet available
Feedback Survey: not yet available
All Asks and Reposts are appreciated, work will be slow but steady and a demo should be ready shortly!
ask me lore questions please, I have far too many notes on this.
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leowithyou · 1 year ago
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adrixivy · 8 months ago
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People think that turning off super strength is easy or that it can even be turned off. Peter is the physical evidence and spokeperson that it is NOT easy to do so.
He wakes up, grumbling about school one day since it was the day of his Spanish quiz and accidentally breaks the doorknob off the door as he dreaded the day. He panics about it and hesitantly told Tony about it and was on the verge of tears, scared Tony is going to shout at him. (Tony hugs him and coos “It’s fine, Bambino. It’s okay, it’s just a doorknob”)
Another example, he’s in PE class. The whole class has to do 50 pushups since the class was abnormally louder than usual. Everyone is grumbling or falling over, finding it impossible to complete.
“Good job there Peter. Everyone better hurry up or I’ll dismiss Peter only for lunch!” His PE teacher announces. His whole class is staring at him wide eyed. Flash is screaming he cheated and he winces and looks over to Ned for help, only to see him lying flat on the ground, knocked out. Damn it. His PE teacher expects more from him now and he internally groans. He’s definitely ranting this to his dad when he goes home.
Whenever he’s carrying something like helping his teacher with carrying stacks of assignments, he has to act like he’s struggling a little and it’s more exhausting than you think to act like you’re struggling to carry a tall stack of thick papers when you can easily carry the hulk. He probably could if he wanted but Tony’ll probably get a heart attack.
Even in patrol, he has to hold back his strength so that he doesn’t fatally injure criminals that their hospital bills are through the roof. He’s using around 20% of his strength when he punches. He’s always holding back his punches that it’s physically draining him. So imagine he faces a villain where he doesn’t have to hold back his punches. Like Juggernaut.
Instead of his usual favorite Russian Rhino appearing in Manhattan central, it’s his favorite American giant that rarely appears because he’s always under confinement. It’s unusual that he somehow broke out of his containment but Peter’ll gladly send him back to it. He lands a punch and it does basically nothing to the man. It became some sort of cat and dog fight in cartoons like Tom & Jerry with Peter landing hits on the giant that does basically nothing to him and the Juggernaut trying to grab him as he swings around and shoots his quips.
Peter, groaning and his frustration growing: God, why isn’t anything working on you!
Juggernaut, unamused: Your hits are weak. You are holding back your potential, Spider.
Peter pauses, realizing that Juggernaut is infact not like normal people. He doesn’t break under Peter’s punches. He’s not fragile. He drops down and punches Juggernaut with slightly more strength than usual which makes the giant stumble back a little and scoffs in disbelief and he looks at his hand then Juggernaut then his hand again and he squeals in excitement, jumping happily that he can for once punch with his full strength. Juggernaut nods, having a worthy opponent that can finally damage him.
Peter is incredibly excited as he lands hits on the giant that does actual damage to him, making him stumble back and actually groan from pain. He’s landing punches and kicks with laughs and tires Juggernaut out, where he finally webs the man up and wait for SHIELD to appear and take him back to where he came from with even more improved security
The Avengers are on the Quinjet, about to help Peter but they stayed in the Quinjet watching Peter punch the giant with a little too much glee that he almost seems like a maniac. Bruce didn’t have to jump in and be the green guy to help. The others didn’t even need to restrain Juggernaut or anything. If anything, they should restrain Peter from going a little too overboard. They’re all suddenly very painfully aware that Peter can destroy the whole Avengers with his full strength if he wanted to.
Tony: We’re lucky he’s a kind-hearted and soft person or the entire world will be in chaos by now.
The Avengers nods along mindlessly as they close into the spider kid who is waving at them cheerfully with a big grin, who is obviously not aware of how dangerous he could possibly be.
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skywalkerslvt · 7 months ago
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WRISTUSSY I NEED MORE WTAF
Webbed-Peter Parker x AFAB Reader
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❥Pairing: Peter Parker x AFAB reader
❥CW: smut, p in v, inappropriate use of web shooters (wristussy), sub peter, reader is a desperate whore, strip tease? peter is an oblivious idiot, 4.7k words
❥Summary: after many failed attempts at trying to get peter to realize how bad you wanna fuck him, you resort to using his web shooters (his wristussy).
❥a/n: ty for the request!! so glad people are actually enjoying my slightly unhinged fic lol. hope u like what i wrote!! asks are currently open so feel free to send in more <3 part 1 is linked here but u don't have to read it in order to understand this fic.
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The dim glow of the desk lamp illuminated the space between you and Peter, casting a warm, golden hue over his focused expression as he sat hunched over his homework. His brow furrowed, a slight crease between his eyes as he scribbled down equations, his mind completely absorbed in the task. The only sound in the room was the soft scratching of his pencil against the paper and the low hum of the air conditioner. It was almost peaceful—almost too peaceful, and definitely too quiet for you, especially with the way your mind kept wandering.
You sat on the couch beside him, a few feet away, your legs stretched out casually in front of you. But as you watched him, so deep in his work, you couldn’t help but feel a small frustration simmering beneath the surface. You had been trying to get his attention for the last twenty minutes, but Peter was completely oblivious, his focus entirely on his assignment.
You shifted slightly, making sure your movements were subtle, quiet. You weren’t going to outright demand his attention; no, you wanted him to notice you—without realizing he was being distracted. So, you decided to start small, to test the waters.
Your foot slid from the floor, inching closer to his chair. Slowly, as nonchalantly as you could manage, you brushed the inside of your foot against his calf, letting the soft, tender skin of your foot glide up the length of his leg. It was the most delicate of touches, a subtle nudge, but just enough to send a spark through your own body as you felt the contact. You held your breath, hoping that he’d at least look up or acknowledge the movement, but he didn’t.
Peter didn’t even flinch. His pencil kept moving, scribbling across the page in perfect rhythm. You exhaled softly, biting your lip in frustration as your foot lingered there, gently caressing the side of his leg. His leg was warm under your touch, and you couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of his muscles flexing as he shifted in his seat. Still, no reaction. He hadn’t noticed.
You sighed quietly, your foot brushing a little higher, inching upward along his calf, the motion soft but deliberate. It was a teasing touch—nothing obvious, just enough to make him aware of your presence, but it still didn’t seem to reach him. His gaze stayed fixed on his work, brows knitted in concentration. It was like you weren’t even there.
The frustration began to bubble up in you, but you fought to keep it hidden. This was supposed to be playful, lighthearted. Maybe he hadn’t felt it yet, or maybe—just maybe—he was so wrapped up in his homework that he didn’t even realize what was happening. That idea should’ve been enough to deter you, but it only made you more determined to keep trying.
Your foot moved once more, pushing slightly against his calf, a little firmer this time. Still, Peter’s reaction was nonexistent. The pencil continued to move, and his eyes never wavered from the page. You could almost hear the sound of his focused breathing, the soft rustling of the paper as he turned it, marking down his next answer.
For a moment, you paused, trying to decide your next move. This subtle game wasn’t getting you anywhere—Peter was too engrossed in his work to notice you. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, watching as his jaw clenched in concentration, his hand gripping his pencil with an almost too-serious intensity. The way he looked so absorbed in his world made you feel like you were practically invisible, and that realization only deepened your frustration.
Your foot pulled away from him, the touch fading, and you sighed again. Maybe you needed to do something else, something a little more direct. But for now, you waited—watching, wondering if he would even notice that you were still sitting there, so close, but so far from his attention.
Frustration was building in your chest, but you were determined not to let it show. Your foot had barely made an impact, and Peter was still wrapped up in his homework, completely oblivious to the subtle attempts at gaining his attention. You’d given it a fair shot, but clearly, your foot wasn’t going to do the trick. You needed to be more direct—maybe then you’d actually get him to notice you.
Sitting back on the couch, you crossed your legs in a slow, deliberate motion, letting the silk of your shorts slide against your skin. The casual, easy stretch felt good, and you let your gaze wander over to Peter once more. He was still hunched over his desk, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, completely absorbed. His fingers worked quickly, writing down notes, and his brow furrowed with the intensity that always seemed to consume him when he was in full study mode.
A small smirk tugged at your lips. If anything, you’d gotten used to the way Peter could focus, could shut out everything around him when he had a task in front of him. But tonight, you weren’t going to be content with sitting back and waiting. You wanted him—wanted him to see you.
You shifted in your seat again, this time letting the movement be more noticeable, just enough for him to catch it out of the corner of his eye. “You know,” you started, your voice casual, yet laced with something a little more playful, “it must be tough, working so hard all the time. You don’t really take breaks, do you?”
Peter didn’t look up from his homework, his pencil still moving furiously across the page as he muttered, “Uh-huh, yeah. I know… gotta get this stuff done.”
A small laugh escaped your lips, but it wasn’t a happy one. More like the sound of someone trying to keep their patience in check. You leaned back on the couch, extending your legs out slowly, letting the fabric of your shorts slide up just a little higher as you stretched again, making sure he would catch a glimpse of your smooth skin. “I get it,” you continued, your tone softer now, a little more suggestive. “But, you know, all that hard work… it must make you tense, huh? I mean, with all the stress, your muscles probably get pretty tight. I could help you relax a bit, if you wanted…”
Peter barely glanced over at you, giving you only the briefest acknowledgment. His eyes flickered up for a split second, but not enough to truly register what you were saying. “Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m fine, though. Just gotta finish this up,” he mumbled, his focus immediately back on his notes.
You bit your lip, fighting to suppress the rising wave of frustration. You were right there—so close to making him notice. And yet, the distraction you’d so carefully orchestrated fell completely flat. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you tried to keep your composure. It was fine, really. You had more tricks up your sleeve.
Still, you pushed yourself a little further, trying to keep the mood light, but with just the right touch of flirtation. “I don’t know,” you continued, your voice dropping lower, the words more deliberate now. “I heard it’s really good for you to take breaks, you know… Do you ever let someone take care of you? Maybe someone who could help you unwind… Maybe even in a more relaxing way?”
There was no response this time, other than a quick, distracted sound of acknowledgment from Peter. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds nice,” he muttered. “But I’m almost done with this. Just one more page…”
You stared at him for a moment, disbelief washing over you. He was so absorbed, so laser-focused, that he hadn’t even caught the implication in your words. Your patience was wearing thin, and the ache in your body from wanting his attention was beginning to become unbearable. You leaned forward slightly, your voice sweet but with just a hint of something else. “You know, a real break could be something a little more... personal. Don’t you think?” you teased, allowing the words to linger in the air between you.
Peter’s pencil scratched on the paper again, and he gave you another absentminded “uh-huh” in response. His eyes didn’t lift from his work.
You couldn’t help the little frustrated sigh that escaped your lips. Every single attempt you’d made had failed, and here he was, acting like you weren’t even in the room. What would it take to get his attention?
You sat there, a little defeated for a moment, watching him work diligently while your thoughts spiraled, your desire for him only growing stronger. It was starting to feel like you were invisible, as if he didn’t even realize that you were here—right here beside him. That stung more than you expected it would.
But you weren’t going to give up that easily. If words couldn’t do it, maybe a more direct approach would.
Frustration continued to simmer inside you as Peter sat at his desk, completely absorbed in his homework, completely oblivious to everything around him. Your earlier attempts to distract him—subtle hints and flirtations—had been ignored with barely a glance. His focus was razor-sharp, too focused on the assignments in front of him to notice you.
But maybe a more direct approach would work. At this point, you were willing to try anything to snap him out of it.
You stood up from the couch, trying not to let the frustration show on your face. You knew exactly what you were going to do. You had a plan now, a way to grab his attention. You made your way to his room, your mind already running through the steps. Reaching into his dresser, you pulled out one of his oversized shirts—a familiar, soft cotton tee. It wasn’t your usual choice, but you knew it would do the trick.
You glanced back at him, noting how deeply engrossed he was in his homework, not even sparing you a glance. You took a deep breath and stepped back into the living room, standing right next to his desk. You felt a slight nervous thrill as you stood there, his back turned to you.
This was it. You had to be bold.
You stood there for a moment, just for the effect, making sure he could hear the sound of you taking off your shorts. Slowly, you slid them down your legs, letting them drop to the floor with a soft rustle of fabric. Without breaking your stride, you tugged your panties off next, leaving yourself in nothing but his oversized shirt.
You stood still for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air, and gave a slow, deliberate stretch, feeling the fabric of the shirt pull tight over your body, its hem brushing just high enough that he could catch a glimpse of your bare thighs if he looked.
You did everything you could to make sure he noticed, but still, Peter didn’t seem to notice at all. His eyes remained locked on the papers in front of him, oblivious to the subtle show you were putting on. You almost couldn’t believe it. Had he really not seen what you were doing?
Finally, unable to hold back any longer, you cleared your throat and asked, your voice smooth but tinged with impatience, “What are you doing?”
Peter glanced over at you, his eyebrows furrowing in mild confusion as he looked you up and down. His gaze lingered on your body for a beat longer than necessary, but his attention seemed to snap back to his desk almost immediately.
“What are you doing?” he asked again, genuinely puzzled.
You leaned against the desk with a smirk, keeping your tone casual, but there was a trace of challenge in your voice as you answered, “Getting more comfortable.” The words hung in the air between you, but he still didn’t seem to pick up on the intent behind them.
Peter stared at you for a second, a vague look of confusion on his face, before shrugging, almost dismissively. “Oh, okay. Alright.” He glanced at your exposed legs once more, then immediately turned his focus back to his homework, seemingly unfazed by the fact that you were standing there in just his shirt, fully exposed and very much not what he expected.
You felt a frustrated sigh escape your lips. Was he seriously this oblivious?
This wasn’t working. But you weren’t going to give up that easily.
You couldn’t take it anymore. He was completely oblivious, and you were tired of waiting. So tired.
Peter was always so absorbed in his homework, always so focused. But this time, you were done being patient. You were done with his cluelessness.
You took a deep breath and stood up, walking with purpose over to where he was seated at his desk. His back was still turned to you, head bent over his papers. He didn’t hear you approach, and before he could notice, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.
He flinched slightly at the sudden contact but didn’t pull away. You pressed yourself against him, the warmth of your body seeping into his. You leaned forward, your lips brushing lightly against his ear as you whispered, your voice soft but insistent, “You should take a break.”
He didn’t respond at first, too focused on his homework. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, his concentration far too deep to notice what you were suggesting. You were so fed up.
“Peter,” you said, the words almost dripping with annoyance but tinged with something else—something more dangerous. “Come on, you’ve been at this for hours. Just take a break.”
He gave a soft grunt, shaking his head. “I just have to finish something. Just a few more minutes,” he mumbled, his voice distant and distracted.
That was it. You weren’t going to beg him for his attention anymore. You didn’t have time for his homework and his distractions anymore.
You kissed the side of his neck, pressing your lips gently to the soft skin just beneath his ear. He stiffened at the sudden contact, the unexpected kiss sending a shiver down his spine. But you didn’t stop there. Slowly, you moved your lips down the curve of his neck, your kisses trailing along his skin, teasing him. You could feel his pulse quicken under your touch, the effect you had on him undeniable.
You couldn’t resist anymore. You recalled the last time you two had done it, how sensitive his wrist was around his web shooter. How when you’d touched that spot, that sensitive area just around his web shooter, he’d whimpered.
The memory flashed through your mind, the way he had barely been able to keep it together as his webbing shot out, making everything so much more intense. And now, with him still too focused on his homework, you had the perfect opportunity to make him feel something other than his assignments.
You ran your hand down his arm, brushing past the soft fabric of his shirt until you reached his wrist. He tensed slightly under your touch but didn’t pull away. With a smirk, you lightly ran your fingers in circles over the spot where his web shooter was. You felt him shudder, his body responding instinctively, a soft whimper escaping his lips.
“Peter,” you murmured, kissing just beneath his ear, your breath warm against his skin. You kept your fingers moving, teasing him lightly, feeling him lean into your touch despite himself.
For a moment, he stayed still, and you thought maybe you’d pushed him too far. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, he finally got it. His head snapped back, and he let out a soft, desperate whimper as he turned his head toward you.
“I—shit, I—” He gasped as you pressed harder, the sensation overwhelming him in the best way. “W-wait… what are you doing?”
You smirked, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, barely holding back your amusement. “You think you’re the only one who’s been waiting?”
His breath caught in his throat, his body trembling as the realization hit. His hands clenched on the desk, his gaze finally locking with yours. The hesitation in his eyes was gone now, replaced with something much darker, much needier.
And that was all you needed to see.
You could practically feel the shift in the air as Peter's body tensed under your touch. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in hours, his attention wasn’t on his homework. It was all on you now.
"Please," he murmured, the urgency in his voice impossible to ignore. "Please don't stop." His hands reached for you, but he was still hesitant, unsure whether to pull you closer or give you space. His voice cracked slightly as he added, "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I didn't realize—"
You cut him off, pressing your lips against his neck once more, this time more forcefully. He was a mess—just like you wanted. The sound of his breath, ragged and desperate, drove you wild. You continued rubbing over the sensitive spot on his wrist, feeling his webbing pulse beneath your fingers, his body betraying him, desperate for release.
"Finally figured it out, huh?" you whispered with a smirk, your hand moving lower, trailing down his arm to his chest. You brushed your lips across his, teasing him with the slightest pressure. He tilted his head, desperate to kiss you, but you pulled away just enough to keep him on edge.
"I—I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice low and husky, an almost pleading tone in it. "I should’ve... I should’ve been paying attention to you."
You let out a soft laugh, the sound both playful and sultry. "You think?" You could see how badly he wanted to make it up to you, how desperate he was to finally get things right.
But you weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily.
You moved again, your lips trailing down to the side of his jaw, kissing along his pulse point. Slowly, you slid your body against his, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact.
"Don't worry, Peter," you murmured, your voice honeyed with teasing sweetness. "I’ll make sure you’re paying attention to me now. All of me."
Before he could respond, you ran your hand further down his arm, skimming lightly over his chest, feeling his breath hitch at every touch. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the tension between you both building with each passing second.
His eyes opened wide, his lips parting slightly in surprise as you shifted to sit on his lap, your body pressing against his, your hands finding the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss—this one hot, deep, desperate. You could feel him melting into you, his body softening under the pressure of your touch.
And just when he thought he could take it, when his body was almost pleading for more, you stopped.
You pulled back, looking at him with a mischievous smile. His eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath. "I think we’re done with your homework, don’t you?" You slid your fingers over the edge of his web shooter, giving it a gentle but insistent push.
Peter's mouth parted, and a strained whimper fell from his lips. "Please, just... please, I can’t take it anymore."
You grinned, feeling victorious. "Good boy," you whispered, moving against him again, this time with purpose, as you both gave in to the tension that had built between you.
His hands moved faster now, running over your body with urgency, exploring every inch of you. His lips were on yours again, pulling you into a kiss that spoke of every ounce of desire he’d been holding back. Every touch was desperate, every kiss rough and needy. He wasn’t holding back now. And neither were you.
You could feel the shift in the energy, the tension between you both escalating, and a decision clicked in your mind. If Peter was finally paying attention, then it was time to move this to where it needed to be.
You pulled away from his lips, eyes locking with his, the electricity between you undeniable. Without saying a word, you stood from his lap, your fingers trailing across his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You didn’t give him a chance to speak, instead, guiding him gently to his feet.
“Come on,” you said, your voice thick with desire, pulling him toward the bedroom. His gaze flickered between your face and your body, his breath ragged, following you like a man desperate for release.
Once you reached the bedroom, you turned to him and didn’t waste any time. Your fingers slid up the fabric of your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly, deliberately. You could feel his eyes on you, hungry, as he took in the sight of your body exposed to him.
Peter swallowed hard, the tension in his posture telling you everything you needed to know. His hands were trembling slightly, but his need for you far outweighed his uncertainty.
“I—” His voice faltered, but he didn’t finish the sentence.
You moved toward him, pressing your body against his, guiding his hands to your waist, feeling the heat of him against you. His fingers tightened around your hips, pulling you closer as you both stood there, caught in the moment.
“Do you want this?” you asked softly, your breath coming in short gasps as your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. You felt him nod, but his words caught in his throat.
“I do,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper, but the raw need in it was unmistakable.
You smirked, lips brushing over his ear as you whispered, “Then show me.”
Before he could react, you pushed him gently onto the bed. His back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. His hands immediately moved to your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine, pulling you closer as his lips found yours again. The kiss was slower this time, more deliberate, as though neither of you wanted to waste a second.
You felt him harden beneath you, and the realization hit you both at the same time. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was real. And neither of you were holding back.
You could feel the heat building between you, your body moving against his as you guided his hands to where you wanted them. “Touch me,” you breathed, and Peter didn’t need another word of instruction. His hands were everywhere, roaming over your body, learning what you liked, what made you react.
You could feel his desperation, his eagerness to please you, and you let him. Slowly, your lips moved down his neck, tasting his skin as you started to unbutton his pants. His breath was ragged, his hands slipping from your body only to tug at the waistband of his jeans, pulling them off in one swift motion.
You didn’t waste any time. As you moved to straddle his hips again, you let your hands slide lower, your fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down in a single motion. His cock sprang free, hard and ready, and you couldn’t resist a small smile as you looked at him.
Peter’s hands moved to your hips, holding you still, but the hunger in his eyes was obvious. He wanted more, and you were more than willing to give it to him.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him once more, the urgency now palpable.
He groaned into your mouth, his hands moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he guided you onto him. Your body moved, grinding against his, feeling the slow burn build up as you rode him gently at first, teasing him just like he had teased you.
But this time, you weren’t stopping.
You moved slowly, feeling the way Peter’s body reacted to each subtle shift of your weight. You could tell he was already close, his breath shallow, his hands gripping the sheets as if he was trying to hold on to his control. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither were you, but you wanted to make this last—make him feel every second of it.
Your hands moved up his chest, feeling the hard muscles under your fingers, before your gaze dropped down to his wrist. His web-shooters, hidden beneath the skin, were perfectly aligned with his pulse, and you knew exactly how to make him lose himself in the moment. You’d discovered that one night when he’d been particularly sensitive, and now you knew how to tease him, how to stroke his wrists in just the right way that would drive him wild.
Peter’s moans had grown more frantic as your hips rocked slowly against his, and you smirked as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his ear. “You’re so close, Pete,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I know you can’t last much longer. Just a little more.”
His body tensed, his hands clutching at your waist, trying to pull you closer. “Please… I can’t…” he gasped, his voice strained as he fought to hold back.
You could feel the way his body pulsed beneath you, his breath erratic. You brushed your fingers over the web-shooters on his wrist, making sure to apply just the right amount of pressure. You felt the subtle flex of his muscles as it responded to your touch, knowing it would push him further into madness. You kept a steady rhythm, teasing him, making sure he was right on the edge but not giving him what he needed just yet.
His breathing hitched, and you could see him biting down on his lip, fighting the urge to fall apart. “Please… I need—” His words trailed off as his body spasmed beneath you, the tension building with every second.
You didn’t stop, though. You leaned forward, kissing his neck gently as you continued to move against him, slow but steady, feeling the heat building in your body. Your hand moved again, fingers trailing down his arm to where his web-shooters were, knowing the sensitive spot where you could push him over the edge.
You lightly rubbed your thumb over his wrist, just enough to make him whimper, his body bucking beneath you in response. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper as his grip tightened on your hips.
You smirked, feeling a surge of power knowing how much he was enjoying it, how much you had him at your mercy. “You don’t need to worry, Pete,” you murmured, your voice sultry and low. “I’m not stopping until I know you’ve had enough.”
His eyes shut tight, and his body trembled beneath yours as the wave of pleasure started to build again, stronger than before. You could feel the way he was slowly unraveling, his hands now digging into your skin, pulling you closer as his control slipped away entirely. And just as his body started to tense up, you pushed him further, your thumb pressing against the web-shooter again, just as he gasped, his back arching.
The next moment, Peter came—hard. His body jerked beneath you as his wrist tensed, firing off webs instinctively with the same intensity as his orgasm. You could feel the way his muscles clenched, and you held him, moving with him, making sure he felt every inch of it.
He let out a strained, breathless moan, unable to hold back as his body gave in to the overwhelming sensation. The webbing shot out from his wrists, splashing against the sheets beneath you, and you stayed with him, riding out his climax, making sure he felt it all.
When it was over, Peter lay there, gasping for air, his body still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure. You pulled him close, your lips finding his in a soft kiss. “You did so good, Pete,” you whispered, feeling him relax beneath you, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
Peter finally opened his eyes, looking up at you with a dazed, satisfied smile. “You always know how to make me lose it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.
You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “I know what you like, Pete,” you teased. “Always have.”
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