#Blue Chair Records
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worth the wait a nerdjo fic
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pairing âžș nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader
summary âžș you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.
warnings âžș smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork
a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!
general masterlist
You blink at your paper.
98.
You suppose you should be happyâitâs a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away.Â
2+2=5.
You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. Youâd think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that itâs going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.
You wouldnât normally act as if the test had personally wronged youâtrust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.
"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake.Â
Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he wasâGojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.
He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while theyâre covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater heâs wearingâheâs probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesnât need to know he gives off more âfinance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,â or whatever finance bros do.
âI have no clue what youâre talking about,â you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.
"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.
Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.
"Guess that makes it⊠what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasnât already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."
You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. âI wouldnât want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Oldâs Body, was it?â
He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. âTut, tut. After all this time, Iâd think youâd have my anime preferences memorized since youâre so obsessed with me. Itâs Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.â He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. âBut you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know heâs probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldnât be surprised if heâs on the Megan's law registry either.â
Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the programâs super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldnât just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isnât just a weirdâ-heâs sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because heâs your research advisor, you canât wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you donât need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think heâs funny. God knows that would get into his head. âYea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemonââ
âDigimon.â
ââor whatever. Iâm leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.â
You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt.Â
Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if youâre allowing yourself to lose to Gojo.Â
Worst of all, itâs become a streak, like two times in a rowâone on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board.Â
But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that.Â
Youâre not really surprised the demographic at your universityâs gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.
As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) menâs swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool.Â
Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didnât learn how to swim; his familyâs mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.
Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if youâre honest, a little intimidating. Youâre not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.
 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what youâre doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. Itâs only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.
The glint of ivory hair is unmistakableâyouâve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, heâs giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. Heâs walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps.Â
Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. Heâs a fucking nerdâa loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?
There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojoâin all his clothingâ-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, itâs definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that itâs because heâs rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys donât push him into a locker, or something.
When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know heâs only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that heâs grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it upâ
To reveal his bare torso.
Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.
That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques youâve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plateâyouâre not a gym expert, so you wouldnât know the weightâand stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until youâre sure itâs definitely more than your bodyweight.
As youâre staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way thereâs heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:
Youâre screwed.
âYou know what?â
You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You donât know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, reallyâitâs not like youâre receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other thingsâlike metaphorically sucking a TAâs dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TAâs research than they do themselves.Â
From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until heâs so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. Youâre fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because heâs just so close.
âRude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.â He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. âYouâre doing that wrong.â
You finally turn to glare at him, but heâs closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
âIâm not doing it wrong,â you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.
âOh, really?â Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. âThen why is your integral off by a factor of two?â
Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equationsâand, dammit, heâs right.
You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. âWhatever.â
âYou know, you should really be thanking me,â Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. âIf I werenât here, who knows how many mistakes youâd make?â
âSheâd have me,â comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojoâs to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojoâs face was prettier to look at.
âHi, Fred,â you smile tightly, willing him to go away. âWeâre good here, so you can help out other studentsââ
âHow was your weekend?â He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense.Â
âLot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,â you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.
Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. âYou really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldnât stress so much. Youâll get wrinkles.â
Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.
âOh? Didnât know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,â Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightlyânot quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. âThough, if weâre giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.â
Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. âActually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?â
You swear you see the muscle in Fredâs jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. âRight, right. Just looking out for her.â
âDonât worry,â Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, âI think sheâs got plenty of people looking out for her already.â His voice is soft, but thereâs an undeniable edge beneath the words.
Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.
You let out a breath you hadnât realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.
âYouâre welcome, by the way,â he teases, but thereâs something in his tone thatâs softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you donât mind it.
You sigh, resigned. Youâll figure out these feelings later. âYeah. Thanks, Gojo.â
But you donât immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. âYea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.â
Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.
It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.
âShit,â you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. Youâd been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. Itâs just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.
âGuess weâre stuck together, huh?â
You donât have to turn to know who it is.
Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the libraryâs narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like heâs amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.
âIâll take my chances,â you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. Thereâs no way youâre making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.
Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like itâs barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.
âWell?â He lifts a brow. âWanna be smart about this?â
You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.
Reluctantly, you sigh. âFine. But I get most of the cover.â
âHey, sharing is caring.â He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.
With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.
Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, tooâlike expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, youâre hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside youâloose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.
âMan, this thingâs on its last leg,â he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.
âGojo!â you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.
âOops.â He does not sound remotely sorry.
You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket andâwithout preambleâdrapes it over you.
You freeze.
Itâs warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like himâclean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.
You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. âYou didnât have to do that,â you say, voice tight.
âI wanted to.â
Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, andâ
Damn him. Damn him.
Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. Heâs watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.
You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how heâd be able to manhandle you, force you to take itâ
But youâre snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.
âYou know,â he says, voice quieter now, âI like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.â
You pause.
He says it so simply, so easily, like itâs nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you donât know what to do with them.
So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.
You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. âDonât get used to it.â
But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.
Itâs been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didnât mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommateâs eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors donât do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.
Youâve concluded that theseâŠfeelings canât hurt you and that it isnât real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon thatâll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching.Â
Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.
The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the libraryâs espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). Youâre at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like youâre being studied under a microscope. You think youâre aloneâuntil you arenât.
You donât have to look up to know itâs him.
Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when heâs not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.
The two of you donât speak.
Itâs surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether itâs an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.
You should focus on your own studying, but something about thisâthis silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of timeâmakes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he wonât notice. His brows furrow when heâs concentrating, his jaw tightens when heâs stuck on something, and when he exhales, itâs this slow, measured thing, like heâs trying not to get frustrated. Heâs justâ
Heâs just really there.
Youâve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, heâs slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because youâve seen him like this beforeâwhen heâs so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you donât actually hate it.
You donât hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.
The hours blur. The cafĂ© starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. Itâs late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.
A soft sound breaks through the quiet.
You glance up and freeze.
Gojoâs head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. Heâs asleep.
For a moment, you donât move. You barely breathe.
Gojo, asleep, is not something youâve seen before. Heâs always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, heâs still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carriesâthe cocky bravado, the smirking sharpnessâis nowhere to be found. He just looks⊠peaceful.
Cutie.
What?
The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him againâhead tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and evenâyou canât deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. Itâs so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.
Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and thenâ
You pull away.
Your heart is pounding. Itâs fine. Itâs nothing. You just need to get out of here.
You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.
Because for the first time, it isnât just that you find Gojo attractive.
Itâs that you care.
And you donât know what the hell to do about it.
The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.
You donât know whatâs possessed you to come here today. Maybe itâs because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe itâs because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if youâre really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.
Gojo is here.
You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldnât embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he wasâdressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.
And he wasnât wearing his glasses.
It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didnât look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked⊠sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didnât like.
Youâd seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasnât just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another setâit hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldnât look away.
You shouldnât be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you donât care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he liftedâ
Youâre so screwed.
You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. Youâre barely paying attention to what youâre doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. Itâs pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.
Or so you think.
Because then she appears.
A girl.
Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and sheâs in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You canât hear what theyâre talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojoâ
âsmiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when heâs teasing you, except this time, it isnât for you.
Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. Heâs focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.
Your stomach twists.
This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.
Itâs then that it hits youâyou can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, youâre just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; heâs not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. Heâll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? Youâll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.
Heâs the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islandsânot just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who donât second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who donât have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.
Girls that are his equalâequally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.
Not you.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesnât even know youâre here.
You shouldnât care. You shouldnât care. You shouldnât care.
But you do.
You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.
The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.
"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."
You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.
"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.
Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."
You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But FredâFred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.
âI think my progress speaks for itself,â you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, youâve done 80% of the work.
But you think Gojoâs defense of you ran deep into Fredâs heart because by the way heâs sleazily smirking at you, you know heâs trying to get back at you.
He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, youâre smart. But you think thatâs enough? You think anyoneâs going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who donât have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "Youâre wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someoneâs assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if youâre lucky. Just like for me."
Your stomach twists. You shouldnât care. You know you shouldnât care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if youâre nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoruâpeople born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.
Fredâs eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "Youâre working yourself to the bone for what? Youâll never be at the top. Not really."
The bitterness of the situation really dawns on youâGojoâs the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But youâre the one whoâs left to deal with its consequences. Youâre not going to assign blame and lament that itâs not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all.Â
But Fredâs words remind you. Youâll never be at the top. At Gojoâs level, whoâs at the top without even seeming to put in effort.
Youâll never be his equal.
You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If thatâs all, I have work to do."
Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Donât say I never tried to give you advice."
You donât respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.
The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who donât know that youâre on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.
Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and thereâs a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. Itâs not even your meeting with Fredâjust a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration thatâs settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline youâre nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. Itâs all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly youâre gripping the strap of your bag.
You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.
But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.
âWhoaââ
Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fallâyour ankle twists awkwardly, the world tiltsâand then thereâs a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.
You donât process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, canât breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.
âJeez, whatâs the rush?â he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. Heâs searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and thatâs when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.
Shit.
You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. âIâm fine.â
Gojo doesnât look convinced. âYou sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.â
âI said Iâm fine.â You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. âGo bother someone else.â
Most of the time, thatâs enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.
Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like heâs trying to piece something togetherâlike youâre a problem he wants to solve. He doesnât press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and itâs unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you donât want to be seen like this. Not by him.
So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.
Thereâs a knock at your door. You frown because you didnât expect any visitors, and youâre in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.
To see Gojo.
What the fuck.
Heâs drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. Heâs not wearing his glasses.
"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.
He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. âYouâre holding my jacket hostage.â
Oh. Right.
You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, whoâs standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."
Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like heâs checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.
A beat passes.
"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."
Your stomach twists. "It's not a big dealâ"
"âBullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. âYouâre lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?â
âIt's none of your business,â you say, stiffening. âNor is it a big deal, really.â
Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes donât leave yours, and for once, they arenât filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you donât have the strength to deal with right now.
"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. âAct like no oneâs supposed to care. Like youâre carrying the world alone.â
Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You donât want to hear this. You donât want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.
And then, quietly, Gojo asks, âDo you not consider me your equal?â
You swallow.
Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isnât anger exactly, but itâs something closeâsomething bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.
"Youâre the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."
Your throat tightens. âWhy do you even care?â
Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like youâre something heâs trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.
âYou really donât know?â
âIââ Your voice wavers. âWhat do you meanââ
âFor a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.â He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet donât move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"
Your brain short-circuits. âWhatââ
He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. âI give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."
Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. âThen whyââ
"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.
Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laughâlike heâs just remembered something ridiculous.
"You didnât even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasnât even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."
You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Becauseâyeah. Heâs not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasnât until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.
Gojo smiles, but itâs not cocky this timeâitâs small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."
Your breath hitches.
He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, youâre too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like heâs daring you to say somethingâanything.
Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you donât know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at youâlike youâre something precious, something worth holding onto.
But heâs wrong. He has to be wrong.
âYou canât like me,â you whisper.
Gojo frowns, expression shifting. âWhat?â
Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. âYou canât like me,â you say again, voice cracking. âI canât even match you.â
Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.
"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "Itâs so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. âSo why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and IâI hate you for it.â
For a second, thereâs only silence.
Then, Gojo exhales softly.
âIs that what you think?â His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.
You donât answer. You canât.
Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like youâre something fragile. And thenâthen he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. âItâs not effortless,â he murmurs. âI try so hard. You just donât see it because I donât want you to.â
"You really donât get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because itâs you."
You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.
Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. âYou act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.â He huffs a quiet laugh, but thereâs no real amusement in it. âDo you know how long Iâve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?â
Your breath catches.
âI tried everything,â he continues, voice rougher now. âTeasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didnât matter what I did, because youââ He breaks off, shaking his head. âYou only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.â
Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You donât know what to say, donât even know what you can say.
And suddenly, everythingâthe teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around youâit all clicks into place.
Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.
Itâs a mess of a kissâtoo rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breathsâbut Gojo groans softly against your lips, like heâs been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.
Youâre dizzy. Overwhelmed. But itâs good. Itâs him, and you donât want to stop.
When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.
âWorth the wait,â he murmurs, eyes shining.
You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. âBut Iââ You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. âIâm a stalker.â
âMaybe Iâm into that.â
âNo,â you bemoan. âIâve stalked you at the gym, and Iââ Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. âYou were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.â
His lips twitch. âYou were staring too, huh?â
You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.
âI hated it,â you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. âI hated that youâre already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and thenâand then you also have that? Like, itâs just unfair. Youâre unfair.â
Gojo is silent for a second, and you think youâve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. âYou are so cute.â
âStop it!â you whine, but you donât protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.
âWe can stop here. We donât have to do anymore than this, andââ
But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. âFuck no.â
He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. âThank god. Now, jump.â
You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. Itâs like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.
When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until youâre just in your panties.
You let out a noise, and he coos. âI know, I know, baby.â He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. âLet me take my time, though.â
He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. Itâs truly maddeningâthe sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.
Heâs taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but youâve had enough. âGojo, please,â you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. âStop teasing.â
âMmmm,â he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. âI can, but,â and now heâs just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, âI think youâre going to have to beg for it.â
You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want, he clicks his tongue, pouting as if youâre the one forcing him to be a bastard. âYea, Iâm sorry, but youâre going to have to earn it.â
Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. âYou just have to say please.â Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, âLook Iâm so closeâahhh.â
You can only plead with him. âPlease, Gojo.â
âNo, itâs Satoru to you now, baby.â
âSatoru, please eat me out.â
He smiles. âYeaa, thatâs my girl.â And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.
He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. Itâs the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, youâre close, he does exactly what heâs supposed to doâkeep doing what heâs doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.
With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly.Â
He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. Itâs a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.
Gentler than how youâve ever treated him.
Itâs this thought exactly that you voice to him. âYou know,â you muse softly. âI was such a bitch to you.â This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. âLike, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mightyââ
âWhatever you think you did, it was hot,â he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. âLike damn when you insult me I get all fired upââ
âSatoru!â You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. âYouâre crazy.â
âYea,â he winks. âCrazy for you.â
You smile softly at that, biting your lip. âI mean, I get that.â You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, âLike I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.â
He hums. âI get that a lot.â
âYea,â you blurt. âyouâre really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didnât notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.â
Silence.
When you look down at him, heâs looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, âWant to test that theory?â
The both of you test the theory, indeedâitâs a nice nod to your guysâ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.
general masterlist
a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever
comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!
#aashi writes#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#nerd gojo#nerdjo
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Feral McGeeâą
It starts with the Joker.Â
His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Jokerâs neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he?Â
Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. Heâs nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again.Â
The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does.Â
It happens like this.Â
The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair.Â
Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham.Â
And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair.Â
Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up.Â
He takes out one of Jokerâs knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold.Â
Then he looks towards the camera.Â
âHey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-â he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves.Â
Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham.Â
âA constrictor knot,â Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. âOften used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.â
âHuh,â Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. âGo figure.â
â
The next time it happens, itâs the Riddler.Â
Heâs laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And heâs not the only victim, theyâre all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddlerâs direct supervision while he enacts his schemes.Â
While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once heâs free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely.Â
Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, whoâs mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. Heâs down with one punch.Â
They think heâs going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket.Â
âRight,â the kid says, looking at the list. Thereâs a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if itâs damage to the cameras. âUh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-â he squints at the page for a moment-âMama Nacaroniâs? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And weâre at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.â
The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black.Â
Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless.Â
âStop it,â Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood canât see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. âYou know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.â
âHn.â
â
After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. Theyâre all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised.Â
Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than heâs originally let on.Â
Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that heâs a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down.Â
Gothamites are going wild for the kid. Theyâve dubbed him Feral McGeeâą (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, itâs like thereâs this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesnât usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away. Â
He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again.Â
And then the Joker escapes.Â
Itâs no surprise as to who heâs going to go after.Â
Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Jokerâs hideout pretty quickly. This time, itâs all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGeeâą is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up.Â
They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGeeâą.Â
The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid.Â
Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed.Â
âFuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,â they hear him say.Â
They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldnât be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kidâs got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When heâs at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger.Â
âOh, cool, youâre all here,â the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood.Â
âCan I get an autograph? Youâre dope as fuck, dude.â
Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kidâs notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children donât stop hounding him about it.Â
In their distraction, they didnât see the kid sneak away. Heâs far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Jokerâs flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isnât under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isnât a scratch on him.Â
When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker.Â
âOkay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,â Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. âHow do you keep getting kidnapped?â
The kid just shrugs. âI get distracted easily. And Iâm sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.â
âWhy are you sleep deprived?â Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice.Â
 âFinals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldnât happen to know anything about that, would you?â
âOh, lucky for you,â Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kidâs shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, âI happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?â
âYeah, Midsummer Nightâs Dream.â
As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.Â
âIf you donât adopt him, I will.â
âHn.â
#danny phantom#danny fenton#batman#bruce wayne#dc#batclan#batfam#joker#danny is a feral human#dp x dc#dc x dp
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monaco kiss .wav
Lando's mildly exhibitionist dreams came true. Due to genius sound engineering, the world can now listen to him and his girlfriend having sex, without a clue it's them.
the track mentioned and referenced (no need to listen to it to get the story, go and be free): French Kiss - The Original Underground Mix, Lil'Louis, The World (credit where credit is due)... 05:30 is the timestamp
word count: 7k
warning: smut, minors DNI, p in v, oral sex, voice notes, colapinto level amount of the word "mate"
PS: i rarely do, but I fuckin love this one
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If there was ever a place where Lando could spend hours and hours on end, it was the blue couch at Martin Garrix's personal studio. That piece of furniture was the peak of comfy. He'd asked many times where he got it - if only Martin could remember that.
The whole studio has a cozy vibe around it. A safe space for the F1 star to escape the ever-present eyes of the public, a timeless place where he could wind down and sit passively, while his friend digged notes for hits of the future. They'd often sit for hours in silence, just winding down.
To Lando's joy, the ultimate friend chemistry he had with Martin also worked for him and his, not-so-new-anymore, girlfriend Y/N. In fact, the moment these two met, it was clear that Y/N would quickly become a frequent member of their private recording sessions.
But this time, she had to be in a different city due to work, so it was just the boys, the olden days. Back when Lando would actually dabble in DJ'ing. Those days were long gone, but...It wasn't a rare thing that Lando would help and brainstorm ideas, chord progressions or effects applied to the tracks. What the public didn't know was that he was a loud creative force behind some elements in Martin's recent tracks. Lando had almost threatened him, urging to keep this behind closed door. He wasn't gonna Leclerc this one out.
"You look beat, mate," said Martin finally after nearly two hours of staring into track nods. Lando finally looked up from his phone.
"I'm waiting for you to be done, bro," he replied simply, reffering back to their debate regarding this latest track. A pause. "You know my opinion."
Max turned around to face him, only to find a signature overplayed smirk looking back at him. "You know what, I'm a fucking renowned producer, and you have the decency to come and tell me my track is shit?"
Lando did not flinch. This as a fairly normal way they'd speak together. "Well, someone apparently has to," he shot back, challenging Martin to flip out.
"Screw you," he replied and turned back to face his three monitors. Lando waited patiently, knowing that this was his signature first reaction to criticism. He always came around eventually. Max was his friend. And he would do everything to stop him from releasing crap. "Ok," he heard the DJ say, caving in to his doubts. "I am too deep in this track anyway. Tell me what you think."
"Mate, you said you wanted to do something more experimental. You forgot to add boring," Lando deadpanned.
Martin sighed loudly and leaned back to his chair.
"Don't get me wrong, I fucking love how you go from like - what, 120bpm?-"
"135-"
"Yeah, whatever," Lando said, not happy when Martin used his i-know-music-theory-and-you-don't tone. "As I was gonna say, the come down from the fast tempo to the painfully slow one, in the middle of the track, kind of works. It's certainly nothing like I'd heard play anywhere lately. But like, there is nothing in the production that makes it stand out? Like no real build up or interesting sound."
Lando knew it was brutal from him. But he wasn't there to pat his friend on the back. Just like Martin would never fake compliment his on a bad race. To Lando, this was peak friendship.
Martin hit quick save and closed the file abruptly, startling a minor panic in his friend. Did Lando overstep?
"Come on, mate. Don't copout now."
Martin was visibly startled. "Maybe I just need to put this one down for a moment. Lando did not know what to say to that. He might be right.
"Cig break?"
//
They were standing at the small balcony connected to main entrance to the studio, cigarette smokes mixing together. Yeah, Lando did enjoy an occasional smoke break with his friend. A guilty pleasure one might say.
"So, what was the starting point of the track?" he couldn't help but ask, still not happy to see his friend aborting something he'd spend hours on.
Martin gave him an annoyed look, but did not hesitate to reply. "Remember how the conversation I had about techno tracks being awfully predictable?."
Lando eyes shot up. "Wait, that weird chick you ran into in Germany?"
Rarely would Martin blush, but today was a lucky day apparently. A mocking snort came as a reaction from his friend. "Mate, I don't remember ever seeing you so flustered because of a girl." Few weeks ago, Martin had the fortune of meeting someone who he called "the love of his life" in a random club. And that girl had the audacity to leave him on read for hours. Him, Martin Garrix. Infuriating.
"Yeah, well, fuck you. She was real cool, alternative and reminded me of why I got into music in the first place. Let's revisit how insufferable you were when you met Y/N." Lando exhaled, forever happy anytime anyone ever brought up him and Y/N meeting. If it were up to him, that would be the only thing he's talk about. Getting to know her was like the best kind of drunk one can get. Tipsy enough to make everything fun and perfect, and not too much to get lost in it.
"Fuck off, I was never as insufferable as this," he defended, deep down knowing he might have been even worse. But, he and Y/N ended up dating. Poor Martin was desperate even for a reply.
"Whatever," Martin remarked and put his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. This small gesture reminded Lando why he was friends with this guy, the precious safe-space he managed to create. If there was a moment to act as a friend, it was this one.
"Shut up and let's get back to the track. We just gotta let loose a bit, that's all," he said, determined to get Martin out of the rut of his own head.
//
They'd been sitting for another hour, the sun long gone from their sight, two vodka soda's mixed from personal studio bar in, dozens of old tracks analyzed.
Martin played the middle section once again. Lando's head was mindlessly nodding into the beat they'd added and it was starting to look kind of good for the track. But it was not exceptional. And if Lando was trying to help Martin get the attention of some pseudo-pretentious alternative chick, they had to step up their game.
"Can you recall any track which uses the same level of tempo slow down? We could like, I dunno, look into why it works when other people did it and maybe something will come up." Lando often drew inspiration from other artists, something Martin usually hated. But, desperate times.
The racer watched the DJ and suddenly, as it was as if the musical equivalent of the DRS just hit him, his eyes went wide and he stood up.
"Of course!" Martin exclaimed and started pacing around the room. Lando was obviously surprised and kept still, hoping for the best, really. He watched his friend, walking back and forth around the room, deep in his own thoughts and searching for something on his phone.
"Yes! That's it," he finally said happily and put a song up to their loud speakers. The excited look he gave to Lando was almost scary. "You're gonna absolutely love this one," he continued with absolute confidence.
Lando prayed for this to be good, otherwise he was going to have to start getting worried about his friend's sanity, based on the crazy eyes.
The song started with a steady, four-on-the-floor beat (or that was what Lando had assumed). It was a typical 1980's techno track, fast, repetitive with a strong bass line.
But they were almost four minutes in and nothing that would stand out in any way was coming out of this track. Lando could not help but give Martin a doubtful look, not really getting what he was excited about. But Martin was there, nodding his head to the beat, in his own world. He must have sensed Lando's so-far-unimpressed expression, so he shot him a quick smile and gestured for him to wait. Finally, something started to happen and just like in Martin's new track, the music started to slow up on the tempo, quite dramatically. It got Lando somewhat hooked. And then-
And then! He thought he was imagining things. That his mind created sounds in his own head out of boredom.
Instead of a new instrumental added a vocal component was added. The most sensual female moan started to dominate the track, as the tempo kept slowing down. Lando felt his stomach dropped and hair and the back of his neck stand. It was sensual, almost vulgar in fact. Like some sort of elegant porn track playing over the original beat. Unapologetic. And it was increasing. What started as a somewhat socially acceptable sigh, turned into a full on orgasm moan - and as the music almost stopped, the female voice was taking on the main stage, full on peak. Thank God the walls were sound proofed. Lando cock was twitching. He tried to ignore Martin, who was grinning like a school boy first time seeing a porn video. And once the voice finally reached a peak, the music started to pick up, leftover moans cutting through the beat. Only then was Lando able to look Martin in the eye and got out of the semi-trance this track got him into. Finally the tempo fully picked up and the nine minute song was over.
"Uhh..." Lando got his initial reaction out and stared into the screen. Martin was there, unable to contain his laughter.
"You look flushed, mate, you good?" he teased, obviously pleased with himself for getting Lando out of his comfort zone.
Lando was finally getting back to Earth and couldn't help but to release a girl-like giggle. "Yeah, mate...I think if you do something like that, you will break the internet almost definitely."
What Martin could not know, because they did not have that kind of a relationship, was that Lando's phone was full of noise recordings of him and Y/N having sex. She was quite a vocal person. And he was a bit of a naughty boy, asked for a permission to record a sex tape nearly dozens of times. His girlfriend was probably right in refusing to do so, given the fact that if a video got out, it would be a disaster for both of them. But, an audio? One without any names mentioned? That was something she felt comfortable. And it as this thing Lando was using to get himself off when he was traveling alone for the past few months. So yeah, Martin hit the nail on its "head" with this one.
Lando gulped, trying to get himself back in the right headspace and not thinking of all the times Y/N screamed and moaned for him while bent over a table or laying in a silky bed.
"I fuckin' love this idea, mate. I'm gonna check with the lawyer team and see if I can go and sample this or something," Martin said, his tone indicating he was happy and done for the day.
"Yeah. This would work," Lando replied, unable to tone his voice down to his usual octave.
//
It was a surreal plane trip home to Monaco. They'd wrapped at the studio and Lando was headed directly to airport. This was proving to be unfortunate, as there was no time for him to go anywhere and take care of the problem growing in his pants. He had never listened to their voice notes in public, but he could not find any sort of self-restraint not to do so that day. Shamelessly walking around the private lounge area with a ragging boner and sex noises blasting in his headphones. He prayed for no fans showing up. At one point he was debating just beating it off in the airport bathroom. A teenager he had not been for a long time now.
And like a cruel joke, a voice memo landed in his messages from Y/N precisely at the time he as about to board his flight.
A part of him hoped it was a voice note of her jerking off. Sadly, it was not.
"Hey, my love, I hope you're all good and will make the flight. I've had such a boring day and can't wait to see you," she said a tone so sweet Lando felt almost guilty for walking around with thoughts of her on all fours, begging for his cock. It brought him back to normal, which was probably for the better. "Anyway, I'll be at home, let me know when you're coming." He smiled, loving the fact they were there for each other even in the innocent sort of way. "Aaah, what a day," she ended the voice note with a moan. A fucking tired sort of sigh. Normally, it would be a very casual thing for Lando. But did it sound like something out of their sex tapes? Of course it fucking did. "Mmmm.." And with that, the voice memo ended and Lando's boner was right back on.
//
"Hi, my love."
"Hello, sweetheart."
It was something he was proud about. Teaching her to sleep naked. Sleeping in clothes is close to committing a crime when she has a body like that. Clothes were for the outdoors anyway. It was doing something to his ego to see she fully accepted that. To his luck, he found Y/N just like he wanted - bare, snuggled up in their bed under a criminal amount of duvets, but most importantly, given his current state, still somewhat awake. She was giving his the most inviting look he'd ever seen on a human.
"Are you hitting the shower?" Y/N asked, pushing the duvet closer to her neck, as if to cover herself for some reason. Lando found that more than amusing and shook his head.
They'd exchanged few pleasantries, mundane questions while we was undressing and finally crawled into the bed with her. As a natural move, she shifted, letting him to be the big spoon. He caressed her hair before stepping in. Changed his tone from casual to bedroom. Finally.
"You and me baby, just us. How it's suppose to be."
Flirting was a second language to Lando and he was not afraid to use it.
"I see you kept the bed warm for us," he said, warmed his hands by blowing his hot breath on both of them. When he was sure that his body adapted from the chilly outdoors air to their hot flat, he started tracing lines on her body and pressed his crotch to her ass, to test her reaction, and see if he got lucky and caught her in the right mood.
He wouldn't be able to see it, due to the fact he was spooning her from behind, but her eyes shot wide open as his ragging boner pressed on her and a cheeky smile crept in. She answered by moving back to him, and arching her back. Loud, horny sighs from Lando followed.
"I see you've been a good boy, am I right?" she whispered sensually.
And fucking yes, he was a good boy. She'd often reward him when he manage to obstain from jerking off when they were suppose to see each other. If he had been hard before, they would need to come up with a new name for what he was experiencing after hearing his hard work being acknowledged.
He gulped, trying to keep his some cool in his voice. "You can guess twice," he challenged and pushed his body towards her, squeezing his dick between their bodies. She giggled and turned on her back to face him. Tried to kiss him slowly, but he was having none of that. Once the door was opened, he took the lead and kissed her with all of his pent up hunger. His hands were holding her jaw in place, as if she was going to slip away - which was the exact opposite of her plans. Soon enough she kissed back with similar urgency, roaming her hands on his chest and pulling his ever-so-curly hair.
"I need you," she whispered when he reached away to take in some air.
He grinned, happy to have some sort of level of upper hand, given how down bad he actually was.
"Have you been a good girl, sweetheart?" he asked, expecting the same answer he gave her. His cheeky fingers started exploring her upper thighs.
She waited a moment. "No, I haven't," bit her lip. This took Lando as a surprise and he opened his mouth in disbelief.
"Well, would you look at that..." he said, secretly loving this side of her. Horny little angel, getting herself off. In his mind, it was like she'd been training for him. He gripped her thigh, making her gasp.
"I think you might still find some evidence on the sheets," she whispered, and it was exactly that sound that was a turning point of Lando. He flipped over to tower her and slammed his lips towards hers. He opened her legs with his hands and started exploring her core - and it was exactly as she said it. Still wet from her on fingers, as he'd imagined.
"Well then, we'll do this on my terms. You understand?" he said in a playful tone. "What are you?"
She knew what answer he was looking for. "Bad girl," she sighed as he fingered her in a way that could not be described as gentle. Soft moans started escaping her mouth and that was the main thing Lando was longing for.
"And what am I? For keeping myself full for you?" he asked, trying to keep her on the edge with his moves.
Her eyes were now shut and her arms locked around his back, same as her legs. "Good boy," she sighed.
"Exactly. So do me a favour," he said, kissing her again, "be loud for me tonight. Make my ears ring and wake up the neighbours. Otherwise I'll make sure you don't get what a good girl gets." Both of them knew there was not a single cell in Lando willing to keep his empty promise. She was going to finish multiple times and he'd work for it the whole night if he had to.
Back arched. Lando's fingers doing the God's work. "Yes," she almost choked on her breath and let out an honest and beautiful sound.
It was already getting too much for Lando, he stroked himself few times and then slid into her wet cunt, as if it was his home.
And boy, was it better than any home he'd ever know. He warm wet, almost dripping cunt welcomed him in the sweetest of ways. Lando waited few seconds for both of them to adjust before he gripped her legs and swung them over his shoulders. It was a dance they'd practiced countless times before. She knew to clench her legs and provide support for him to be able to fully start launching into her.
He gave her one more lustfilled look before he thrusted for the first time. The thing he was specifically looking forward was the way how the breath escaped her throat in almost surprised way - as if she was not expecting this to happen. Pure pleasure overruled any thoughts he was having pretty quickly. The way her walls clenched over him was a sensation very few things could compare to. It was so easy to start moving faster and harder. He lived for the sight of her, lying down beneath him, eyes closed and finally, after few more perfectly placed movements, first moans started to escape her lips. He wanted more, tonight he needed it all. Speeding up, gripping her legs tighter. And with that, he watched as her boobs were bouncing back and forth, a sight so glorious he had to put one of his hands on it. All that she was somehow trying to hide in, started to come out. Face stuck in a scream like position, hands gripping Lando's arms and the most glorious of it all - the silent moans growing into muted screams. And once he added even more speed, those turned into unhinged screaks. He didn't even notice him own mouth stuck open. Breaths were getting heavier and heavier, drops of sweet sweat were falling on her torso and slowly Lando moved his hand over to from her boobs to the crease of her neck and squeezed just a little bit, the way he knew she liked. He didn't mind that the sound she made got a little muffled - he could feel the sound coming from her throat before it left her body.
And then finally, Lando felt almost a hot liquid hit his dick and gradually bounce over to his lower stomach as he moved even quicker than before, knowing well enough that when this happened to her, the incoming orgasm was about to be glorious. He thrusted, fully focused on her expressions and loud screams.
When her release happened seconds later, he nearly came himself. By some miracle, he managed to hold it of for just few more minutes. He kept thrusting, while he felt her body collapse momentarily, complete hard shut down. More liquid came out of her and Lando wished he could fuck and lick her at the same time.
And just like that, she was back again, panting hard and finally, eyes open once again. Her fucked out face challenging him once again. She smirked and tried as much as he could to keep up his tempo. It always took her one orgasm to bounce back and become more active. Lando wished he could go on for hours, but his dick almost begged him to allow the release. He wasn't gonna deny himself pleasure tonight.
"Say my name," she said in a loud demanding tone, stern look on her face. He wanted to chuckle, always finding it amusing how she went from almost a comatose princess to a challenging boss girl in seconds. After he made her come, of course. But Lando's mind was truly getting blurry at that point. He kept saying her name as like some sort of prayer as he carried himself to the heavenly release. It was the ultimate relief, dipping in a hot water, getting charged with electricity, tasting the sweetest drink, stepping into the hottest sunshine. Whatever kind of pleasure Lando could think of, nothing would ever mount to finally releasing it into her, especially after a long, oh so long, build up.
And with that, he fell next to her. Heave panting on both sides of the bed, before either of them spoke.
"All good? Are you ok?" he asked, just like he always did after they'd slept together. The thought of her not having a good time haunted him. He was aware that it sometimes came out more anxiously than he intended to, but who has a proper working brain after a sex session.
Y/N turned at him, blissful smile on her lips. "Oh yeah, baby. Love when you come home like this."
He smirked, getting some of the blood back to his brain. "Hmm, I also love coming home."
Their fucked out minds chuckled at the stupid joke. He gathered all the remaining strenght, got up and cleaned her up.
"Oh God, I've missed you," she complained into the no quiet room, still filled with sex air.
"You have no idea, how much I did, sweetheart."
//
It had been a good few weeks before Lando found himself once again in Martin's studio. This time Y/N was able to join him on the iconic couch. They sat, her legs relaxed over his, Lando's hand stroking her shins innocently. Physical touch boy if there ever was one.
Light banter laced the evening, few sips from Martin's signature vodka sodas and general lightness of the company were bound to end up with Martin sharing his latest relationship news. The alternative girl he met in Germany? Yeah, that was over. However, the track was definitely not.
"Ok, but like, I'd never seen you this anxious about a new track before," Y/N spoke, feeling like there was something these two guys were walking around, somewhat afraid to say hat it was.
Martin and Lando shared a look. There was not a single bone in Lando's body that was afraid of Y/N reaction to this track. He way in fact dying to know what Martin has done with it in the past few weeks. Martin was not allowed by his label to send any demos, only to show them in person. Well, he was not even allowed that, but it's not like they were there with them in the room. Martin raised his brows while looking at Lando, as if to look for a permission. Lando nodded, secretly looking forward to seeing what Y/N had to say about their newest idea.
"Well, I'm actually still working on a track we tried to finish when your boyfriend was here the last time," he said reluctantly.
"Yeah mate, I'm stoked to hear what you recorded," Lando said, trying to add some entusiasm to Martin's speech.
Martin's face formed a small frown. "Well, I'm worried, mate. Listen for yourself, it might be just me hearing this track for too many times. But, I'm afraid it does not work."
This took Lando by surprise - he was full on expecting a hot, sexy banger.
Martin did not add anything and upon Y/N's plea for finally play it and with zero protests on Lando's side, he did just that.
So they listened to the almost six minute track. The instrumentals were basically in the exact same state as when Lando was there for the last time. Intrigue filled his body as the tempo slow down came - it must have been time for the moaning to start. He could not wait to see Y/N's reaction. Was there a chance she would actually be mad and consider it tacky?
He didn't let her out of his sight, no matter how much Martin tried to catch his eye. Y/N sat there, her usual focused face on, as per any other time they'd listen to a new track.
And just like that, it took Lando only few bars of the part with the moans to understand where Martin's disinterest came from. This wasn't the right vibe. There was absolutely no comparison to the original track they'd based this on. It was a weak mockery of that whole idea. Sounded cheap, almost fake and with no atmosphere whatsoever. A face of slight disgust formed on Lando's face and he temporarily forgot he was watching Y/N for her reaction. They finally exchanged a look with Martin, both knowing this was just not working. While the girl moaning into the track had a perfect pitch, something was just not right.
Only when the moans and sighs part of the track ended he noticed the look on his girlfriends face and started actually feeling embarrassed. Will she think this as his idea and that he is a pervy simpleton? That he actually likes this?
He started his defense before she'd have any time for a reaction.
"That's not good, mate," he stated the more than obvious. Martin nodded, his expression hard to decipher. "It was not meant to sound this cheap."
"Yeah, don't know what to tell you. We recorded this with like two other producers in the room, this girl is apparently a good porn actress with a perfect pitch. But it sounds just like that. Like, I wanted to create a hot track, this is just cheap and kind of sad."
Lando gulped, almost fearing Y/N's reaction.
And boy, was she staring at him. It almost caught him of guard. Definitely silenced him. If he had to describe it, it would something along the lines of shooting arrows. Lando felt very small. But then, like by some sort of miracle, the corner of her lip turned up and a cheeky smile started to form. Martin knew more than interfere in their silent conversations and turned around to leave them be. A shot of confidence went though Lando's bloodstream and he gave Y/N a questioning look. Almost wanting to challenge her to say something. She shot her eyebrows up and tried to bite her smile away. Lando played dumb and shook his head, as if he did not understand. With that, she nodded toward his phone that was lying next to his hips. Lando's eyes went wide and his heart rate went up. Is she really suggesting this?
Out of nowhere, her look still firm on Lando - who stopped blinking a long time ago - she spoke, probably more to Martin than her boyfriend.
"I love the idea, and I think it could catch on really well. But like you said. You can't fake that if it's suppose to be good. Any girl will se right through this anyway."
Was Lando about to fall in love all over again?
"So what, am I suppose to pay someone to fuck in the studio?"
The silence that followed was a heavy, awkward, hot and hilarious one. Many looks were exchanged between the three of them before, as they say, all the pennies dropped.
"Oh my God," Martin exclaimed. Neither Lando or Y/N reacted in any verbal way, however Lando did raise his eyebrows in order to stop his smile from growing. Failing at that miserably. Suddenly, he was more than aware of Y/N legs near his crotch.
Martin shook his head, as if he became prudent out of nowhere and spun on his chair few times, most likely thinking it over. Lando was about to step in to ease the tension, but Y/N was faster.
"It would be the easiest way to test if the track works, just saying," she commented and Lando tried to stay as still as possible, almost worried that if he moves to much, he might wake up.
To potentially have his girlfriends orgasm voice blasted anonymously in clubs all around the world was doing some thing to his semi-exhibicionist persona, which he had to keep buried deep down. Things he had a lot of trouble admitting to outloud.
The conversation was continuing, no matter how spaced out and horny Lando became.
"Ok, say it works. Are you ok with this staying on the track?" Martin asked Y/N only. He knew his mate well enough to figure he'd be more than fine with it.
Y/N seemed to think about it, in a serious way, for few moments. The air felt oh-so-heavy to Lando. Please, say yes. Both of you.
"As long as it stays anonymous and nobody else, not even your label ever finds out, I say we go and give it a try," she answered and turned over to her boyfriend. He knew the look she had on her face more than well. It was the same one she'd have after agreeing to press record on their personal sex voice memos. And it was doing things to him.
It looked like Martin was coming around with the idea.
"Fuck it, ok then. I guess, I'll just press the button and give you guys some space in the recording room. But like, bare in mind I only need her, not you," he hinted over to Lando, "and for the sake of our friendship, I'd really appreciate if you kept it clean in terms of dirty talk. I don't want this to be the reason I died. Also no...mess please. Ugh."
Lando downed his drink, still unable to believe this was happening, and finally spoke again. "I'm sure there is a way to make sure we get only Y/N's voice."
Images flooded their heads - for Y/N very much wanted, to perfectly contrast Martin's reaction, who was sitting on the complete opposite of the excitement spectrum.
"Ok, let's go with it before I change my mind," Martin said and began prepping the recording room.
Lando squeezed his girlfriends hand, to make sure she was really ok with it.
"I love you," he whispered, unable to hold it in.
"Me too. I'm happy you don't think of me as slutty or perverted," she replied, hint of shame for the first in a long time creeping on her face.
"I would never....We can stop whenever, if you stop feeling it, ok? Please promise you'll let me know."
There was a look on her face he couldn't put a name on. "Thank you."
Martin coughed demonstrateively. "Lando, come over. I'll tell you what to do." Lando eyebrows shot up once again. "Not like that, with the recording, you weirdo," Martin exhaled, already regretting the decision.
//
"So, the recording is on, have a good one, I guess," were Martin's last words before Y/N was about to have a series of little deaths.
And with the click of the door, they were alone. Deep dark silence. Never before has she seen Lando stare at her this much like a hunter would at his prey. His good name was on the line. Maybe not for the whole world, but he had to show his best bud he can make his girl come. And perhaps something more than that.
The room was small, light dimmed out.
"So, what do you have in mind?" she asked softy, still not quite in the same feral mood Lando was in. He crossed over the distance between them slowly to put a finger on her mouth.
"No words, remember?" he reminded himself probably more than her. His plan was never to fuck her here. She'd soon find that out.
With ease and confidence only those who kissed each other countless of times, he locked his lips with hers. His hand in the back of her hair, pulling, not gently. Her tongue rolled over his and she bit his upper lip, to return the favor perhaps. Her head bent back and he follow the train to her collarbone with pecks. With ease, he started walking her over to the chair here the recording artist would usually sit. Today, she'd be the main act and he her muse. She was regretting not wearing a skirt that day. He saw no issue when he pulled her jeans down. He was already hard and just had to squeeze himself for few times, a mindless action. No doubt in his mind that before the night calls quits that day, he'd see his own release. She noticed his moves and tried to get in on the action, only to somewhat wake him up from his own selfishness as he stopped her hands reaching his crotch. Another head shake - hopefully, this time she'd get the hint.
Her eyes were filled with hot wanderlust and with that, she gave up on trying to take the lead. He smiled and got rid of her panties as well.
Two strong hands popped her up on the round chair with no back rest. One last kiss on the lips before he knelt down. Stomach tingled with anticipation. Lando was taking his time, slowly kissing his way up her legs. The ever so blue, green and whatever colored eyes glowing with lust. He stopped at the spot where thighs and knees bend, his tongue finally out, as if for a practice run. Only recently he found out about her secret soft spot. He watched her face relax and give in, first pleasure arriving. He was the moon and her body a shore, waiting for the waves.
Long heavy breath. Lando wanted, needed more. He progressed further and further, until the only place left to go were her folds and wet core. But before that, he didn't for get to leave few bite marks on her upper thighs. Quick catch of breath and her hands buried in his curls. Watching him as if the gods had sent him to ruin her.
And they might have. Normally, he's utter few cheeky lines before dipping his tongue deep into her, but the looks were all he could use this time.
Relaxed and come for me, baby. Drip all over this chair and make them know I can make you scream.
His tongue could as well be completely dry and it would not matter. They way how he was all over her got her wet anyway. His moves were never the same, yet they always worked like magic. He twisted, pulled in and out and all over. Slight bite at her less sensitive folds. Clit suck. And then he called upon his fingers to assist. She was barely sitting on the chair, legs fully rested on his shoulders, priorities loud and clear. As were her moans she didn't notice at first. She had to support herself with her arm, squeezing the weak leather top of the chair. Her other hand was busy with pushing Lando's face towards her. First tide started to arrive. Lando drew his head back to catch some breath - and she let him, because his fingers became the main act. He made sure to hold the tempo, knowing that would work like volume increase button. Was there a more beautiful sight than watching a woman you love hit the highs of life? Lando very much doubted. Judging by the way her face clenched, she must have forgotten the why and where. Her throat served like a gateway to pleasure sounds. And she screamed, more and even more once he sucked her clit again.
They call it little deaths because it might just be the only accurate description of what washed over her. If wasn't often he'd go down on and not fuck her shortly afterwards. Since that was out of the picture, she focused fully on his moves, knowing this was the peak.
He felt her relax after a particularly loud scream. Coming down to Earth once again. She opened her eyes and he smirked. He knew, by the way she tried to steady his breath and the slight movement of her supporting hand that she considered it "job done". She nodded and head and he shook his once again. Her puzzling look quickly replaced by a lip bite as his mouth traveled back to her core.
One more round, one could say Lando's ego was becoming the main hero of this story. The thought of somebody having to go and listen to another round of him destroying his girl with pleasure was an intoxicating one.
//
Martin's track was an instant hit and minor shock to the public. Never before has he released something so explicit. Y/N's screams were out for the whole world to listen and it did a wonder to their sex life. It was something else to fuck and blast your own love soundtrack on.
There were two main versions release, one less explicit, for the DJ's to play around the radio during the day and for club goers to party to during the night.
Lando stopped counting how many times it happened that in the middle of the day he'd hear this song around the paddock radio. Whenever he did, he would send Y/N a photo with a cheeky wink, and she'd do the same when she had the luck of listening to her own voice in public like that. A nice, somewhat innocent tradition for them only to understand.
//
Keep you friends close and rivals closer. That's how Lando ended up at one of the many celebrations of Max Verstappen's title celebrations. Little did he mind, secretly loving the fact the pressure was off him for a moment. Expensive alcohol flowing freely also helped.
He found himself sitting in a VIP booth across from Max, by some stroke of luck, alone. And of course, that was the first time he slipped up. Somehow he managed to avoid a situation when someone who knew him well was around when Martin's monaco kiss came up.
"the recording is on, have a good one, I guess"
Martin decided to keep his own line in the intro, only later admitting he'd re-recorded it out of his own insecurity. Which Lando found very amusing, given the fact him and Y/N only needed one take to get it right perfectly.
His stomach dropped a bit when he heard the now iconic opening line. Shifted a bit to regain some composure. Sipping a drink might help to hide his slight panic and lack of any real light did not allow his blushed cheeks to go noticed.
Across from him, Max was nodding his feet to the beat of the track. The conversation grew stale a moment while, so Max's complimentary comment on Lando's friend's track must have been intended as an innocent ice-breaker.
"what do you have in mind"
Another line kept in from the recording. Y/N's real voice hidden under many layers of autotune to keep her identity anonymous. As per her wish and Lando's secret regret.
The tempo started to slow down. Anyone would remember the track by heart if they'd listened to it the same amount of times as Lando had. Words were lost on him and he did not find a response to Max's comment. Very unusual from Lando. He sipped his now empty drink, hoping more liquid had magically appeared. Max noticed something was off. And then the key jump, straight out the book Diet Pepsi took inspiration from. Followed by the peak moan, or maybe a scream, from his girl for everyone to hear. It was not supposed to be this arousing. Max tilted his head and after another few beats, his intense stare aimed at his rival/friends went wide.
Lando tried to stop his smirk. He really did.
Max's mouth went open and he stopped his breath before uttering a simply lovely, slightly astonished: "No way."
Lando averted his gaze to the crowd below in order to avoid Max, who chuckled and took a big gulp of his not-empty glass.
If the lights went on, everybody would be able to see a bright red Lando. He was never going to break his promise about keeping this a secret, so he did not comment. But he grinned at Max's nod of approval.
He excused himself as went to the bar. Searching for his girl.
Light brush on her waist made her turn, wonder in her eyes easing when she saw it was him. They were both in the same horny headspace.
He leaned in and whispered, as much as one can whisper in a club, the last few beats of their track playing. "You sound so hot, baby. I'm so down bad for you."
Tipsy, she shot him a wide smile and mouthed a silent "i love you".
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Critics and Lovers
Max Verstappen x journalist!Reader
Summary: how would the paddock react if they knew that the woman writing scathing critiques about the reigning world champion weekend after weekend was the same woman who whispers sweet nothings in his ear at night?
âDid you really go to school for half a decade to get your journalism degree just to ask if I think Iâll win?â
Maxâs voice cuts through the bustle of the press room, drawing the attention of a few journalists milling around with their notebooks and recorders. He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his smirk more amused than annoyed. His blue eyes â always so intense under the brim of his cap â lock onto yours, daring you to respond.
You raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. âIâm asking the questions the people want answers to, Max. Itâs my job, remember?â
âYour job is to provoke me, apparently,â he counters, leaning forward slightly, his smirk widening. âBut you know, you could at least pretend to be creative. Ask something that might surprise me for once.â
âI wasnât aware you had the capacity to be surprised,â you quip, your pen hovering over your notepad as if ready to jot down his response.
Max lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. âTouchĂ©. But if youâre expecting me to give you a soundbite for your next article, youâll have to do better than that.â
The exchange draws a few chuckles from the nearby journalists, but they quickly refocus on their own tasks, used to the banter between the two of you. After all, itâs no secret that youâre Max Verstappenâs biggest critic.
Week after week, your articles dissect his performances with surgical precision, never shying away from pointing out his flaws, his temper, his moments of questionable judgment. To everyone else, youâre just doing your job, holding one of the sportâs biggest stars accountable. But to Max â well, he seems to take it in stride, brushing off your critiques with the same ease he shows on track.
What no one else knows, though, is that this verbal sparring is just another part of the complicated dance you and Max have been perfecting for years. A dance that begins in front of cameras and microphones, and ends in private, where the lines between your professional rivalry and personal relationship blur into something neither of you can fully define.
âOkay, fine,â you say, pretending to think hard about your next question. âHow about this: whatâs your plan for today? Any new strategies to surprise us with?â
Max raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. âThatâs almost worse than your first question. Did you really think that would get me talking?â
You sigh, exasperated. âMaybe if you gave me a straight answer for once, I wouldnât have to keep asking.â
He leans in closer, lowering his voice just enough so only you can hear. âMaybe if you asked me something off the record, Iâd actually consider it.â
âOff the record doesnât sell papers, Max,â you reply, your tone equally low but tinged with something more affectionate, something that would be impossible to miss for anyone paying close attention.
Maxâs smirk softens into something more sincere, his eyes flickering with the warmth that youâve come to associate with the quiet moments you share away from the track, away from the scrutiny of the world.
Itâs a look that says he knows youâre playing a role, just like he is. That despite the biting comments and the professional jabs, thereâs a mutual understanding between you. A connection that runs deeper than anything either of you would ever admit in public.
But here, in this crowded room filled with reporters whoâd kill for the kind of scoop only you could provide, that connection has to stay hidden. Because if anyone ever found out the truth â if they knew that you, the woman who writes those scathing critiques of Max Verstappen, were the same woman who shares his bed at night â it would be the end of both your careers.
And so, the game continues, with both of you playing your parts to perfection.
âNext time, try asking me something interesting,â Max says, his voice returning to its usual volume as he straightens in his chair, signaling the end of your private moment. âOtherwise, Iâll start thinking youâre getting lazy.â
You give him a look thatâs meant to be stern but canât quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. âLazy? I think youâre confusing me with your performance last weekend.â
The jab earns you a mock glare from Max, but he doesnât take the bait, instead giving a noncommittal shrug. âWeâll see whoâs lazy when Iâm on top of the podium later.â
âConfident as ever, I see,â you remark, jotting down a few notes that you know youâll never actually use.
âJust stating facts,â he says, and for a moment, you canât help but admire the way he carries himself, the ease with which he navigates this world of high stakes and even higher expectations. Itâs one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, back when neither of you had any idea where this relationship was heading.
âWell, good luck out there,â you say, finally stepping back to let the next reporter have their turn. But as you move away, you catch the briefest flash of something in his eyes â something that tells you heâs not just thinking about the race ahead, but about the conversation youâll have later, away from prying eyes.
As you find a spot at the back of the room, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A quick glance tells you itâs a message from Max, sent under the guise of a work-related email, as usual.
You know Iâm going to make you pay for that lazy comment later, right?
You bite back a smile, typing out a quick response.
Promises, promises.
The rest of the press conference goes by in a blur of questions and answers, none of which capture your attention the way Max does. Youâre barely listening when the moderator finally wraps things up, and the drivers start to file out.
But before Max can make his exit, he pauses just long enough to catch your eye, giving you a look thatâs all too familiar. Itâs the same look he gave you the first time you met, back when he was just another driver on the grid and you were the new journalist determined to make a name for yourself. A look that says heâs already planning what heâs going to say to you later, when the cameras are off and the real conversations can begin.
You follow the crowd out of the room, blending in with the other journalists as you make your way toward the paddock. But your thoughts are already drifting to the end of the day, to the moment when youâll finally be alone with Max, free to drop the pretense and just be yourselves.
Because despite the roles you play in public â the critical journalist and the cocky driver â in private, youâre something else entirely. Something that neither of you can fully explain, but neither of you wants to give up.
âHeading back to the media center?â One of your colleagues asks as you step outside, the midday sun beating down on the paddock.
âYeah, Iâve got a deadline to meet,â you reply, forcing your mind back to the task at hand. But even as you say it, you know that your thoughts will be elsewhere for the rest of the day. On Max, and the secret you both share. A secret that, for now, is safe.
But how long can it stay that way?
The question lingers in your mind as you head back to your desk, the usual chatter of the paddock fading into the background. Youâve always known that this arrangement couldnât last forever, that eventually, something would give.
The world of Formula 1 is too small, too tightly knit, for secrets like this to stay buried forever. And when the truth finally comes out â because itâs not a matter of if, but when â you know that everything will change.
But for now, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the article you need to write. Itâs what youâre good at, after all â crafting narratives, shaping stories. And today, the story is about Max, the driver who never fails to surprise you, both on and off the track.
The press room is quieter now, most of the other journalists having moved on to other tasks. You sit down at your laptop, the screen reflecting your determined expression. The cursor blinks at you, waiting. And as you begin to type, the words flow easily, the story taking shape with each keystroke.
Itâs a story the world has seen before â another race, another analysis of Max Verstappenâs performance. But underneath it all, thereâs a subtext that only you can see, a hidden layer that tells the real story. The one that will never make it to print.
The one that belongs to just you and Max.
Hours pass in a blur, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you lose yourself in the work. Itâs almost too easy to write about Max, to analyze his every move, his every decision. You know him better than anyone, after all â better than any other journalist in this room, better than most of the people in his life. Itâs a knowledge that comes with a price, though, a price youâre all too aware of.
But as the final paragraph falls into place, you sit back, satisfied. The article is done, the narrative complete. And with it, the dayâs work is finally over. You stretch, glancing around the empty press room, and for a moment, you allow yourself to relax. To let go of the role youâve been playing all day, and just be yourself.
Your phone buzzes again, pulling you back to reality. Another message from Max.
Meet me in the usual place?
You donât hesitate before typing out a reply.
On my way.
The media center is almost deserted as you make your way out, the soft hum of electronics the only sound filling the room. You slip your laptop into your bag and sling it over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly as you step into the paddock. The evening air is cooler now, a welcome relief after the dayâs heat, and the sky is streaked with shades of orange and pink as the sun dips below the horizon.
You walk with purpose, navigating the familiar maze of trailers and motorhomes, heading toward the secluded spot where you and Max often meet. Itâs tucked away from the main pathways, a place where no one would think to look for you, and thatâs exactly why it works. You reach the spot and pause, taking a deep breath before stepping around the corner.
Max is already there, leaning against the side of a trailer, his cap pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face.
âTook you long enough,â he says, his tone teasing.
âHad to finish that article youâre so eager to read,â you reply, stopping a few feet away from him, just outside the reach of his hands.
âOh, Iâm sure itâs a glowing review of my abilities,â he says, pushing off the trailer and closing the distance between you in two strides. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer, and you donât resist. Here, in this quiet corner of the paddock, the walls come down, and the roles you play for the cameras melt away.
âGlowing might be a stretch,â you say, allowing yourself a small smile as his hand lingers on your waist. âBut itâs fair.â
âFair is good,â he murmurs, leaning in so his forehead rests against yours. âBut if I didnât know better, Iâd say youâre going easy on me.â
âMaybe I am,â you admit, your voice softening. âOr maybe I just think you deserve a break every now and then.â
âFrom the criticism? Or from you?â He asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
âBoth,â you say, giving him a playful shove, but he doesnât budge, his grip on you firm yet gentle.
âYou know Iâd never take a break from you,â he says, his voice low, serious now. His thumb strokes your side, sending a shiver up your spine.
You close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. Itâs these moments you treasure the most, the ones where itâs just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. Just Max and you, stripped down to the simplest version of yourselves.
âI know,â you whisper, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. âIâd never let you.â
His smile turns tender, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. âGood,â he says simply, before closing the small gap between you and pressing his lips to yours.
The kiss is soft, unhurried, a stark contrast to the fast-paced world you both live in. Itâs a reminder of what you have, what youâve built together despite the odds. And as you kiss him back, you feel a warmth spread through you, one that has nothing to do with the lingering heat of the day.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours again, he lets out a small sigh, as if heâs been holding his breath all day and can finally relax. âI hate this,â he admits quietly.
âHate what?â You ask, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, needing the physical connection to anchor you.
âHiding,â he says, the word heavy with the weight of months, years of secrecy. âI hate that we have to keep doing this, sneaking around like weâre doing something wrong.â
You feel a pang in your chest, because you hate it too. Hate the way you have to pretend to be something youâre not in front of everyone else. Hate the way you have to watch your words, your actions, every time youâre in the same room as him. But more than that, you hate the idea of what would happen if the truth came out. The scrutiny, the backlash, the way it would change everything.
âI know,â you say softly, your fingers stilling on his shirt. âBut itâs the only way right now. We both knew that going into this.â
âI know we did,â he replies, his voice tinged with frustration. âBut it doesnât make it any easier.â
âNo,â you agree, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. âIt doesnât.â
He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and for a while, neither of you says anything. The silence is comforting, a shared understanding that words canât always convey. Itâs moments like these that make the rest of it bearable â the stolen kisses, the secret glances, the knowledge that, no matter what happens, youâll always have each other.
Eventually, Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer now, the frustration replaced with something gentler, more resigned. âI just wish it could be different,â he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
âMe too,â you admit, your heart aching with the truth of it. âBut weâll get through this, Max. We always do.â
He nods, though you can see the doubt lingering in his eyes. âYeah, we will,â he says, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. âAnd when we do, weâll figure it out. Together.â
âTogether,â you echo, holding onto the word like a lifeline.
He leans in to kiss you again, and this time, itâs slower, more deliberate, as if heâs trying to memorize every detail, every sensation. And you let him, because youâre doing the same, savoring the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hand cradles the back of your head like youâre something precious.
When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, and the world feels a little less heavy, a little less overwhelming. Max rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath warm against your skin.
âI love you,â he says, the words so simple, yet so profound in the way they ground you, remind you of whatâs important.
âI love you too,â you reply, your voice steady, certain.
He smiles then, that slow, genuine smile thatâs just for you, the one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. And in that moment, everything else fades away â the doubts, the fears, the uncertainty of what the future holds. Because right now, in this quiet corner of the paddock, itâs just the two of you, and thatâs enough.
For now, itâs enough.
âCome on,â Max says after a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. âLetâs get out of here before someone comes looking for us.â
You nod, and together, you slip out of the shadows, making your way back through the maze of trailers and motorhomes, hand in hand. The paddock is quieter now, most of the crew having called it a day, and the sky is a deep, dusky blue as night settles in.
As you walk, you canât help but glance at Max, the way his profile is lit by the dim lights of the paddock, the way his grip on your hand never wavers. Itâs moments like these that make it all worth it â the sacrifices, the secrecy, the constant balancing act between your public and private lives.
Because at the end of the day, itâs not the criticism or the articles or even the races that matter. Itâs this â being with him, knowing that no matter what, youâll always have each other.
And as you slip out of the paddock together, unnoticed by anyone, you hold onto that thought, letting it carry you through the darkness, through the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring.
Because for now, itâs enough.
And thatâs all you need.
***
The Hidden Truth: Why I Kept My Marriage a Secret
By: Y/N Y/L/N
For as long as Iâve been a journalist, Iâve prided myself on one thing: honesty. Iâve built a career on asking the tough questions, on digging for the truth even when itâs uncomfortable, and on holding the powerful accountable. Thatâs why, as I sit down to write this, I find myself in an unfamiliar position â one where Iâm the subject of my own scrutiny.
Over the past few years, Iâve become known as Max Verstappenâs biggest critic. Iâve questioned his decisions on track, his attitude off it, and his approach to the sport we both love. Iâve written article after article dissecting his every move, never once pulling my punches. And, in doing so, Iâve created a persona that many have come to recognize â a journalist who isnât afraid to speak her mind, no matter who sheâs writing about.
But thereâs something Iâve kept hidden. Something Iâve chosen not to share, not because Iâm ashamed of it, but because itâs deeply personal. And now, itâs time to tell the truth.
Max Verstappen is my husband.
Yes, you read that correctly. The man Iâve spent years publicly scrutinizing is the same man I wake up next to every morning, the same man who knows me better than anyone else in this world. Weâve been married for two years, together for even longer, and our relationship is something I hold incredibly dear.
I can already hear the questions â how could I, a journalist dedicated to transparency, keep such a monumental secret? How could I write so critically about the man I love, knowing the impact my words would have? The answers are complex, but Iâll do my best to explain.
When Max and I first started dating, it was easy to keep our relationship private. We were just two people trying to navigate the chaotic world of Formula 1, and neither of us wanted the added pressure of public scrutiny. But as our relationship grew more serious, we both knew that revealing it would come with consequences â not just for us, but for our careers, our reputations, and our personal lives.
So we made a choice. We decided that our relationship was something we wanted to protect, something we wanted to keep just for ourselves. And yes, that meant keeping it a secret from the public, from our colleagues, even from some of our closest friends.
But the secrecy wasnât about hiding. It was about creating a space where we could be ourselves, away from the cameras, the interviews, the constant analysis of every move we made. It was about having something that was ours and ours alone, in a world where so much is shared, dissected, and often distorted.
Now, as for the criticism â many of you will likely wonder how I could write so harshly about the man I love. The truth is, when I put on my journalist hat, Iâm not Max Verstappenâs wife. Iâm not Y/N, the woman who loves him. Iâm Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has a job to do. And that job is to report on the sport objectively, to ask the tough questions, and to hold everyone â including my husband â accountable.
Max knew this from the beginning, and he respected it. In fact, he encouraged it. He didnât want me to go easy on him just because of our relationship. He wanted me to be true to myself and to my profession, even if that meant writing things that were difficult for both of us. And yes, there were times when it was hard â when I wrote something that hurt him, when we had to have difficult conversations about where to draw the line between my role as a journalist and my role as his partner.
But through it all, weâve managed to keep our relationship strong, because we both understand that what happens on the track, whatâs written in the press, isnât the full story. The full story is what happens behind closed doors, away from the public eye, in the quiet moments we share when itâs just the two of us.
And now, the secretâs out. I know this revelation will come as a shock to many, and Iâm prepared for the questions, the speculation, and yes, the criticism that will inevitably follow. But I want to make one thing clear â Iâm not sorry.
Iâm not sorry for keeping our relationship private. Iâm not sorry for protecting something that means the world to me. And Iâm not sorry for continuing to do my job with integrity, even when it meant writing things that were difficult for both of us.
This is our truth. Itâs messy, itâs complicated, but itâs ours. And now, itâs out there for the world to see. Iâm not asking for understanding or approval, because I know this will be a difficult pill for some to swallow. But I am asking for respect â for my choices, for our relationship, and for the fact that, at the end of the day, weâre just two people who fell in love in a world thatâs anything but ordinary.
Max and I are still the same people we were before you knew about us. Heâs still the incredible driver youâve come to admire, and Iâm still the journalist who will continue to ask the tough questions, no matter whoâs on the other side of them.
The only difference now is that you know the full story.
And Iâm okay with that.
***
The Other Side: Why We Chose to Keep Our Love Private
By: Max Verstappen
Iâve never been one to shy away from a challenge, whether on the track or off. Racing is in my blood â itâs what Iâve known and loved my entire life. But writing? Thatâs a whole different race, one where Iâm definitely out of my comfort zone. So, when Y/N suggested I write this article, I wasnât sure if it was such a great idea. But she convinced me â like she always does â so here I am, trying to find the words to explain whatâs been one of the most significant parts of my life, one that Iâve kept hidden from the world until now.
As youâve probably read by now, Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has been my harshest critic, is also my wife. Let that sink in for a moment â I know it took me a while to get used to the idea too. Not the fact that sheâs my wife, but that the world now knows something weâve kept private for so long.
When Y/N and I started dating, we had no idea where it would lead. We were just two people who happened to find something special in each other, despite the chaos of our worlds. But as our relationship deepened, so did the challenges. How do you navigate a relationship when one of you is in the spotlight 24/7, and the otherâs job is to shine that light as brightly as possible, even when itâs uncomfortable?
We quickly realized that what we had was too important to let the world dictate how we lived it. So, we made a choice â a choice to keep our relationship private, not because we were ashamed, but because we wanted something for ourselves, something that wasnât up for public debate or scrutiny.
People will ask why we did it, why we went to such lengths to keep it a secret, and the answer is simple: because we had to. Being a Formula 1 driver means living your life under a microscope. Every move you make, every word you say, is analyzed, criticized, and often misunderstood. Itâs a pressure cooker, and adding a public relationship into that mix was something we werenât willing to do.
It wasnât an easy decision. There were times when I wanted to scream from the rooftops about how much I love this woman, how much she means to me, and how proud I am of her. But I knew that doing so would open us up to a level of scrutiny neither of us wanted or needed. And so, we kept it quiet, we kept it private, and we built something strong and real away from the cameras.
Thatâs not to say it was without its challenges. Y/Nâs articles about me â some of which were less than flattering â were hard to swallow at times. But I respected her too much to ask her to change the way she does her job. Sheâs a journalist, and a damn good one at that. She has a responsibility to her readers, to the sport, and to herself to be honest, even if that honesty stings.
Did it hurt when she wrote something critical about me? Of course, it did. But I also understood that what she wrote came from a place of integrity, not malice. It was her job to ask the tough questions, to hold me accountable, and to do so without bias. And I loved her even more for it.
You might wonder how we managed to keep our relationship strong despite the secrecy and the criticism. The truth is, we did it by being honest with each other in ways we couldnât be with anyone else. We talked â about everything. About the articles, about the pressures we were both under, about our fears and our hopes for the future. We made sure that, no matter what happened on the track or in the press, we were solid in our relationship. And we were.
But now that the secretâs out, I know things will change. People will have opinions, and theyâll want to know every detail of how we made this work. Theyâll want to dissect our relationship just like they dissect my races. And thatâs fine â we knew this day would come eventually.
What I want people to understand, though, is that our decision to keep our relationship private wasnât about deception. It was about protection. We wanted to protect what we had, to give ourselves the space to grow as a couple without the pressures of the outside world bearing down on us.
Iâve always been a private person, and thatâs not going to change just because the truth is out. But Iâm also incredibly proud of what Y/N and I have built together. Sheâs my toughest critic, yes, but sheâs also my biggest supporter, my partner, and the person I trust more than anyone else in this world.
So, why write this now? Because I want to set the record straight. I want people to understand that our relationship is real, that itâs built on love, respect, and a shared understanding of what it means to live in this crazy world of Formula 1. We didnât hide it because we were ashamed â we hid it because we wanted to protect it, to keep it safe from the chaos that surrounds us every day.
And now that the secretâs out, Iâm not afraid of whatâs to come. I know there will be challenges, but I also know that weâll face them together, just like weâve faced everything else.
This is our story. Itâs not perfect, and itâs far from simple, but itâs ours. And now, the world knows it too.
***
The sun hangs low over the paddock as you walk beside Max, your hand nestled comfortably in his. The usually bustling environment feels different today, like the air has thickened with anticipation. You can feel the eyes on you â hundreds of them, some curious, some incredulous, all hungry for the next piece of the puzzle that is you and Max Verstappen.
Youâve written about this very paddock more times than you can count. Youâve captured its energy, its chaos, its unpredictability. But today, for the first time, youâre the story.
Max squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance, and you glance up at him. Heâs calm, or at least he appears to be. You know him well enough to see the subtle signs of tension â the set of his jaw, the way his eyes scan the crowd with a little more intensity than usual. Heâs ready for whatever comes next. So are you, or at least thatâs what you tell yourself.
âReady?â He asks, his voice low, meant only for you.
âAs Iâll ever be,â you reply, managing a small smile.
The first few steps into the paddock are deceptively quiet, almost serene. But then, as if someone has flipped a switch, the cameras flash, the microphones extend, and the questions start flying at you from every direction.
âMax! Is it true youâve been married for two years?â
âY/N, why did you keep it a secret?â
âHow does this change your dynamic on the grid?â
âWill you be writing about Max differently now?â
You and Max exchange a glance, a wordless conversation in the middle of the media frenzy. His hand tightens around yours, a steady anchor in the chaos. You can feel the eyes of your colleagues, the other journalists who are now looking at you not as one of them but as a subject. Itâs a disorienting feeling, like the world has suddenly shifted and youâre standing in a place you no longer recognize.
Max leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, âWelcome to my world.â
You canât help the laugh that bubbles up, a sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. Itâs absurd, this whole situation. Youâve spent years writing about him, criticizing him, analyzing his every move, and now youâre on the other side of that scrutiny.
You straighten your shoulders, drawing on every ounce of professionalism you have. This is what you signed up for. Youâve spent years dissecting the lives of others, and now itâs your turn to be under the microscope. Itâs only fair.
But Max isnât letting you go it alone. He steps forward, his presence commanding as he addresses the swarm of reporters. âWeâll take questions, but letâs keep it civil,â he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The first question comes from a reporter you recognize, someone youâve shared more than a few press rooms with. âMax, how does it feel to have your relationship with Y/N out in the open?â
Max glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. âIt feels good. Weâve wanted to keep this part of our lives private, but now that itâs out, weâre ready to move forward.â
Another reporter jumps in, this one more aggressive. âY/N, how do you expect to remain unbiased in your reporting now that everyone knows youâre married to Max?â
You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. âIâve always strived for objectivity in my work, and that wonât change. My relationship with Max is separate from my role as a journalist. Iâll continue to ask the tough questions, just as I always have.â
Itâs a carefully crafted answer, one you rehearsed in your head a dozen times before stepping into the paddock. But you can see the skepticism in their eyes, the doubt that you can truly keep your professional and personal lives separate. It stings, but you knew it was coming.
Maxâs voice cuts through the murmurs. âY/N has always been one of the best in the business, and thatâs not going to change just because weâre married. If anything, sheâll probably be even harder on me now.â
Thereâs a ripple of laughter, a brief moment of levity in the tension-filled space. But itâs short-lived. The questions keep coming, each one sharper than the last.
âMax, do you think your performance on the track will be affected now that your marriage is public?â
âY/N, do you regret keeping this a secret for so long?â
âWhat about the other drivers? How do they feel about this?â
Youâre starting to feel the weight of it all, the relentless pressure of the cameras, the voices, the questions that seem to dig deeper and deeper. But Max is by your side, unwavering, and that gives you strength.
âI donât regret anything,â you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise. âMax and I made the decision to keep our relationship private because it was what was best for us. We wanted to protect something that mattered to us, and I donât think anyone can fault us for that.â
Max nods, his hand still wrapped around yours. âWe knew this would come with challenges, but weâre ready to face them together.â
Thereâs a moment of silence, a pause as the reporters digest your words. But you know this isnât the end of it. The scrutiny, the questions, theyâre not going to stop anytime soon. Youâve become the story, and thatâs something youâll have to live with.
But as you stand there, side by side with Max, you realize that youâre okay with it. Youâve spent years writing about other peopleâs lives, their triumphs and failures, their relationships and rivalries. Now, itâs your turn to be in the spotlight, and youâre ready for it.
âMax, Y/N,â a voice calls out, one of the more seasoned journalists youâve always respected. âWhatâs next for you two? How do you plan to navigate this new chapter?â
Max looks at you, his eyes softening. âWeâre going to keep doing what weâve always done. Iâll keep racing, Y/N will keep writing, and weâll keep supporting each other every step of the way. This is just another challenge, and weâre more than ready to face it.â
You nod, feeling a surge of confidence. âWeâre not going to let this change who we are or what we do. Weâve always been a team, and thatâs not going to change now.â
Thereâs a finality to your words, a sense that youâve said all there is to say. The reporters sense it too, the questions starting to taper off as they realize theyâre not going to get anything more out of you today.
Max squeezes your hand one last time before turning to the crowd. âThanks, everyone. Weâll see you in the media pen.â
With that, he starts to lead you away, but not before you catch the eyes of a few of your colleagues. Thereâs a mix of emotions there â some understanding, some curiosity, and yes, some judgment. But you donât let it get to you. Youâve spent your career building a reputation, and one revelation isnât going to tear that down.
As you walk away from the crowd, Maxâs arm slips around your waist, pulling you close. âNot so bad, huh?â He murmurs.
You laugh softly, leaning into him. âSpeak for yourself. I think Iâll stick to writing the articles, not being the subject of them.â
Max chuckles, his breath warm against your temple. âNow you know why Iâm not a fan of the media. Present company excluded, of course.â
âOf course,â you echo, smiling up at him.
The paddock is still buzzing with energy, the usual pre-race preparations in full swing. But you and Max walk through it with a new sense of purpose, a newfound clarity. The secret is out, and while it comes with challenges, it also comes with freedom â a freedom to be yourselves, to love each other openly, without the burden of secrecy.
You know the road ahead wonât be easy. There will be more questions, more scrutiny, more judgment. But as long as you have Max by your side, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#max verstappen#mv1#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#max verstappen x female reader#max verstappen x y/n#red bull racing#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen drabble
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Danny's "Test Mission"
[Justice League Briefing Room]
Batman: This is a simple reconnaissance mission. Infiltrate a LexCorp facility and gather intel. Danny: Got it. Sneak in, grab the goods, and donât touch anything shiny. Superman: And donât cause trouble. Danny: [grinning] No promises, Big Blue.
[Outside the LexCorp Facility]
Batman: Stick to the plan. Danny: [turns invisible] What plan? Iâm already inside. Wonder Woman: [to Batman] He reminds me of Barry. The Flash: Hey! I resent that.
[Inside LexCorp]
Danny: [phases through a wall and grabs a glowing device] Easy. Why do you guys overthink this stuff? Cyborg: [over comms] Be careful with that. Itâs probably booby-trapped. Danny: [tilts the device] Pfft, itâs fineâ The device glows bright red and alarms start blaring. Danny: âŠOkay, my bad.
[The Team Reacts]
Batman: [gritting his teeth] You had one job. The Flash: That mightâve been a record for fastest mission failure. Danny: Relax! I can handle this. Superman: You set off every alarm in the building. Danny: [grins, holding up the device] Yeah, but I got the thingy!
[LexCorp Security Arrives]
Danny: [dodging lasers] These guys are terrible shots. Wonder Woman: [deflecting bullets with her bracelets] Youâre lucky weâre here. Danny: Or am I just giving you all a good workout? Youâre welcome.
[Superman vs. LexCorp Mech]
Danny: Hey, Supes, tag out! Superman: [lifting the mech] I donât need help. Danny: [blasting the mech with ectoplasm] Yeah, but I make it look cooler.
[After the Mission]
Batman: That was reckless and irresponsible. Danny: [phasing through a chair to sit down] And yet, effective. Cyborg: Gotta admit, Bats, the kidâs got style. Wonder Woman: Heâs brave, Iâll give him that. The Flash: And chaotic. We should keep him. Superman: Absolutely not.
Danny: So, whatâs the verdict? Do I get a membership card or what? Batman: No. The Flash: Maybe. Danny: [grinning] Sounds like a âyesâ to me.
[Later, in the Batcave]
Alfred: Master Bruce, the ghost boy is raiding the pantry. Batman: Why is he still here? Danny: [with a mouthful of cookies] Because Iâm awesome.
#danny is a little shit#dpxdc#dps fandom#dc x dp#dc x dp crossover#jason todd#danny fenton#danny phantom#ghost king danny#batfam#danny meets justice leauge members#sassy danny#danny is the ghost king#danny likes causing problems#alfred pennyworth#batman#superman#wonder woman#green arrow#green lantern#aquaman#the flash#cyborg#bruce wayne#lexcorp#mission
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The Monster You Know
Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader
Synopsis: For your own safety, the strongest sorcerer of today kidnaps you.
Word Count: 6.9k
(Warnings: implied masturbation, implied nsfw, implied noncon recording, death of a minor character.....im pretty sure i missed a warning so lemme know any pls)
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Instead of waking up in a bed, you find yourself on the floor.
It's not a comfortable spot to sleep in. The carpet is clean, but it's odd because you don't have this type of carpet in your room. Actually, this isn't your room at all.Â
But the panic doesn't really set in until you realize your arms are bound.Â
You don't notice him until he speaks. You're too busy yanking on the metal, pulling your hand as hard as you could. The cuffs don't even budge.Â
"If you keep yanking your arms like that, you might break 'em."Â
He's tall, rivaling the door he just walked through. He looks a couple of years older than you, but his white hair can't be natural, not at his age. His blue eyes are lax. The worst part is how relaxed he looks. He has an eased posture and a pretty smile. He's amused, watching you like youâre a pesky mouse trapped in a bucket.Â
You donât know him. Youâre stuck in an unfamiliar room, chained to the floor, and you donât know this man.Â
Escape isnât possible. So you resort to the next best thing: you plead.Â
âWho are you?â Your voice is light and wavers on every syllable. âWhere-Where am I? Did you bring me here? Please donât-â
âYou always this talkative in the morning?â He dodges your question with a lax grin. âAnyway, uh, sorry about this-â he gestures to your tied-up form â-I would've used a talisman, but those wonât work on you for obvious reasons. The handcuffs arenât too tight, are they?âÂ
He steps closer, and you scream. Itâs shrill, filled with a type of fear that makes your blood freeze because you donât know this man, you donât know where you are, and heâs getting closer.Â
âOkay okay, I get it!â He manages to say over your pleas for help, but he steps back, and itâs enough to quiet your fear. âObviously, you need some more time alone, so Iâm gonna give you a couple more hours. Feel free to take a mint!â He cheerily points to the nightstand.Â
He leaves as quickly as he enters. The door shuts but doesnât lock. Youâd be relieved if you werenât still incapacitated.Â
You look around the room. Nothing of value, nothing that you could reach and grab. Apart from a chair, the only other pieces of furniture were a heavy-looking bed and a bolted-down nightstand. Your kidnapper was certainly meticulous.Â
The restraints have just enough slack for you to lean over. You peer at the nightstand. A plastic bowl, too flimsy to be made into a weapon. It contains wrapped-white candies. You gingerly pick one up.Â
Theyâre sugar-free.Â
He returns to the mints scattered all over the floor.Â
âOkay.â He notes, gracefully stepping over the mess. âClearly, you arenât a fan of peppermint. 'you a wintergreen kindaâ person?âÂ
You donât look at him. Youâve been in the same position you had been in for hours, sitting curled on the floor. By then, your desperation was starting to show through.Â
âPlease just let me go.â You mutter, your voice so low, itâs a miracle he can hear you. âI donât have any money. I have nothing to offer.â
âWell, thatâs good because I donât want your money.â He says. âI know this looks pretty bad, but this is for your sake more than mine.â
You look at him just as he squats down to your height. You shift away. he smiles.
âDo you know what sorcerer's are?âÂ
You blink.Â
âItâs fine if you donât; we all start somewhere, right? A sorcerer is someone who can manipulate cursed energy. Iâm a sorcerer! I donât wanna brag too much, but Iâm pretty good at it.âÂ
He laughs like heâs telling a joke, and you suddenly realize that you were kidnapped by someone who believes heâs a wizard.Â
âGuess youâre still lost, huh? How about I just show you instead?â He points to an ironed-out shirt hanging on a rack. You follow his finger.Â
He didn't move. There was no machinery. The shirt just crinkled by itself before it dropped to the floor.Â
You gape. The man grins.Â
"Pretty amazing, right? That's cursed energy, or, my power if you wanna be less technical."Â
"Cursed energy." You whisper, a repetition of his words rather than any actual understanding. He beams regardless.Â
"Yeah! Well, it's a little more complicated than that, but let's just start with the basics for now. Baby steps."Â
Your dread doesn't fade. Earlier, you feared what a man could do to you, tied and defenseless. Now, you wondered what this man wouldn't do to you.Â
"Okay, then....why?" You warily ask him. "Why tell me any of this? What's the point?"Â
"An excellent question!" He commends you, as though he were your teacher and not your jailor. "See, cursed energy is a bit complicated, but it's extremely effective. In almost every case, it's the solution. Except for you."Â
You shrink back.Â
"What-what does that mean?"
His grin turns feline. He's enjoying this; seeing you shake, waver beneath his eyes.Â
"Exactly what I said: you aren't affected by cursed energy. A sorcerer could use their technique on you, and there won't even be a scratch on your body. You're basically the Eraserhead of the Jujutsu World."Â
You stare at him. He hums, drumming his fingers on his thigh.Â
"I'm not great at explanations. How about we just have a hands-on experience?"Â
He extends his hands. A purple orb crackles to life, slowly gaining mass.Â
"Not too big," he says, though it's clear he isn't speaking to you, "don't wanna wreck the room."Â
He adjusts his angle so it's facing you. Your eyes widen, and the desperation to wrangle yourself out of the handcuffs grows stronger.Â
"Wait, stop!" You pleads fall on deaf ears. "Okay okay. I believe you. I believe you-" He flicks his fingers. You close your eyes just before impact.Â
You expected something. Electricity, a shock. Pain. Your body being eviscerated in milliseconds.Â
Nothing. Not even a gust of wind.Â
When your eyes open, he's grinning at you.Â
"See?" He says, "Not even a scratch."Â
He's right. Your clothes aren't even rustled, but the evidence is there. The carpet below you is shaved and cleaned off. And the wall closest to you has cracks on it.
You look back up at him.Â
"I said I believed you."Â
He shrugs. "Doesn't hurt to make sure we're on the same page." His smile is starting to look less scary and more annoying.Â
Your mind still struggles to keep up with all the information you've been given. The typhoon of anxiety is coursing through you.Â
"So, then....why this?" You mention to the handcuffs.Â
"Just a little confirmation you won't go crazy and destroy the place." He supplies happily. "If jujutsu doesn't work on you, then bindings and talismans definitely won't do a thing. Looking back, abduction probably wasn't the greatest idea in the world. I would've figured something else out, but time wasn't on our side in this case. Especially if we wanted you alive."Â
You pale at that. He notices.Â
"What, you thought I'd be the only person who noticed you? You're an anomaly. In our world, that's dangerous. Also, the bounty on your head is a pretty nice incentive for people to get the job done."Â
"A bounty?"
He grins, and the number he gives makes your mouth hang open.Â
"Yup, pretty crazy, right? Anyway, until everything settles down, you and I are roomies!" He claps. "Isn't that exciting!?"Â
You glance at him. Then, in the room. Then, at your cuffs. Everything was going so fast. The only constant was him.Â
"So, I'm not really a prisoner?" You ask. "I could just...leave, right?"Â
"Sure you could. If you hear all that and still wanna go, I won't stop you. Promise." He nods. "But you'd be dead as soon as you step out of the apartment."Â
It's not a threat. It's a promise. And not from him. That makes it worse.Â
This is insane. All of this is insane; who'd believe any of it? But his powers....that can't be faked. As well as everything that he told you. Why would he lie? What reason could he have to deceive you?Â
"Okay," you say hesitantly, "just one more thing."Â
The man leans in.Â
"What's your name?"Â
He smiles.Â
Becoming Gojo's roommate was an easy transition.Â
Youâve always been someone who goes with the flow. Becoming someone's consenting captive isn't a struggle once you get used to it. A few days in and you and your 'captor' have fallen into an easy rhythm. It's easy to grow trusting of him, especially when there are others who can vouch for him.Â
"You should be arrested." Ieiri mumbles, checking your wrists.Â
"What? I can't believe you're upset with me." Gojo responds though he doesn't sound very panicked. "I was desperate!"Â
Ieiri shakes her head, continuing wrapping your wrists. Amid your panic during the first few hours in Gojo's apartment, you managed to sprain your wrists, trying to yank yourself out of the handcuffs. You wince when she presses on your bruised skin.Â
"Sorry," she says, voice flat. You smile anyway.Â
Ieiri was also a sorcerer, but she had a different technique. Instead of Gojo's destruction, hers revolved around healing. You've never really seen it in action ("My technique won't work on you; even then, it's a sprained wrist. You'll live."), but it sounded pretty powerful.Â
"I'm not upset." Ieiri continues. "But I'm surprised you're going along with all this." That sentence is directed at you.Â
You shrug while trying to keep still for her. "He was pretty convincing."Â
Ieiri raises a brow, before ultimately deciding she doesn't care.Â
"Again, I'm very sorry about all this." Ijichi pipes up. Ever since he entered Gojo's flat, he's been doing nothing but begging for your forgiveness for Gojo's abrupt actions. Apologetic, but not very shocked. You're assuming this isn't the first time Gojo has done something like this.Â
Gojo's allies were very different from each other, you ultimately decided.Â
âWe thought weâd have more time to approach you,â he continues with a nervous smile, âwe never expected the clans to move so quickly.âÂ
âClans?â You ask, âWhat clans?âÂ
Ijichi gives Gojo a look. Gojo looks away, whistling. Eventually, Ijichiâs shoulders drop.Â
âSome minor clans with dwindling jujitsu sorcerers.â He gives. âAnd then the bounty happened and wellâŠâ he trails off.Â
You nod. âSo, when will everything go back to normal?â
Gojo grins. Ieiri sighs. Itâs Ijichi who gives the most concrete response.Â
You look at the three of them. âOr will things ever go back to normal?â
âItâs hard to say,â Ijichi says, ânews travels fast in the jujutsu world, but itâs not improbable. Miyashiro will let us know eventually.âÂ
"Miyashiro?âÂ
To answer your question, Ijichi pulls out his phone. You stare at a picture of yourself. But you know youâve never been in that restaurant before.Â
âItâs his technique.â Ijichi tells you. âFlesh manipulation. For the time being, Miyashiro will pose as you and can hopefully air out any potential bounty hunters. Heâs the perfect man for the job.âÂ
You nod, a bit skeptical. âIsnât this a bit dangerous? Arenât people trying to kill me?âÂ
Ijichi tucks away his phone. âMiyashiro is one our best. He'll be fine.â He assures.Â
Satisfied with your answers, you nod. Ieiri pulls away after she finishes wrapping your hand. Gojo claps his hands together.Â
âSee, roomie? Youâre in great hands!â He chirps. You nod, if only to seem compliant.Â
Apart from Gojo himself, Ieiri and Ijichi are the only ones who know about your predicament, his most trusted people. The rest of the world is unaware that there's someone posing as you, nor that you've gone into hiding. Not your friends. Not even your family. ("It's for the best," Ijichi explained when you voiced your worries, "but we promise, once the bounty is down, we'll return you back to your life. It'll be like nothing ever happened.").
Settling in barely takes a week. Gojo's nice enough to lend you his room, more than happy to set up in the living room. Despite how you two 'met', he's quickly proven to be a nice guy.Â
Nice. Just nice.Â
To be honest, you don't know all that much about Gojo. He's letting you stay in his home, but you don't see him all that much. Gojo is gone pretty much all day. Sometimes, he's gone for days on end. The apartment feels more like yours than his.Â
"I'm the strongest." He told you when you asked. You don't know what he means by that, so you didn't pry.Â
Despite the awkwardness, you don't mind the distant relationship. The man probably has his day packed with hunting down demons and this school he talked about.Â
The change doesn't happen until two weeks after you move in.Â
You weren't allowed to have a phone, nor any internet access, so you mostly spent your time doing hobbies. You've always wanted to learn to crochet, and now you finally had time to actually learn. Drawing also took some hours out of your day. And eventually, you moved onto cooking.Â
Ijichi was more than happy to grab you the grocery items when you asked. When you insisted on paying him back, he declined profusely. He was actually the one who organized getting your things and really moving you in. You have another thing you owe these people.Â
Cooking was a steep learning curve. Before, you'd only made simple sandwiches and curries, so the food starting out wasn't the best. But you enjoyed the journey more, rather than the end result. Pretty soon, you became pretty good at it.Â
Gojo wasn't home often these days, so you jump when the front door clicks open. He takes off that blindfold he's always wearing, blinking a couple times before his blue gaze settles on you in the kitchen.Â
"What's all this?" He cocks his head. He isn't smiling.Â
Oh no. You remembered getting permission to use his kitchen, but maybe he hadn't expected you to go this far? The kitchen is a mess. There's flour everywhere. You still hadn't washed the cutting board, nor the knives.Â
"I'm sorry," you say, "I-I can clean up and-"Â
He waves his hand. "It's fine. I'm not mad, I just..." He drifts off.Â
You suddenly have a feeling that you might've misread this entire situation.Â
"Would you like some?" You ask. "I think I made too much."Â
"I could eat," he says.
You smile.Â
A few moments later, the two of you are settled on the table. Gojo's never been so quiet before. In the short time you've known him, he's always been boisterous and playful. Now, he's silent. Staring at the food.Â
You hold your breath when he takes his first bite.Â
"It's good." He says, his mouth full. It's cute. "Really, really good. Damn."Â
You laugh out of nerves.Â
"You think so? I'm glad! It was my first time trying out this recipe and I wasn't sure if it'd turn out well and..." you're rambling, you know that. You can't help yourself.Â
"No, it's good. Real good," he says. It's silent again, but not as uncomfortable this time. The only thing you hear is the clanking of silverware and the hum of the lights. Outside the window, the city lights twinkle.Â
You're on your last bite when he speaks again.Â
"'been a while since I've had a homecooked meal." He starts with a slight laugh. "Kinda' forgot what it's like."Â
You think of the fridge. How it was only ever stacked with protein shakes and instant meals. Gojo was a sorcerer. The strongest. You think you get what that means now.Â
"I wouldn't mind doing this more often," you say.Â
He looks at you with the prettiest blue you've ever seen. The color of a bright cloudless sky.Â
"I think I'd like that."Â
Who ever said the phrase 'the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach' was onto something. Your friendship with Gojo bloomed after that night. On the seldom nights he came home, dinner was made and sitting on the table. It took a few days for the two of you to warm up enough to talk to each other. Once Gojo got going, it was a lot harder to shut him up. He talked about his school, his work as a teacher for other jujutsu sorcerers. You liked the way he talked about his students. Nothing but pride and affection .
On the nights he didn't come home, you'd save the leftovers in the fridge. They were usually gone by the morning.Â
He was around a lot more after that night. Not that you minded, it was his house. You just didn't get a few things about him. For example, that blindfold of his. Why wear it when it was clear he couldn't see with it on?Â
You decide to bring it up the third time he nearly runs you over.
"It's part of my technique." He explains. "The six eyes. They're basically cursed energy x-rays. The blindfold just limits their strength."Â
You were lounged on the sofa watching TV while he was plopped right next to you. He's switched his blindfold for his glasses.Â
"Oh," you say when it clicks, "and since I block people's abilities you..."Â
"Yup! Can't see you at all!" Gojo happily fills in. "It doesn't help that you're so quiet. Maybe I should put a bell on you."Â
You laugh, but it doesn't sound like he was joking.Â
"What's it like?" You ask, turning to him, "Seeing the way, you see? What-what do you see?"
"Everything." Gojo shrugs.Â
You frown. "That's not very descriptive."Â
He laughs. "Here, wanna try?" He takes off his glasses, handing them over. "These things are real popular with the ladies."Â
He's avoiding the question, but you don't bother chasing him for it. Instead, you grab the lenses, pulling them over your eyes. You expect to see the secrets of the universe. Instead, you see nothing but darkness. Though, that might be the point. Â
"Everything, hm?" You ask, when you take them off. "That sounds exhausting."Â
He takes them back with a grin. "It is! My eyes hurt so so much! You should pity me and make matcha tiramisu."Â
You laugh, drawing back. "That's what this is about? To guilt trip me into making dessert for you?"Â
"Did it work?"Â
You think for a moment.
"Get me the ingredients, and I'll see."Â
He cheers but doesn't fully answer your question until the episode ends when you've bid him goodnight and are about to return to the bedroom.Â
"You're blurry from far away."Â
When you look at him, his glasses are gone, tucked under his collar. It's night, but the sky still stares down at you. His usual smile is gone, stretched into a line you can't place.Â
"I can see down to molecules, atoms. Not you."Â
You look at him, his eyes. The beautiful curse they are.Â
You force yourself to take the first step. Then another. Then another. When you're right in front of him, when he's towering over you, you open to your mouth.Â
"What do you see, Gojo?"Â
"Everything." He honestly replies.Â
Everything. Not just cursed energy. Down to cells, molecules, atoms. You can't fathom how much that is, the essence of everything. What's that like? Being able to see the universe so much that it hurts? So much so that it makes him want to wear a blindfold and never see anything again.Â
But you're blurry. Gojo can't see you the way he sees others.Â
You reach your hands up slowly like you're approaching a wild animal. In some ways, maybe that's what Gojo is: unpredictable, able to wield the power of spaceâpower that's useless against you.Â
You cover his eyes. He doesn't stop you.Â
"What do you see, Satoru?"Â
He doesn't speak, and you're afraid he's forgotten how.Â
"Nothing." Quiet, barely more than a whisper.
He slouches ever so slightly, leaning into your hands like some weight's been lifted. It makes you smile.Â
When you try to pull your hands away, his wrap around your wrist, keeping you there. So you stayâfor as long as he wants.Â
It starts something of a tradition between the two of you. Not every night, not even most nights, but every so often, Satoru would grow quiet, shift in a particular way. You hoped it was therapeutic for him, a break rather than a glimpse of what could have been. You hoped you were helping.Â
And, if you were torturing him, hopefully, you won't be for long.Â
"How much longer do you think I have to do this?" You ask.Â
He hums, clearly not paying attention. You two were in the kitchen, making some sweet he saw trending on the internet. Well, you were doing all the work. Satoru kept trying to steal the batter.Â
"You know. Sleeping under your roof, eating all your food, stealing you bed." You urge, while whisking.Â
"You're acting like I've been keeping you in the attic, roomie." Satoru pouts. "C'mon, I haven't been that bad, have I?"Â
"I'm asking for your sake rather than mine," you tell him. "I'm sure you'll be thrilled to have your house back, and your bed. When will everything settle down?"Â
His blindfold is on, as it usually is. To help him out, you've taken to wearing squeaky slippers around the house. He'd offered to buy you one of those cat collars with bells. You declined.Â
He's looking in your direction. You know he can't see you, but you can still feel his eyes on you. It's a strange feeling.Â
"There's talks of taking down the bounty," Satoru finally says, losing his playful tone, "just rumors, nothing concrete. Worst comes to worst, we'll have to relocate you somewhere overseas."Â
Yeah, you were worried about that. Leaving everything behind, your home, your friends, your family, because your life was in danger. You hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.Â
"We have a couple of options, though," Satoru says, "negotiations, for one."Â
You perk up at that. "Negotiations?" You ask.Â
He nods. "Right now, you're under my protection. Unofficially. I could pull some strings, get those old geezers at the academy to take you in as some special assistant."Â
You tilt your head. "Like at the school that you teach, right?"Â
He nods. "We have a case like yours attending the school, too. I think you and him would get along."Â
"Your ability could be pretty useful to us. You might even get out in the field every so often." Satoru continues. "A special technique like that would be wasted down here."Â
Special. He's said that before. You can't remember when, but you know he's right. You're an anomaly, but you can use your abilities for good. But could you really do that? Risk your life every day? Lose pieces of yourself like that?
"I don't really feel special," you say, "I don't want to be special either." You glance at him. "Is that a bad thing?"Â
Even blindfolded, somehow, his eyes find yours.Â
"No," he says, no judgment in his voice, "it just makes you human."Â
Relief. You can feel it sinking through your veins. Part of you feels guilty. Satoru is right; you could do a lot. But you...you don't want to end up like him.Â
That makes you feel even worse, but then you catch something in his tone.Â
"You sound like you're not very human," you say back. You're teasing, but it falls flat.Â
He hums. It's not quite the response you were looking for. It takes a second for him to start up again.Â
"When I was younger, people used to call me creepy."Â
You stare at him.Â
"What?."Â
He grins, but it's not his usual one.Â
"It's true." He shrugs. "Mostly, it was 'cause of my eyes. They called them unnerving. Monstrous. My folks were always a creative bunch."Â He says it so casually, but you can hear the bite on his voice. It's phrased as a joke, but it isn't.
You put down your whisk, giving him your full attention.Â
"That's not true," you respond, "you know that, right? You aren't a monster. Monsters aren't as kind as you are."Â
"Oh?" He tilts his head. "Maybe I'm using my kindness as a lure to trap you. Guess you just fell for it, roomie. 'thought you were smarter than that." You roll your eyes.Â
"Okay, fine, I yield. You're a monster. But out of all the monsters in the world, I'd pick you."Â
For a moment, there's silence in the kitchen. Then-Â
"So cheesy!" Satoru laughs. He reaches over, roughly pinching your cheek. "Who knew you could say such cute things, roomie."Â
You slap his hands away, now extremely annoyed.Â
"Nevermind. I take it back," you retort. "I'd run away as far as I could from you."Â
"Good, you should," he replies. "I won't stop you."Â
You scoff.Â
"Maybe that's why everyone thought you were creepy." You go back to your whisking. "It's not your eyes, you just say a lot of ominous shit."Â
Despite how peaceful it is, making desert, cooking, and acting domestic, it can't last forever. The world was still hunting for you, and it had no problems reminding you of that.Â
One night, you wake up to the sounds of hushed talking.Â
It's coming from the living room. Multiple voices. Quiet but urgent. You're used to the noise. Satoru has this habit of blasting terrible soap operas at 2 am. You don't think that man sleeps. Over time, you've gotten used to at least one disturbance.Â
But this feels different. It's enough to rub the sleep out of your eyes, making you pad over to the hall.Â
They hear you before they see you. Satoru's apartment has creaky floorboards. Ijichi tugs on the collar of his shirt nervously. Ieiri just looks away. Satoru is leaning back against the couch, legs crossed. He's frowning. That's how you know something isn't right.Â
"Is everything okay?" You ask anyway.Â
Ijichi gives a tight grin.Â
"Everything's fine." He's quick to console. "We-we were just-"Â
"Stop." Satoru immediately cuts in. He's wearing his blindfold. You can't tell what he's thinking.Â
"We're not hiding it. Everyone involved should know."Â
Ijichi deflates. You think Ieiri sneers.Â
Satoru beckons you closer with long fingers. You step forward. They're sitting around a computer. You peek at the screen.
Instantly, you wish you hadn't.Â
There were pictures of you. Dead. Your body parts were strewn across the floor. Your hands were broken in every other way. Your legs were in pieces. Your head snapped clean off, blood oozing from your appendages like you were just a packet of liquid. One of your eyes was missing from its socket. The other was crushed. But it wasn't you, it was-Â
"Miyashiro. At least, what's left of him." Satoru gives. Â
The doppelganger, the guy who was covering for you. He was supposed to be one of their best; what happened to him?Â
What was going to happen to you?Â
They're talking again. At least, you think they are. Their words are muffled, filtered through water. You can't make out what anyone is saying. Your heart's beating too fast. It's pounding through your ears. You can only stare at the picture, what was left of him. Someone's touching you. A hand on your back.Â
"Roomie, hey," Satoru's voice comes.
The pounding stops. You look up at him.Â
Angelic. It's the only word you could think of. His snow-white hair was pretty, falling elegantly down his face. He'd taken his blindfold off. Blue eyes, sparkling, cleansing. Purifying, like the Ganges river.Â
How could anyone think a beautiful sight like this was monstrous?Â
He calls your name, your real name, and you break.Â
You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. And you're sobbing, tears of everything flowing down your face.Â
Hands, hesitant, unsure, rest on your back. And then Satoru's holding you as tightly as he can.
He's warm. It's all you can think as you shake in his hold.Â
He's warm.Â
"I won't have to worry about that if I just gave in, hm?" You ask.Â
It was a couple of days later from your episode. Satoru had convinced you to give one of his soap operas a shot. On-screen, a woman slapped her cheating husband.Â
Satoru was lounging beside you, feet propped up on the coffee table. You want to tell him off, but it's his house.Â
"If you went to the school, you mean?" He asks. "Probably. You'd be a lot freer. Won't have to sit in a cramped apartment all day. 'sides, jujutsu tech is always on the lookout for fresh talent. The higher-ups would be ecstatic to have someone like you under their thumb."Â
"But I'd have to become a sorcerer." You say the unspoken.Â
Gojo nods. "Yeah, you would."Â
And you don't want that. To face curses, to face death every day. You know you can't handle that. You aren't strong, like Satoru.Â
"I'm sorry," you say.Â
He laughs. "For what?"Â
You shrug as the on-screen couple makes up again. "For being...a coward, I guess."
He thinks for a moment.Â
"It's not about bravery," he says in the end, "being a sorcerer is just...that. A sorcerer. It's a job. A title. Only a special few can do it. The crazy ones."Â
His tone gets a bit playful.Â
"No offense, roomie, but I don't think you got enough crazy in you."Â
"That's a compliment, actually." You correct. He ignores you.Â
"'sides, I like you staying here." Satoru declares, stretching his arms out on the couch. "Who'd feed me? It'd be horrible to go back to ramen again."Â
You roll your eyes. "Right. Who else will wake at 2 am because of your whining to make wagashi?"Â
"See! You get it!" Satoru grins. You can't force the smile off your face.Â
The husband's mistress has entered the set. The wife is confident that her husband will choose her. She's left heartbroken all over again. You don't get how she couldn't see it. The red flags were all there, and still, she was left blindsided. Never saw it coming. She trusts too easily, you decided.Â
"Also, I like having you here," Satoru says.Â
You glance at him. He's watching the screen.Â
"It's...nice." He admits after a bit. "To have company like this. It reminds me of back when I was younger. When the two of us lived in the dorms."Â
When he was a student? Who was he talking about? You don't pry. It's clear he isn't talking to you.Â
"I'm glad you're here," Satoru says.Â
Lightly, you bump shoulders with him. Infinity doesn't stop you.Â
"You're a sweet monster." You tell him.Â
He gives a secret grin.Â
Every once in a while, Gojo peeks into the bedroom while you're sleeping.Â
He's subtle about it, doesn't make too much noise. You're a light sleeper, so it takes little to nothing to wake you up.Â
He doesn't do anything. He stands there, shuffles here and there, hovering by the foot of the bed. You just pretend to be asleep in those cases, evening out your breaths, closing your eyes. It's always the same. He loiters around for a minute, and then he's shutting the door behind him.Â
It's strange, but you try not to think too much of it. He was probably looking for something. It's his room after all.Â
It's just...strange.Â
You find it when you're looking through his book shelf.Â
He doesn't have anything interesting to read. It's mainly just historical novels. You're perusing through one before a photograph falls out of the pages.Â
It's tiny, barely larger than your palm. It only takes a second to realize what you're looking at.Â
"Found your baby pictures." You gleefully tell Satoru when he comes back.Â
"What?" He tilts his head; you wave the photo in front of him. When he tries to take it, you pull back.Â
"Tiny Satoru!" You squeal. "Who knew you were once so small? I always thought you were born six feet over."Â
It's a simple photograph, a little aged, but still clear. Satoru looks about eight, standing between a man and a woman. His face is eerily blank. He stares with no emotion, not even a smile. He isn't wearing sunglasses or a blindfold. Doll-like blue eyes. You don't feel like you're looking at a child. He's too-
"Are those your parents?" You ask, letting him take the photograph from you.Â
"No," he says, "my caretakers."Â
Caretakers. Not nannies, or anything else. It felt so clinical. You lean against his shoulder, still staring at the photograph.Â
"You look cute." You finally say. When you peak over, a hint of a smile is twitching on his face. "But I totally agree with everyone. You look creepy. Like one of those children from the exorcist. Climbing over the walls."Â
"I never grew out of that phase." Satoru ponders. You laugh.Â
"What was it like?" You ask. "You said you're from a clan, right?"Â
"Exhausting." Satoru groans. "Never a break from training. I should go back and sue my folks for child abuse. I could get millions."Â
"I could help you with that." You pipe in. "I've never gone to law school, but I feel like I'd make a great lawyer."Â
"I'll keep that in mind." He promises teasingly before his smile fades.Â
"But that's the norm for most kids in jujutsu." He sighs. "Gotta' be perfect. Gotta' be the best, right from the beginning. There's a student I know who had a rough start, but she's the best in her class. Her clan didn't care about her potential. Those kids are all scary talented, they just need a bit of nurturing, that's all."Â
You stare at him. He catches you.Â
"What?" He asks, before his eyes widen. "Do I have a pimple?"Â
You shake your head. "For some reason, I feel like that's impossible for you." You tease.
"I'm just admiring you, I think. For being such a kind person."Â
"I thought we agreed I was a monster." Satoru points out.Â
This again. You roll your eyes.Â
"Fine, a good monster." You correct. "A monster, I know."Â
"The monster you know." He repeats
You want to ask him why he's so insistent on that. For some reason, you hold your voice.Â
Satoru's apartment had two bathrooms. Lately, the one in the bedroom has had some issues.Â
It's been awkward lately trying to share the only working bathroom. Satoru and you shower at around the same time, so you've opted to hold back your morning routine a little later. You still manage to catch each other. The amount of times you've accidentally caught him walking around with nothing but a towel around his waist would be too mortifying to admit.Â
But, so far, it's working. And you can't complain since you at least have one working bathroom. It's the little things.Â
Tonight, you wake up to your bladder urging you to move. And yet, your body still wants to sleep. You check the time. It's nearly 2 in the morning.
It takes a while to pull yourself up, unraveling yourself from the covers before you're trudging out the bedroom. Satoru's apartment is so dark. It's a completely different look compared to daytime. You feel your way with the walls, letting your eyes adjust to the dark. When you peek over at the living room, Satoru isn't there. He must not be coming home tonight.Â
The bathroom is shut, but there's a sliver of light bleeding under the door. Fuck, you did not shut the lights off last time. You need to be less careless.Â
At first, you think Satoru's hurt.Â
He looks hurt. He's hunched over, shaking shoulders, harsh breathing. You can only see his back, but he looks like he's in agony. You're about to step forward, ask what happened, and then you catch a glimpse of what he's clutching.Â
Pretty, blue, laced panties.Â
Your panties.Â
And you're close enough to hear his voice whispering your name. Over and over again.Â
"Fuck, fuck, baby, need you, just lemme-just lemme, all mine, all mine-"
He doubles over, tightening his grip on the edge of the sink. Your panties are damp.Â
You flinch, and in your moment of panic, you step back. Creaky floorboards.Â
Satoru looks up in the mirror. You don't move.Â
He takes his time. Placing his phone down. Adjusting his pants, washing his hands. You can only stand there, frozen. Staring. Staring until he's in front of you, looking right back.Â
You might have forgiven him if he had fumbled, laughed it off, became bashful. A human reaction. His face is eerily blank. He stares with no emotion, not even a smile. His eyes mirror that photograph. Doll-like, absolutely empty.Â
Monstrous.Â
Your eyes water. He turns blurry for a second.Â
Satoru steps aside. You wordlessly enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You don't bother locking.Â
You don't know how long you stay there, quiet, shaking, your mind trying to piece together what you just saw. You stay there for hours. You stay there for seconds. Time stretches on like infinity itself, yet even then, it's too short.Â
You're alone with him. It's a thought you never even had until now. You're alone with him.Â
Satoru is outside. You don't look at him, staring at the floor, looking at the carpet, counting each strand. You keep your head down when you return to the bedroom.Â
He follows. You say nothing. You don't look. You don't look, even when the covers shift and he gets into bed behind you. You don't look, even when there's a hand on your shoulder. You don't look, even when there's a chest pressed against your back.Â
You shiver, you shake. You don't look. He says nothing, even when you break down completely.Â
You wake up alone the next morning.Â
You don't waste a second. You're stumbling through the room, picking up your clothes, packing everything that you need. You're so panicked that you manage to knock over an alarm clock.Â
It's habit to reach down and pick it up. Learned politeness to scrutinize it to make sure it isn't broken.Â
A black dot stares back at you.Â
A camera.Â
Horrible memories of last night come back. He was watching something on his phone.Â
You feel nauseous, about to give all over the floor. You need to go. You needed to get out of there.Â
The apartment is silent, like it always is when Satoru isn't here. You just hadn't noticed how cold it was, lifeless. It makes the pit on your stomach gap. You expect the windows to be bolted shut. They aren't. Sunlight streams through the glass. The front door is unbarred too.Â
It's easy to leave.Â
You stop anyway. One question.Â
Where would you go?Â
You can't go back home. Miyashiro's body still haunts you. His soul in your body, torn apart with such hatred and vitriol. Those people were still looking for you. The only reason you were still alive was because Miyashiro took your death bed.Â
You'd die if you went back home.Â
You can't go to jujutsu tech. You'd be expected to lay down your life, serve a maskless force that pretended to do good. You'd certainly die. Ripped apart by curses.Â
You'd be slaughtered if you went to the school.
Every route is treacherous, nearly impossible, full of dangers and unknowns.Â
At least, you know what Satoru wants.Â
He's made it clear since the beginning. You were just willfully ignorant. Oblivious on purpose. More than happy to ignore the red flags because you knew he was a kind person to his students, ignoring the dichotomy of his actions.Â
Two things can be right at once.Â
Satoru won't stop you if you run. He told you that himself. You could leave if you wanted, and he won't follow. But every other path is filled with an intangible value, and Satoru is the monster you know.Â
Your hand falls away from the doorknob.Â
You get started on dinner.
You're still there when Satoru comes back. You say nothing. Neither does he. Dinner is a quiet affair. He doesn't talk about his day, he doesn't talk about his students. When you wash the plates, he's quietly standing behind you. When you get out of the shower, he's waiting outside the bathroom.Â
You can't bring yourself to look at him until you get into bed. Your eyes trail up, past his legs, his shoulders, his neck. Looking into Satoru's crystal blue eyes.Â
Blank. Numb. Empty.Â
You think of the cameras. You think of your stolen underwear.Â
You think of how much his eyes must hurt right then.Â
You raise one hand out, grasping the sleeve of his shirt. It's barely a tug, but the monster follows like he's weightless, crawling into bed. He's too big to hold properly, but he sinks into your body anyway. His forehead rests against your chest. His eyes close. You don't feel that ice anymore.Â
âWhat do you see, Satoru?âÂ
âNothing.â A pause. A stilted breath.Â
âNothing but you.âÂ
He was right in the end. Satoru is a monster. There's no other word that can describe him. Inhuman, far above humanity itself. But he's the monster you'd pick, every single time.
#yandere#yandere jjk#dark jjk#dark gojo satoru#yandere gojo satoru#yandere x reader#dark gojo satoru x reader#yandere gojo satoru x reader#yandere jjk x reader#dark jjk x reader#minor character death
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Oneshot
Request by @purplereaderfans
Prompt by @satoshy12
DPXDC
Aged down Danny beating Tim in college..
âOkay Danny, remind me of the rules againâ Jazz looked to the kid in her arms, the kid was eating a bright green popsicle. Like the kid wasnât a toddler and wouldnât get sticky.
âUh.. rule one! Donât be loud! And if I have questions raise my hand.â Danny struggled to hold up one finger but when he managed he held it up his popsicle in his other hand.
âRule two! Donât interrupt with stupid things. Like puns or fart jokes!â Danny pulled his hand down again and stared at his hand till he got two fingers held up then which a looked at Jazz with a grin
âThen rule three! If I need the bathroom or food ask you,â Danny held up his thumb this time making three fingers being held up.
âLastly! Donât wonder off! Like momma and Daddy!â Danny put his hand down and put the popsicle in his mouth hurriedly licking up the melted popsicle off his hand.
âYou forgot one Danny, Rule five dont Fenton the others here. You know what that means right?â Jazz asked bending down and opening the backpack she had packed it was basically a diaper bag. It held wipes, emergency ectoplasm, change of clothes, the Fenton Thermos, and many other things Jazz had knew they would need. Jazz had dug around in the bag and pulled out the wipes ready to clean Danny up when he finished the popsicle in record time.
âYeah! It means.. be respectful of others bubbleâs and no ghost things! Also donât tell other people of things I shouldnât know about them but I do know-â Danny licked off the last bit of the ectopop enjoying the melting ecto in his mouth. He then gave a short scream as Jazz attacked him with the cold wipe. Cleaning off the ecto off his face and hands. She took the popsicle stick and wrapped the wipe around it and put it in the diaper bag.
âThatâs right, now I know youâre not as old as you used to. And I donât know your mental age right now. But I promise you wonât get in trouble if you do have an accident or something you would describe as childish.â Jazz stood up picking up the backpack in her hand and putting one strap over her arm and walked out of the stall. Where she was hiding when she noticed Danny looked dizzy and a bit pale. She guess it was the old ectoplasm in the air that he was absorbing. She guessed right and when Danny ate the emergency Ectopops he went right by back to normal.
She sat Danny in the bathroom sink and put the bag to the other side of him. Her body was in front of him so he couldnât fall off the counter. As she washed her hands getting rid of her own stickiness Danny had put on her. Then she put the bag on both her shoulders and picked Danny up resting him on her hip Danny arm wrapping around her forearm instantly.
Danny was looking around as all babies did as Jazz walked out the bathroom pulling out her phone to look at her schedule.
âOkay, first is introductory psychology. Which in in building F.â Jazz mumbled to herself looking up and putting her phone back in her pocket and started to walk through the dorms.
_________
âDanny, you remember what happened last time you chewed on a pen?â Jazz asked looking over at her brother who was sitting in the seat next to herself. The chair was pulled closer and a random assortment of things were on the table in front of him.
âIt explodes in my mouth..â Danny frowned taking the pen out his mouth. The pen had many teeth marks.
âWell that explains the blue mouth of the kid..â Tim thought to himself he was two chairs back a bit higher than the two siblings. He had started to wonder about the stained blue mouth and the blue marks on his hands and around his mouth. Even the kids teeth were stained blue.
Tim was in introductory Psychology as his minor. He needed to know more about what was going on in peoples head. It would help with many things.. even learn some tricks he could use on his siblings maybe? He was majoring in astronomy weirdly. Tim knows just about anything on Earth but when it came to the stars he was admittedly lacking.
He was curious about the kid when he overheard the kids sister suggested to the kid about asking the astronomy professor if he could sit in during a class as the kid was incredibly bored in the psychology classes. Danny, names were also learned from his eavesdropping, looked at his sister like she hung the stars which Tim didnât doubt that to him, she did.
_________
Oh. My. Clockwork. Jazzy has the best ideas! And Profess Brunn is so nice! She says I can sit in on a lesson and if Iâm good I can do it again! Jazzy just dropped me off at the classroom and gave me to Profess she sat me down in the front row so she can keep in eye on me. I asked if I could ask and answer questions and she said yes!
âAll right guys! Since we just came back from break weâre gonna be getting back into it with our last lesson! Iâm gonna do a review on last lesson and then hand out a paper. It will be worth a grade so please actually tryâ Professor Brunn started the class with energy most of the class didnât have.
__________
Who the hell is this kid?!
Tim stared at the laptop with a blank face. He was in the front of the class staring at the paper taped to the board. Usually he wouldnât bother but that kid, Danny, finished quickly and even asked if there was more. The professor sent out the five best grades to encourage or something. Usually Tim was first.. but he wasnât this time.
Or the next. Or even the next before that.
It was fine because it was just the one class for almost a week. Then that kids name just started to show up more and more on each list. Till on every class Tim took it was Danny Fenton first and Timothy Drake second. Jasmine Fenton third usually second before Danny appeared.
Tim was genuinely questioning if he was mind controlled. Did he get a concussion and not notice? Did he have a chip in his brain that made him stupider? Was he losing his mind? Did he need to start sleeping more regularly.? Did he need to cut down his caffeine intake? He only drank a few coffees a day.. not including the energy drinks. But- but. Whatâs happening to him?!
_________
âWhatâs going on with Drake?â Damian scowled as he looked over to Grayson next to him. He was standing behind Drake with Grayson after he had been called to pick up Drake after he had picked up Damian from school. Damian followed his brotherâs gaze to Professor Smith, the engineering professor, who was at his desk looked at them with amusement.
âHe was second place in the scoring this week, heâs been staring at the paper for maybe half an hour after class endedâ Professor Smith told the brothers
âSo?â Dick shrugged looking back to his brother putting a hand on Timâs shoulder which snapped the other out of his despair, âIt wouldnât be the first time,â
âYeah, but this time itâs been multiple weeks and to the same kid. A four year old to be exactâ Professor Smith added before looking to door as someone knocked and it was opened
âSorry, Danny here forgot his notebook in hereâ Jazz held open the door for her little brother to slip in and run to a table that had a black notebook with stars draw on it. Jazz held her hand out for Danny to take it as he came back. Danny turned and waved to the Professor as the door shut after them
âDanny, the child genius, has beaten Timothy here.. five weeks in a row now in this class. But Danny only came to the campus after Christmas break. But Iâm guessing the number will only continue to grow,â Professor Smith continued as he watched the door shut and the two other wall away through the door window.
Tim, who just watched his new four year old nemesis wave bye to him, had a twitching eye. It also didnât help with the demon laughing at him and Dick holding in his own laughter..
#dc x dp#danny phantom#tim drake#dick grayson#jazz fenton#aged down Danny#damian wayne#funnily enough I was in my own psychology class during the whole introductory psychology part#I didnât spell check.#womp#hopefully I did this right.
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Stella's Day of Summer Nites, Part 1: Game Room
I had a fabulous time at Summer Nites Bed & Breakfast in North Wildwood! Come and join the fun!
This is the first in a series of seven non-consecutive posts about Stellaâs fabulous day at Summer Nites Bed & Breakfast in North Wildwood NJ. What a fabulous way to begin another 100 gallery posts⊠my trip to Summer Nites! Located on the northwest intersection of 22nd Street and Atlantic Avenue in North Wildwood, this Bed & Breakfast, hosted by the gracious Sheila and Rick Brown, if fillingâŠ
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#1950s#22nd#22nd Ave#22nd Avenue#45#45 RPM#45 RPM records#45s#8 ball#8-ball#Atlantic#Atlantic Ave#Atlantic Avenue#B&B#bathing beauties#Bed & Breakfast#Blue#chair#chandelier#clock#clock radio#Coca-Cola#Coca-Cola Company#coke#elvis#elvis presley#jukebox#lips#Marilin Monroe#Marilyn
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Everlasting Trio DPxDC Nobody Knows Au Pt 3
Parts 1 and 2
They both fall silent and stare.Â
That's an answer to one of many questions they've been asking themselves for years, isn't it?
Their best friend disappeared, and it wasn't abduction or murder. It was an escape.
âYou guys don't have contact with Jack and Maddie, do you?â
Tucker swears there's a record scratch in his brain.
Sam gapes. âYou mean your parents?â
Danny smiles, small, grim and humorless. âJack and Maddie.â
Jesus Christ.
Sam glances over at Tucker and they exchange a look. Tucker knows they've been feeling a shared guilt for a long time, feeling like they didn't do enough. They had suspicions about something fucked going on in Danny's home life since the beginning of freshman year, but they never blew the whistle about it.
Rationally they know it wasn't their responsibility. All of Amity had suspicions - someone should have called CPS, and it shouldn't have been a couple of kids. A goddamn adult should have stepped up.
It doesn't keep either of them from feeling like they failed their childhood best friend.
âConsidering I've spent the last four years suspecting they killed you and chucked your body into the portal to hide it? Hell fucking no, Danny,â Sam asserts.
The set of Danny's shoulders relaxes significantly. âGood,â he breathes. âGood. Please keep it that way.â
âWhat the fuck was going on in that house, man?â Tucker asks, a little sick to his stomach. He knows right away he shouldn't have asked.
Danny's expression shutters into something polite and pleasant to hide discomfort, and he immediately starts âcasuallyâ gathering his papers and computer into his bag.
âListen, I'm really happy to see you guys - seriously. I really should get going though, I-â
Sam reaches out and snatches him by the scruff of his shirt before he can even stand up all the way, yanking him back down into his chair.
His dumbfounded expression makes Tucker snort a laugh, so familiar and puppy-like. Danny is still all big blue eyes and nearly visible question marks when taken off guard. Tucker missed that face.
âYou're not going anywhere until we get your phone number,â Sam argues, not a hint of wiggle room in her face or tone. âWe'll get lunch or something, all three of us. Go to the mall. We're living in the same city, you know I'll hunt you down.â
When Danny hesitates, her face and tone melt into something softer.
âPlease, Danny. We miss you.â
Danny melts a little, sighing and smiling. â...yeah. Yeah, I missed you too. I've missed you guys so much.â
âSo?â Sam prompts, holding her hand out.
Danny huffs a little laughing breath and fishes around in his pocket, unlocking his phone and plopping it into her hand.Â
His nails are black and green. Gradient.
Tucker doesn't know much about nails, but he knows there's a difference when Sam paints them and when she splurges for acrylics.
âAre those professionally done?â he asks, bemused. Danny had never expressed an interest in that kind of thing as a kid. It's kind of cool to see signs that he's, likeâŠgrowing into himself.
Danny shrugs, and it feels good to see that he doesn't even seem to consider Tucker might give a shit in a bad way.
âI'm on my hot girl shit,â he deadpans, and Sam nearly drops his phone with the force of her startled laugh.
Tucker snorts. âOh, well about time.â
âHey!â Danny protests, offense fake and eyes dancing. âWhat's that supposed to mean?â
âNothing, nothing! You had a glow up is all.â
Danny snickers and kicks him gently under the table.
âOkay, dick.â
It's like they never parted at all for a moment.
âHere, Mr. Hot Girl Shit,â Sam says, handing Danny his phone back. âI put our numbers in and sent a text in a group chat so you can't forget to reach out. I'm serious, Danny. We missed you, don't disappear. It was scary enough the first time.â
Danny grimaces, at least looking genuinely apologetic. âI know. I'm sorry. I really do need to get going today, though. I've got an appointment.â
âWhat kind of appointment?â Tucker asks.
The grin Danny gives him is mischievous and has a few teeth sharper than he remembers there being.Â
He breezes past them and out the door with an impish response of, âHide and seek with furries.â
Part 4
Masterpost
#everlasting trio#danny phantom#tucker foley#sam manson#dc x dp#this has decided independently that its going to have dead tired vibes#if not genuinely dead tired#bats soon#tim pov next
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JJK Men: When You're Sleepy, But They're Hornyđđ
(a/n: i usually suck ass at headcanons but let's give this a whirl. characters aged 18+. nsfw mdni, sexual content. fem reader)
(characters: yuuji, megumi, nanami, toge, gojo)
dividers: glitter-graphics, @/cafekitsune
â„ïž
Yuuji:
It's 9pm and you had just returned from a solo mission, finished your shower, hair routine, and climbed into bed. You hear the soft click of your room door opening and you know that it has to be none other than your boyfriend, Yuuji.
"Babe, are you still awake?" His soft voice whispers right beside your ear before he presses a kiss to the side of your head. You groan out something unintelligible and Yuuji's heart sinks a bit.
He's really hard and he was hoping that you might feel like 'playing' a little, but he also knows that you're probably really tired.
"I can feel you pouting, Yuu. Put it in my hand."
You stretch your palm out from under your covers and Yuuji is quickly shoving his pants down to free his hard dick.
"T-thank you, so much, cutie. Fuck, I love you!" He whimpers/whispers as you stroke him with your nice, warm fingers running all along his shaft.
He's so pent-up that it only takes a few rough tugs before he's spilling his seed into your hand.
"Promise to fuck you good when you wake up, baby. You're so good to me."
You were already snoring before he cleaned your hand off and left your room silently.
â„ïž
Megumi:
You're curled up in bed with Megumi spooning while the two of you watch anime. You've finished nearly half the season in the last couple hours that you've been watching and now your eyes are drooping.
Megumi is still watching the TV but his eyes flit down to where your ass is pressed against his crotch. The sleep shorts you're wearing give him a perfect view of your thighs.
Being a semi-grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer, you have keen awareness and heightened senses, so you automatically feel Megumi's stone cold blue eyes boring into your back.
"What is it, Megara?" You yawn out, turning slightly to look at him over your shoulder. He rolls said eyes.
"Told you to stop calling me that."
He answers your question by rutting his hips forward and rubbing his hard-on against your ass.
"I'm tired, Megs. Here." You turn over halfway on to your stomach, fully presenting your ass to him and his eyes widen at the gap made by your thighs.
He sinks his dick into the makeshift hole and fucks it slowly, edging himself, until he feels his balls tighten and he's cumming into the opening.
A warm blush covers his cheeks but he dutifully grabs some wipes and cleans you off before kissing your head and pulling you into his chest.
â„ïž
Nanami:
Kento is working another late shift and you just can't stay up waiting for him any longer.
You're quickly falling asleep in the armchair when the front door knob twists and he steps inside.
"Angel, are you asleep in the chair?"
"Mmm...Kento is that you?" You drawl with your head resting against the cushion. He chuckles at your cuteness.
"Yes, it's me, darling. Come on, let's get you to bed.
"Okay."
Once he's laid you on the bed, he can't help but begin to caress your smooth legs up to your thighs hidden beneath your nightgown.
His dick begins to strain against his dress pants but he looks up at your blissful face and dares not to ask you if you want to make love.
"Kento...what's wrong? Come on to bed, already."
"Do you mind if I eat you out, darling?"
Your heart swells ten times its size just knowing how much he cares for you.
"Mhmm, please..."
And he dives right in, sucking and licking you to Nirvana. It feels so good, your legs start shaking and you're cumming over his handsome face in record time.
Your orgasm completely knocks you out cold and he chuckles at your peaceful form before undressing to his boxers and climbing under the covers with you.
â„ïž
Toge:
You're cuddled up in Toge's bed with him looking at memes and funny videos on his phone.
With a free day from classes, the two of you had been out all day exploring Tokyo and now you're absolutely exhausted.
You snuggle into his warm chest and inhale the scent of his laundry detergent. Toge kisses the top of your head, his lavender eyes then trailing down over your beautiful face....your lithe neck with the necklace he bought you for your birthday around it, and further down to your tits.
He softly inhales and wraps an arm around your back to press you further against him so he can feel your breasts squished against his hard chest.
You shuffle a bit in his hold and your sleepy eyes look up into his amethyst ones.
"Toge...?"
His dick is hard and swollen against his thigh, but you look so cute like this - he can't help but lean his head down to kiss each of your breasts.
"Sleep."
Your body can't do anything but obey.
That was probably the best sleep you'd gotten in a while.
â„ïž
Gojo:
Satoru was away for the day on a field trip with his students and you decided to clean the entire house while he was away. You never had the time to do it when he was around because you'd either be holed up in the bedroom all day or pressed up against some random piece of furniture with him thrusting into you wildly.
When you finished the upstairs, you decided to go lie down and have a quick nap before he got back.
Hours later, you're still knocked out; the cleaning had really drained you more than you realized.
"Honeybun, I'm home and I brought you a souvenir!~"
Your joyful husband slams open the bedroom door with some shopping bags in tow.
The bags drop to the floor and he immediately hushes himself once he sees that you're asleep.
"Aww, look at my precious sleeping baby.." He slips off his blindfold, revealing his beautiful, crystalline blue eyes while he shreds himself of his work clothes and joins you in the bed.
The movements make you shift around a bit and then you feel warm breath over your neck and cheeks.
"Hm, Satoru.." Your hand tangles into his soft white locks while his lips press against the juncture between your neck and shoulder, leaving wet, hungry kisses on your sweet-scented skin.
"Missed you so much, sweetie...need to have you right now."
There was rarely a time when this man wasn't horny for you, but if you refused and wanted to just sleep, he wouldn't object. He knows that even though you're not a sorcerer you still have a life and things that keep you occupied when he's away.
You shift until you're lying completely on your back and Satoru is spreading your thighs with his knees. He pulls out his cock and begins stroking it until it's hard and leaking pre-cum.
"I love you.." He murmurs into your hair once he's sunken all eight inches inside your tight cunt.
Your eyes close instinctively, but he pats your cheek before gripping your chin in his rough grip.
"Look at me. I want to watch your pretty eyes while I fuck you back to sleep."
----
i actually fell asleep while writing this loool. going back to sleep now, peace.
#yuuji itadori#itadori yuuji#yuuji x reader smut#yuuji x reader#yuuji itadori x reader#megumi fushiguro#megumi x reader#megumi x reader smut#fushiguro megumi#megumi fushiguro x reader#nanami kento#kento nanami#kento x reader#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader#nanami x reader#toge inumaki#toge x reader#inumaki toge x reader#toge inumaki smut#inumaki smut#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru x reader#satoru gojo smut#đđđĄÂ°jjk headcanons#đđđĄÂ°jjk masterlist
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BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK
genre. vampire au/bthb au. established relationship. warnings. sunghoon is very jealous. profanity. kissing. slightly suggestive maybe. reader wears a dress. pairing. vampire!sunghoon x fem!witch!reader. wc. 1k. request. no. a/n. bthb is probably one of their best mvs ever it was so well made like omg?? giving tim burton film vibes esp at the end and every scene was just so stunning, obv it gave me fic ideas ksdjks. written esp for @blue-jisungs @hursheys and @loserlvrss
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âJesus, fuck, Sunghoonââ You shrieked when you entered your apartment, not expecting your boyfriend to be hanging from the ceiling, eyes staring at the door. He floated down to the floor, not moving a muscle. You were used to his⊠supernatural way of moving around by now, but you hadnât expected him to jumpscare you like that.
âWhat did I say about hanging from the ceiling?â You muttered, brushing your coat off. Sunghoon slid over to you, hovering over your shoulder, eyes piercing your cheek. You figured something must be up. He didnât act so vampirish unless he was pissed, reverting back to his old habits of hundreds of years.
âWhat did I say about going out without telling me?â He grunted in response, a very evident scowl etched on his face.
Ah, thatâs why he was pissed.
âI did tell you, dumbass.â You slid your heels off next, padding your bare feet over to your shared bedroom. Sunghoon followed you, still too lazy to use his legs.Â
âYou didnât say youâd be going in that outfit.â He countered, scarlet eyes shining brighter with his annoyance.Â
âSeriously? I thought I looked pretty.â You huffed, grabbing one of his hoodies draped over a chair and glancing at the full-length mirror. You quite liked the dress you had picked out. Sure, it was a little revealing for your taste, but you wanted to try something different. All your friends were going to be dressing up nice. The dresses in your wardrobe were all gloomy colours and long-sleeves; very witchy thanks to your profession.Â
The dark vermillion stained dress was sleeveless, adorned with jewels and a slit on the leg. You had bought it the week previously with your friend after trying it on and falling in love with how it looked. The colour reminded you of Sunghoonâs eyes.Â
âYou do look pretty. Thatâs the problem.â He muttered, biting his lip with his fang.
âThereâs no need to be jealous, babe. I wasnât looking at anyone else.â You assured him, pulling his black hoodie over your head.Â
âPeople were looking at you, though. And for the record, Iâm not jealous.â He frowned, his eyebrows furrowed as he too looked at the mirror, seeing the obvious absence of his reflection next to you. He hated that. Why did he always feel invisible?  Â
âWhatever you say.â A hint of a smile played on your lips. No matter how annoyed and angry Sunghoon got, you were never intimidated by him. He couldnât hide the fact that he was secretly a softie. You pulled on his arm, and as he held no resistance, his body fell perfectly into your arms.Â
âGeez, youâre burning up. Sure youâre not a little jealous?â You giggled, feeling his forehead and cheeks. Although they didnât hold any colour, they were warm to the touch. You knew enough about vampires to know feelings of jealousy made their stolen blood boil. Literally. You had focused on vampires in your witch studies.Â
âThe room is just hot.â He made up an excuse, dipping away from your reach before you could see that he was lying. You shook your head, amused at him. He pursed his lips, taking a seat on the bed and avoiding eye contact with you out of spite.
You slid the dress off under his hoodie and grabbed a pair of pyjama pants to put on instead. His clothes were always the perfect amount of oversized on you, plus the added bonus of smelling just like him. It was like you were wrapped in a warm hug at all times.
âBurn it.â Sunghoonâs voice broke the silence in the room. You turned back around to him, quickly figuring out that he meant the dress.
âGood grief, youâre ridiculousââ You started to protest, but seeing his serious look painted in his eyes, you figured it was probably best to not test him when he was sensitive. You picked up the dress, using a simple spell to burst it into flames.
âHappy?âÂ
He nodded, satisfied. He tilted his head, and you felt a tug on your sleeve; his sorcery yanking you gently, a silent plead to come sit with him. You complied, knowing already what would get his mind off the burning jealousy he was feeling.
âNeed your kisses now, hm?â You ruffled his hair lovingly, enjoying the grumpy expression on his face. Sliding his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, you drew closer to his face. He couldnât wait a second longer to taste your lips, his scorching possessiveness creeping in every cold vein of his body, heat shuddering through his skin.
He was annoyed at you and how you occupied his every thought. He just couldnât get you out of his head, whether you were by his side or away from him. His entire life had turned upside down the second you walked in and trampled all over his heart. Now, he was stuck, inexplicable feelings swallowing him whole. He wasnât used to it. No one else had such a big effect on him. He loved you too much.
He poured out his frustration into the kiss, fangs nipping at your lips, one hand holding the side of your neck to pull you closer. It wasnât enough. Even as his tongue melted with yours, it wasnât enough. He still felt the jealousy creeping up his spine, the thought of other guys seeing you look so pretty distressing his mind.Â
You pulled apart for air, the eagerness of Sunghoonâs kiss depleting your breath quickly. He peppered kisses to your face and neck as you rested, tracing over every inch of skin he could reach as if to dispel any doubt that you were his.Â
âStill burning up.â You mumbled to yourself, feeling the skin of his neck and shoulder junction. You smiled, wondering how many kisses it would take to cool him off again. Something was telling you that you would be there for a while.
âł enhypen taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @minholing,, @delcakoo,,
@kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,
@amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @heavenfilm,, @sobun1est,,
@bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @nicholasluvbot,, @dimplewonie,,
@50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,,
@forever-atiny
#ficsăăâË°#sunghoon#park sunghoon#sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon x reader#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon scenarios#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon fic#sunghoon drabbles#park sunghoon imagines#park sunghoon fluff#park sunghoon scenarios#park sunghoon drabbles#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen fluff#enhypen drabbles#enhypen fic#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop fluff#enhypen sunghoon
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hi i hope you're having a wonderful day!!
im thinking about reader pranking matt by not calling him his nickname that she always uses for a whole day. he just follows her around like a lost puppy and keep asking "are you okay baby? are you mad at me? did i do something :(" aaa hes so cute. hope you can write this <3 tq!!
ââ àšà§ !ăTIKTOK BLURB
matt sturniolo x reader
where you decide to make the tiktok trend 'call your boyfriend by his name to see his reaction' with matt
ăăăàŒ»âŠàŒș ăàŒ»â§àŒșăàŒ»âŠàŒș
The soft hum of the computer filled the bedroom, mixing with the faint sound effects from Matt's favorite video game. The middle triplet sat at his computer desk, completely engrossed, his blue eyes darting across the screen as his fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. His headphones perched on his head, slightly askew to let one ear breathe.
Y/N lay sprawled across their shared bed, her legs lazily swinging in the air, phone in hand as she scrolled through TikTok. A grin curled on her lips when she stumbled across a trend she had seen earlier that week; call your boyfriend by his actual name to see his reaction.
Her eyes danced from her phone screen - with the video replaying again and again - to her boyfriend and back before shrugging.
Carefully, she clicked on the middle black button on the app and propped the device up against Matt's pillow, ensuring the camera had a clear view of him sitting at his desk. With his headset on, Matt was oblivious, muttering random things under his breath. Y/N pressed record, suppressing a giggle as she prepared to execute her plan.
"Hey, Matt, can you turn off the lights for me? Please." She asked casually.
Matt froze mid-action. His character on the screen stood idle for a moment, vulnerable to an oncoming enemy attack. He yanked his headphones off with one hand, letting them dangle around his neck, and swiveled his chair around to face her.
"Are... are you okay, sweetheart?" He asked, his brows furrowed, concern dripping from his voice.
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
"Yeah, of course." She replied nonchalantly, still feigning innocence.
Matt tilted his head like a confused puppy, his lips slightly parted.
"Are you mad at me?" He asked hesitantly, his voice soft.
Her brow furrowed.
"Mad? No. Why would I be mad at you?"
He leaned forward, clutching the armrest of his chair with his hand.
"Did I do something? Like... do you not want me to play right now? 'Cause that's okay! We can do something else if you want."
The corners of Y/N's lips twitched, but she maintained her poker face.
"No, Matt, youâre fine. I donât mind you playing."
Matt's brows seemed to furrow deeper, his eyes wandering from her to his computer and back. He hesitated for a beat before blurting out.
"Then stop calling me that! Why are you doing this?"
Y/N tilted her head, feigning confusion.
"Calling you what? Matt? That's your name."
"No." He said firmly, shaking his head like a child rejecting a ridiculous claim. His plump lips pressed into a pout, and he gestured toward her dramatically. "My name is baby."
Y/N couldnât hold it in anymore. A snort escaped her, quickly followed by a cascade of laughter that had her clutching her stomach, her movements causing her phone to shake against the pillow.
"Matt, what are you even talking about?"
Matt leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms indignantly.
"You always call me baby. Or babe. Or honey. Never Matt! That's not my name to you."
Her laughter only grew louder, and she buried her face in the duvet by her feet to muffle the sound.
"I knew it!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "Youâre mad at me! What did I do? Tell me so I can fix it!"
"Matt." She gasped between fits of laughter, sitting up and holding her arms out toward him. "Iâm not mad at you! Itâs a TikTok trend!"
"A trend?" His face scrunched in confusion.
"Yeah! You call your boyfriend by his name to see his reaction."
Realization dawned on him, and his pout deepened, his milky skin taking on a pink hue.
"So you were messing with me."
She nodded, still giggling.
"I was. And you fell for it."
Matt pushed off from his desk and crossed the room in long strides, flopping onto the bed beside her, messing the blue sheets. He grabbed her phone and locked it without even looking at the screen, tossing it onto the nightstand.
"Youâre evil." He mumbled, burying his face into her neck while pressing her body against the mattress with his arm across her stomach.
"I am not!" She protested, squirming as he peppered her skin with quick kisses.
"You are. I was genuinely worried. And now youâre laughing at me. Do you see how cruel this is?"
"Okay, okay." She relented, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing his more against herself. "Iâm sorry. But, for the record, you calling yourself 'baby' was the best thing ever."
Matt lifted his head, squinting his eyes at her.
"Well... you should stick to the classics, okay? No more 'Matt.' It freaks me out."
"Deal." She agreed, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin, the groing stubble tickling her lips. "No more 'Matt.' I promise."
He huffed dramatically, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Good. Now, can I go back to my game?"
Y/N smiled.
"Yes, baby, you can."
Matt smirked, brushing a quick kiss against her lips before hopping back into his chair. As he slid his headphones on, he glanced over his shoulder.
"Just remember: itâs baby forever, yeah?"
"Got it." She replied with a laugh, already uploading the video to TikTok.
ăăăăăàŒ»ïčĄïčĄïčĄïčĄïčĄïčĄïčĄàŒș
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"!
#âౚà§Ë đđđđ đđđđ#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt stuniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fanfiction#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo x yn#matt sturniolo x y/n#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader fanfic#matt sturniolo x reader fluff#matt sturniolo oneshot#matt sturniolo blurb#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x reader tiktok#tiktok trend#x reader#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets x reader
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Pissed blondes and pedicures - Paige Bueckers
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Paige Bueckers x reader
Summary: When Paige pushes you out of the bed, you make her pay.
Warning: Nothing! Slight cursing
Authors Note: Two fics in one day?!
You lay in your bed with a sleeping blonde next to you. Its early and she was hella drunk last night, trying to get into your pants but ended up falling asleep.
Rolling over to see her, expecting to see her sleeping next to you, your met with big blue eyes staring at you, scarring the shit out of you.
"God damn Paige! What the fuck are you doing!?" You scream and jump, causing her to laugh and shush you.
"You forget our teammates live in the same place babe." She laughs and you slap her shoulder.
"Not funny at all. I am NOT laughing." You groan and push her off of you, causing her to whine.
"Don't push me." She groans and tries to scoot closer, push you scoot away. She has a idea in her head that she knows you won't like, a smile creeps onto her face and you know it all too well.
"Paige..." You warn, but she doesn't give two shits.
She jumps on top of you and starts tickling you, poking your sides and tickling your armpits.
You scream and squirm under hear, slapping her hands and trying to move away, but failing.
"PAIGE!!" You squeal and she pushes you out from under her and onto the floor, hitting your head on the way down.
"Oh shit!" Paige says and covers her mouth, the room goes quiet.
"Paige fucking Bueckers." You say with a stern tone.
She doesn't move nor says anything, pissing you off more.
"You just gonna watch me down here or are you gonna help me?" You ask pissed. She quickly moves and gets down on her knees next to you.
"Im sorry baby, I didn't mean to do that." She pulls you into her arms and massages the spot.
Your pissed off attitude simmers slightly. You hug her back and huff.
"Is there something I can do to help you feel better?" She asks and kisses your head, a idea pops into your head this time and you know she won't like it.
-
You press record as you laugh at the annoyed blonde sitting next to you in the massage chair, her feet in a bowl of hot water as a woman oils them.
"Having a good time?" You snicker at the blonde as she pretends to scratch her head, but flipping you off secretly.
You gasp and swat at her hand, she smiles and turns to look at the camera.
"That wasn't nice P." You tell her, throwing her a playful smile.
"This isn't nice." She says but quickly slaps her hand over her mouth and looks down to the woman oiling her feet.
The woman looks up at her and stares at her.
"Ma'am, this is great service I promise. I was kidding."
You laugh out loud while recording the whole scene. She side eyes you and apologizes again.
When you both go to check out, she goes to pay but realizes that hers was $20 dollars more. Confused she asks why yours was cheaper and the man points to a sign.
'$20 more for rude clients!'
and you laugh again.
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The batkids decide to hop on the trend.
Dick, walking as Steph records: Weâre vigilantes. Of course we have to be over dramatic.
(Cut to Nightwing back flipping off of Wayne tower)
Tim: were vigilantes. Of course we have issues with caffeine.
(Cut to a video of Tim as Red Robin snoring while hanging from a grappling line. Batman can be seen in the background facepalming.)
âââ
Damian: No.
Tim: oh come on, Robin, weâre all doing it.
Damian: I refuse to partake in such idiotic videos.
Tim: (while Damian is still behind him) Weâre vigilantes. Of course we get to punch people without getting in trouble.
Damian: actuallyâ-
Tim: Robin, youâre supposed to play alongâ
Damian: I am not going to spread false informationâ
Steph, interrupting: well, Iâm not one of Batmanâs sons so he legally canât yell at me.
Tim: wanna bet?
(Cut to Batman scolding all three of them about the improper use of force)
â-
Duke: weâre vigilantes. Of course we go to Batburger.
(Cut to Duke happily eating a Batburger meal, and playing with a Signal toy)
Duke: what? Iâm allowed to have hobbies.
ââ
Steph: weâre vigilantes. Of course we can scare anyone we want to. Right, Black Bat?
Cass: (nod)
(The next series of videos is a compilation. The first is Superman being scared, followed by Green Lantern, Flash, Cyborg, Starfire, Dick, Tim, and a failed attempt to startle Wonder Woman. Cass isnât even upset about not being able to scare the woman, she accepts the defeat with grace.)
ââ-
Dick, Tim, and Steph: weâre vigilantes.
Dick: Iâve gotten stranded on the moon. Donât ask.
Tim: I got lost in hell.
Steph: I accidentally followed Green Lantern into space.
Tim: what? When?
Steph: turns out if you hug a Green Lantern really tightly, their life support on their ring will support you too
Dick: yknow, Batman shouldnât find out about this-
(Cut to Batmanâs lecture about the proper use of protective gear when going to space)
ââ
Dick: weâre vigilantes. Of course weâre best friends with all of the villains.
(Cut to Red Hood kicking down a door)
Jason: hey (bleep), youâre late to dinner
Dick: (currently tied to a chair and gagged)
Jason: hang on, Iâll help. (Shoots everyone and unties dick) Harley said sheâs going to rampage if youâre not there in five minutes.
Dick: Blame these guys, not me! (Jumps through the nearest window, shattering it, and the sound of a grapple is heard)
ââ
Jason: Iâm a crime lord
Dick: and Iâm a vigilante
Jason: and youâre ruining my video, (bleep) off. (Shoves Dick out of the frame, ignoring Dickâs muttered cursing) now that we got the riffraff out, let me start over. (Brushes imaginary dirt from hands) Iâm a crime lord. Of course Batman fights me every other day. I look forward to the day I can break his kneecaps.
Dick: (shocked) Hood!
Jason: what?
Dick: heâs your dad too!
Jason: yuck, donât remind me.
ââ-
Duke: weâre vigilantes. Of course we know all of the gossip. (Very obviously looking around) like for example, Superman has the biggest crush on Bruce Wayneâ
Clark, who was obviously eavesdropping: Nononononononoâ- (trying to turn the camera off as he darts into the frame. Thereâs a flash of red, blue and yellow as Duke and Clark fight over the camera)
ââ
Tim: weâre vigilantes. Of course we visit other cities.
Wally, as Kid Flash: What the (bleep) are you doing in Central City?
Tim: Iâm honestly not sure, itâs so bright that I think Iâm blind.
#batman#batkids#batfamily#batfam#tiktok reference#Superman#kid flash#Red Robin#signal#black bat#red hood#red hood is part of the Batfamily#Batman is an overprotective parent#batgirl
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so american
wanda maximoff x fem!reader
summary: in which you struggle with the aftermath of your relationship with natasha, but wanda never fails to help you through it all.
or, the one based off so american by olivia rodrigo.
word count: 11,499
tags: fluff, angst, natasha being a bitch in one scene, this was supposed to be completely fluffy but then i added angst and ended up loving it, they're mostly just two idiots in love, reader gets insecure a couple times, wanda's so in love, everyone say thank you to olivia rodrigo for fuelling all my fic ideas
part one: enough for you
âWhy do Americans drive on the right side of the road,â Wanda grumbles as she sits behind the wheel, driving the two of you to your favorite road trip destination, your familyâs cottage in Nevada.Â
You laugh, kissing her cheek. âBaby, Sokovians do too.âÂ
âWell, yeah, but that doesnât mean Iâm happy about it,â Wanda mutters, cursing under her breath when another right-hand turn takes her by surprise.Â
âI think thatâs what you get for getting your license in the UK, Wanda,â you tease. âNow youâre all grumpy, and angry, and that milkshake we shared a couple of hours ago definitely didnât helpââ
Wanda gives you a look and you give a cheeky smile in return.
âFor the record,â she replies, looking at the road once more. âI didnât have a choice. I was on a recon mission with Steve, and he told me I couldnât rely on my powers for transportation all the time.âÂ
âWell, I think your powers are hot, though.âÂ
Wanda laughs. âThanks, detka.âÂ
âJesus, Iâm cold,â you mutter as goosebumps start to form on your skin.Â
Wanda immediately turns down the AC in the car, and you reach into the back for the first piece of outerwear you can find. As you pull your hand back to your body, you realize itâs Wandaâs navy blue hoodie, your favorite piece of clothing of hers. Smiling, you pull it over your head, comforted by the scent of her that enraptures your senses.Â
Sighing in satisfaction, you lean your head back into your chair, feeling so much more content than you did a year ago.Â
Wanda notices you out of the corner of her eye, and softly says, âYou look so pretty wearing my clothes.âÂ
You smile at her, and Wanda takes your hand in return, as she keeps her other on the wheel, intertwining your fingers together.Â
âYouâre so warm,â you whisper, feeling so so loved.Â
Wanda squeezes your hand tighter.Â
***
Wandaâs laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world, you realized the first day you met her.Â
You had been sitting and talking the entire morning, Wandaâs smile awakening the constant butterflies in your stomach and setting your heart alive.Â
âSo,â Wanda rests her chin onto her hand and leans onto her elbow. âWhat profession are you in?âÂ
You smile, âIâm an oncologist, but I much prefer the research aspect of things. I find it thrilling.âÂ
Wanda scrunches her nose. âYou find spending countless hours in front of your computer and in a lab thrilling?âÂ
You laugh. âSure do. What about you? What profession are you in?âÂ
âIâm an Avenger, but I work part-time as an English professor at a local university,â Wanda replies, and before you can compliment her on her work as a superhero, she asks another question, still curious about your job. âWhy oncology, though?â she asks with her shiny eyes ever so inquisitive.Â
âMy mom died of cancer when I was 8,â you look into your coffee cup, staring at the liquid as you pop the lid off. âYou can probably figure out the rest,â you give a small smile.Â
Wanda frowns. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âDonât be, it was a long time ago. Iâve made peace with it, honestly.âÂ
âThatâs really amazing though,â Wanda says, struck by how beautiful you were on the outside and inside.Â
You blush. âThanks.â Feeling overwhelmed by everything Wanda was making you feel you decide to tell a joke. âHey, what do you call an apology written in dots and dashes?â
Wanda tilts her head curiously. âWhat?âÂ
âRe-morse code,â you give a small smile.Â
Wanda takes a second to process it, but once she does, a huge grin makes its way on her face and sheâs laughing.Â
Sheâs laughing, and you want to keep hearing it for the rest of your life.Â
Once sheâs done, she looks at you with a shake of her head. âThat was awful.âÂ
You shrug. âMade you laugh, though.âÂ
âYou did,â Wanda nods. âAnd something tells me youâll keep making me laugh.âÂ
You blush, people had never really found you funny. Nat didnât especially.Â
But here Wanda was, with her comforting smile that made you feel like you were on fire, and her soft green eyes that made you feel safe, cared for, and loved already.Â
Who made you feel like you were funny for the first time in your life.Â
***
âHere we are,â Wanda says, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut.Â
You sigh contently, so incredibly happy compared to the dark place you were at two years ago. Sometimes, you still felt the weight of how unloved you had felt. Of how you never felt good enough, never felt worthy of someone caring for you. And every time you ran back into your thoughts, Wanda was there to pull you out of your head and reassure you that you deserved the world. Telling you that she would do her best to give it to you.Â
It all felt surreal. Gently, you hear Wanda open the car door to the passenger side. The simple action made your heart flutter. âReady, detka?â she says, smiling at you.Â
Nodding, you exit the car, planting a kiss on her lips before she shuts the door.Â
Putting her sunglasses on, she comments, âYou know, youâre pretty American for having a cottage. With the beach, and everything.âÂ
âIs that supposed to be a compliment?â you ask.Â
âYep, because youâre an adorable American,â she smiles, kissing you quickly.Â
It wasnât fair of her, to make you feel this much.Â
***
Wandaâs on a mission in Russia, and you miss her desperately. You found yourself struggling whenever you were alone, still grappling with the feelings of whether you were enough from two years ago. Your rock was all the way on another continent, too far to reassure you of the constant echoes of awful thoughts that rang in your head.Â
âCan I go with you?â you had asked as you sat on Wandaâs bed while she packed the night before with you.Â
Wanda kisses your lips. âAs much as I would love that, detka, I want you to be safe,â she rubs your arm.Â
âIâm gonna miss you,â you say quietly.Â
Wanda frowns. âI know, baby, Iâm gonna miss you too. So much.âÂ
You nod, and as you sit quietly on her bed, Wanda can tell your head is somewhere else.Â
Grabbing your hand softly, Wanda sits in front of you, staring into your eyes. âWhatâs going on?â
âNothing,â you look away.Â
Kissing your forehead gently, Wanda pulls back with encouraging and comforting eyes. âI love you,â she says softly.Â
And itâs all you need, because itâs the most delicate, soft, unspoken gesture youâve ever heard. One that screams that she cares, that she wonât leave you, that she wonât hurt you, and that she truly honestly loves you with all her heart and you can feel it radiating off of her.Â
Wanda Maximoff made you feel like you were the most important person in the world to her.Â
Little did you know, you truly were, and to confirm it Wanda had a ring in her back pocket which she bought a week after she started dating you with her at all times.Â
âI love you too,â you reply, giving her a small smile. âI just want to be anywhere you are,â you confess as you start blushing timidly.Â
âOh? Thatâs cute,â Wanda teases.Â
âShut up,â you groan, hiding your face in the crook of her neck.Â
Wanda laughs, kissing your temple. âI do too, detka.âÂ
âReally?â you pull your head away to meet her gaze.Â
âOf course,â Wanda smiles. âBeing with you is my favorite thing in the world. Why wouldnât I want it all the time?âÂ
You blush furiously. âYou know, if you keep this upââÂ
âWhat?â she asks gently.
I might just marry you. You think, oblivious to the fact that Wandaâs already had the thought countless times.Â
You shake your head with a smile.Â
***
When Wandaâs on her mission, she buys a small chocolate chip cookie keychain that reminds her of you. They were your favorite food, and every Sunday, Wanda made sure to bake a fresh batch for the week so you never had to run out of one of your favorite things.Â
And when she gets back, only seconds after she puts her bags down she feels her arms fill with you and her heart becomes so much bigger than it was before. She kisses you deeply, smiling to herself at the person she loves in her arms.
Whispering against your lips, she pulls the keychain out of her left back pocket, her right one carrying the ring sheâs planning on proposing to you with. âI bought this for you,â she tells you, letting it dangle off of her index finger by the silver ring that she later finds out gets attached to the zipper of your favorite backpack.Â
And God, Wanda would be a fool not to be eternally charmed by the way your eyes light up with joy once you see it, the happy tears in your eyes making her want to hug you so tightly and never ever let go. âI love it,â you reply, grabbing it softly as if itâs made of the most delicate china. âI love you,â you kiss her lips.Â
Wanda shakes her head. âSo American,â she teases, referring to your love for chocolate chip cookies.
âYeah, but Iâm your American,â you reply cheekily.Â
Wanda nods, kissing you once more. âMy beautiful, perfect, so American girlfriend.â Â
Wanda feels her heart skip a beat when you blush all over.Â
***
Youâre crying. Youâre crying because you saw Natasha for the first time since the two of you broke up, and her words donât hurt any less than they did when the two of you were dating. Natasha had just seen you and Wanda, wrapped up in each otherâs arms, admiring one another at Tonyâs enormous birthday party.Â
Once Wanda had left to go let Pietro in, who had run back all the way from Australia where he was taking a break from the superhero life, Natasha had come up to you. Ready to poison your world with her venomous tongue.Â
âYou know, sheâll get sick of you,â Natasha had snapped you out of your thoughts as you stared at the door where Wanda had just left.Â
âWhat?â you reply as you turn to face her on the leather stool. Her calculating and judging eyes causing you to gulp. Even now, you still felt her hurtful words ring the bells of your insecurities back to life.Â
âSheâll get sick of you,â Nat repeats. âI mean, why do you think we broke up? Youâre boring, youâre rude, and youâre obsessive. All my friends told me about how you couldnât shut up about me when we were together. I mean, clingy much?âÂ
âI didnât meanââ you try.Â
Nat scoffs. âYeah, whatever.â She takes a sip of her drink.
You feel the need to apologize, for you never meant to make Nat feel suffocated that way, when suddenly a brunette witch is making her way over to you. And she looks like sheâs about to rain down hellfire on Natasha.Â
âExcuse me.â Wandaâs eyes narrow as she wraps an arm around your shoulder. âI believe sheâs my girlfriend, Natasha.âÂ
âJust warning her.â Natasha shrugs. âAnd you.âÂ
You stare at the spot on your lap, deciding on whether or not to blink away the tears in your eyes or cry, because ever since you dated Natasha you had learned how to cry silently so you wouldnât bother her.Â
Wanda raises an eyebrow, and her accent comes out thicker than ever before, âAnd what would you be warning me about?âÂ
âOf her,â Natasha shrugs.Â
Wandaâs eyes go red before she calms down, and her arm around you tightens in the most gentle way somehow. âIâll give you five seconds to leave us alone.âÂ
âYouâre gonna regret this, Wanda,â Natasha says.Â
âThe only person with regret is you, for never treating her the way she deserves to be treated,â Wanda replies sharply.Â
Natasha scoffs, turning around. âAs if she deserves anything.âÂ
Suddenly, Natashaâs glass explodes in her hands, âcausing everyone in the party to look her way. You can tell it was Wanda based on the way you saw a spark of red flash in her hands briefly.Â
Natasha turns and narrows her eyes venomously at Wanda, before stalking off to go clean the cut thatâs very visible on her hand.Â
Youâre still staring at the same spot on your lap when Wanda turns to face you, cupping your cheeks in her hands as she looks at you.Â
âAre you alright, milaya?â she asks, the heartbroken expression on your face making her heart drop to her stomach. You didnât deserve this. You didnât deserve this at all.Â
âDo you hate me?â you whisper brokenly, the tears finally escaping your eyes as you can no longer keep them at bay.Â
âNo, baby, no,â Wanda wipes the tears running down your cheeks with her thumbs. âI could never, ever, hate you.âÂ
âWhat did I do to make her hate me so much? Whatâs wrong with me?â you ask with a sob.Â
âNothing,â Wanda feels her own tears build up behind her eyes. âNothing is wrong with you, baby, youâre the most amazing human being I know.âÂ
And Wandaâs heart breaks even more, as you cry more and more, silently.Â
Somehow, itâs even more heartbreaking than if you were to ever make a sound.Â
You cry even more as you replay tonightâs events in your head, still in the navy blue dress Wanda had picked for you for the party, telling you how pretty you looked once she saw you in it. You felt so wrong, like you didnât deserve any of what Wanda was giving you, like she would get sick of you the same way Natasha did. Because maybe Natasha was right, maybe you didnât deserve anything. Because if you did deserve anything, then why would Natasha treat you so awfully, why would your mom have left you as a child and why would your brother leave you too, so overridden with the pain of the lack of your mom that he couldnât bear to watch you, leaving you with your abusive father who reeked of alcohol every night.Â
The thoughts sicken you, because your mother never ever meant to have cancer. And it wasnât your brotherâs fault that he couldnât handle a life without your beautiful, loving mother in it. And it wasnât your fatherâs fault either that he had a drinking problem.Â
Maybe it was all your fault.Â
You hear the knock on your door, and you can tell by the pattern that itâs Wanda. âDetka, can I come in?â she says gently from the other side of the door.Â
Quietly, you get up from your bed, turning the doorknob, and opening the door. The motions feel unnatural to you, like youâre some stranger whoâs been playing the role of having a loving girlfriend, but your world was shattered earlier and you donât know who you are anymore. You donât know if you deserve anything anymore.Â
âOh, baby,â Wanda says heartbroken as she wraps you in a tight hug.Â
This was your fault, seeing the sad look in her eyes you realize that you hurt Wanda.Â
You hurt the one person in your life whom you never meant to hurt.Â
It was all your fault.Â
You hug her back, because maybe if you hug her back it would make her feel better and it would be less of your fault.Â
Wanda tightens her grip on you, wanting to convey how much she loves you. Wanting to convey how much you didnât deserve any of this. Wanting to wordlessly tell you that despite all the pain youâve been through you handle it with so much grace, and youâre the most beautiful person Wandaâs ever met in her life.Â
But Wanda can tell that youâre not okay, that your mind is somewhere elseâ
Then she hears you sob. And itâs the first sound of a cry that Wandaâs ever heard from you.Â
And Wanda can feel the tears fall onto her shoulder and she holds you tighter, she holds you tighter and tighter until Natashaâs hurtful words are overrun by Wandaâs overwhelming love she feels for you.Â
Wanda can only hope you understand what sheâs saying.Â
And once youâre done crying at 3 in the morning, she keeps hoping.Â
***
Wandaâs worried about you, ever since Nat had spoken to you at the party you had been more quiet. More reserved. Like your mind was somewhere else.
âBaby?â she asks one morning when youâre both alone in the compound and Wanda wants to cook you breakfast.Â
âYeah?â you ask, staring absentmindedly at the sitcom running on the TV.Â
You were ecstatic when the first day Wanda met you, you had both found out about your shared love for sitcoms.Â
But Wanda watches you know, the complete lack of interest in Malcolm in the Middle worrying her because it was your favorite sitcom of them all and typically you would have a completely enraptured look in your eye. The same one Wanda was lucky enough to receive from you.Â
Frowning, Wanda pauses in her cooking, turning the heat off the stove and coming over to meet you on the couch.Â
You donât register when Wanda sits down next to you, still lost in your thoughts as she gently grabs your hand.
âWhatâs going on?â she asks softly, running her thumb over the back of your hand.Â
âNothing,â you reply, sitting up slightly.Â
âDetka, I know youâre not okay. And you donât have to tell me anything you donât want to, but just know that I care about you, ok?â Wanda kisses your forehead gently. âIâm always here if you need me.âÂ
You frown, feeling so guilty that you were making Wanda worried about you. You couldnât pretend to be okay, and now youâve hurt her even more. How long until she gets sick of you? How long until she gets sick of the feelings you give her? Â
âHow longââ your voice breaks. âHow long until you get sick of me?âÂ
âWhat?â Wanda asks, dumbfounded.Â
âI keep making you worry, keep making you need to constantly reassure me, and it must be so tiring for you, so,â you shut your eyes tightly. âHow long until you donât want me anymore?âÂ
Wandaâs heart breaks. âNever,â she breathes out. âI could never stop wanting you, even if I tried.â Wanda squeezes your hand tightly. âAnd I would never want to try.âÂ
âBut Iâmââ you bite your lip to stop a cry from coming out. âIâm so much to deal with, and Iâm not even that interesting, and it would be so much easier for you to date someone whoâs actually worthy of how amazing you areââÂ
Wanda cuts you off with a kiss. Cupping your cheek, she states, âYou are so worthy of love, Y/N.âÂ
You stay silent, staring back at her green eyes and feeling them pull you out of toxic puddle that was your thoughts like they always did.Â
âLoving you is the greatest gift the world has ever given me,â Wanda says, rubbing her thumb against your cheek. âAnd I could never get sick of you. You are the most incredible thing to ever exist, and loving you, for me, is like breathing. Itâs the easiest thing in the world, and itâs everywhere.âÂ
âI just feel like Iâm putting you through a lot,â you say quietly.Â
âYouâre not,â Wanda shakes her head. âYouâre actually making everything I go through easier than itâs ever been.â
âIâm sorry,â you say.Â
âSorry for what?â Wanda asks. âThis is everything I love about you.âÂ
You laugh. âYou like when I start crying and get insecure?âÂ
âI like every part of you. And if you need me to calm you down every single day, Iâll do it in a heartbeat,â Wanda replies, and you smile slightly at her. âBut I do hate seeing you cry.â She frowns.Â
You scoff. âI hate feeling like this,â you mutter.Â
âAnd I hate Natasha for making you feel like this,â Wanda pulls you into her side and you tuck your head into her shoulder, closing your eyes.Â
âI donât think it was just her,â you say softly. âI think it was a buildup of everything, and Nat just amped it up more. I never really worked through how much that relationship affected me before jumping into one with you.âÂ
Wanda nods. âDo you want me to give you some space for you to figure it out?âÂ
You shake your head, wrapping your arms around her waist. âI never wantââ you stop yourself, worrying sheâll find you too clingy as Natâs words ring in your head again. Space from you.Â
Wanda doesnât mean to, but your thoughts echo so loudly in your head that she canât help but hear them. And she wants to kill Natasha all over again. âWhat did Natasha say to you at the party?â she asks quietly.Â
âUm,â you grapple with your feelings as you relive that night, when Nat made all of your feelings of inadequacy come alive once more. Wanda frowns, rubbing her palm against your side to calm you down. âShe said, thatâ, that you would get sick of me eventually. That Iâm boring. And rude. And,â you swallow past the lump in your throat. âToo clingy.âÂ
âWhat a bitch,â Wanda mutters.Â
âDo you think sheâs right?â you ask Wanda, squeezing her waist tighter as your fears that Wanda will get sick of you come alive, and these are your last few moments with the person who lit up your entire world.Â
âNo, baby, sheâs so so wrong,â Wanda replies, her eyes turning red before she looks down at you and frowns as she sees your eyes squeezed tightly shut.Â
âThe clingy one hurts me the most,â you whisper. âAll I wanted was to love her and for her to love me back. But maybe Iâm too much.âÂ
You recall all the times you memorized her new coffee order every few months, the countless hours you had spent re-reading her self-help books, memorizing every fact, listening to all of her favorite songs from the information you had gathered about her. And the way you felt so proud to be Natashaâs girlfriend, the greatest assassin in the world and she chose you to be her partner. How could you have not talked about her?Â
Maybe it was too much?Â
âI think youâre the most amazing person in the world,â Wanda says, as her powers run amok once more and she sees all the lovely gestures you had done for Natasha. âI think Nat was an idiot for not seeing how kind and loving you are. And you are never too much.âÂ
You look up at Wanda as she looks down at you with a small smile. Kissing your forehead softly, she says, âYouâre not boring. And youâre not rude. In fact, youâre the most interesting person Iâve ever met, as well as the kindest. And if someone is lucky enough to be loved by you, they should realize how rare it is to find someone as incredible as you.âÂ
You shake your head softly in disbelief. âHow do you do it?â you ask.Â
âDo what?âÂ
âMake me feel like Iâm actually worthy of being loved.âÂ
Wanda kisses you deeply this time.Â
âYou are, Iâm just the one who helps you see it.âÂ
Later that night, Wanda hears you on the phone with one of your oncology friends, and she hears you talk about her. How amazing she is, and how lucky you are to have her. And when she sees you flop back onto the bed through the crack of your door, an elated expression on your face, as you speak dreamily about the way Wanda dresses and the books she reads, Wanda thinks that youâre the greatest thing the world has ever created. And she knows itâs true.Â
***
âBaby?â you say, turning to face Wanda in the dark in your bed. Wanda has her arm over your side, and she hums groggily as she was about to fall asleep.Â
âWhatâs going on?â she asks, her voice still heavy with sleep.
âNothing,â you say quickly, before slowly saying, âItâs just, I really, really, love you.âÂ
Wanda smiles. âYou woke me up to say that?âÂ
âI didnât know you were basically asleep,â you reply guiltily. âGuess the mission wore you out more than a night-shift wears me out. Sorry.âÂ
Wanda kisses you. âDonât be, youâre adorable.âÂ
âCan I tell you something?âÂ
âOf course, milaya.âÂ
âItâs really hard to sleep when youâre next to me,â you confess.
Wanda grins into the dark. âOh, yeah? Is it because Iâm so attractive?âÂ
You laugh. âYes,â you reply, and Wandaâs grin turns smug. âBut itâs also because itâs so surreal that Iâm with you, at all. And itâs even more surreal that youâre in my bed with me, cuddling me, and youâre so warm and soft and it just makes me want toââÂ
Wanda cuts you off with a kiss.Â
God, she was so in love with you.Â
You grin sheepishly, âSorry.âÂ
Wanda rolls her eyes. âStop apologizing, detka.âÂ
âOkay,â you nod. Â
âFeel better?â Wanda asks, and you understand her question. Itâs been a month since Nat confronted you at the party, and moments like this were a big step for you in coming to terms with yourself overall.Â
âMuch,â you reply. âEspecially because youâre here.âÂ
Wanda smiles. âIâm glad.âÂ
Wandaâs heart swells when she cuddles you once more, and you hold her hand thatâs around your middle as tightly as you can. She feels an overwhelming love for you, and she thinks about the ring in her desk drawer back in her room.Â
***
Wandaâs laughing at your joke on the couch. Wandaâs the only one who has ever laughed at your jokes, and it makes you feel so much lighter than ever before, while also making you fall deeper and deeper in love with the woman youâre lucky enough to call your girlfriend.Â
âYou know, youâre the only person whoâs ever laughed at my jokes,â you say.Â
Wanda smiles. âWell, then everyone else doesnât have as sophisticated sense of humor as we do.âÂ
You give her an incredulous look. âThe first day I met you, you laughed at a stupid pun I made.âÂ
âExactly,â Wanda shrugs. âSophisticated.âÂ
You shake your head with a smile, taking a sip of your tea as your heart feels bigger and more full than you ever thought possible.
And Wanda watches you, awestruck at your striking beauty that she struggles to believe is reality.Â
***
Wandaâs sick. Wandaâs sick and youâre worried because your girlfriend is in pain and you donât want her to be.Â
When you came in this morning back from your shift in the hospital, excited to see her, your heart had dropped at seeing her pained expression in bed, her voice croaky and her brows furrowed as she battled the feeling of nausea that overcame her. Not to mention her shivers as her high fever caused her even more misery.Â
You sat down on the edge of her bed, softly brushing away the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead due to her high temperature, âcausing Wanda to stir eventually.Â
Slowly opening her eyes, her eyes lit up as she greeted you with a soft smile. âHi,â she whispered.Â
Frowning, you put the back of your hand against her forehead. âBaby, youâre warm,â you told her, suddenly very worried.Â
âIâm fine,â Wanda replied, trying to sit up but letting out a groan. âIâm not fine,â she joked, as you helped her lay back down.
âStay here, Iâll go get you some medicine,â you said, kissing her forehead quickly before heading to the cabinets full of medicine in the bathroom.
âDonât take too long, Dr. L/N,â Wanda said sleepily as she shut her eyes once more, trying her best to fight her exhaustion so she would still be awake when you came back.Â
Shaking your head with a smile, you searched through the cabinets to find the proper medication to give her, already planning how you were going to take care of her the rest of the day and for as long as she needed you while she combatted her illness. Despite your worry, you were grateful that you were finally able to take care of your girlfriend, the same way she did to you every single day.Â
Wandaâs condition had subsided slightly, particularly her fever which had gone down quite a bit, but she was still feeling most of the effects of the sickness.Â
âWands,â you say softly, putting the bowl of soup on her nightstand as you kneel down on her side to wake her up gently with a kiss on her cheek.Â
Wanda wakes from her slumber with a groan, still slightly disoriented causing you to frown. Â
âIs your fever back?â you ask, putting the back of your hand on her forehead like you had done previously this morning. It wasnât as hot as before, calming your worry a bit.Â
Wanda shakes her head before resting it on your shoulder, letting out a sigh. âYouâre so good,â she says, turning her head to kiss your neck gently.
âGood at what?â you say with a laugh.Â
âJust good,â she says contently, relaxing in your presence.Â
âI made you some soup,â you tell her, kissing her temple as she hums.Â
âI donât want it,â she says, muffled by your shirt.Â
âIâll stay with you if you have a couple bites,â you offer.Â
Wanda removes her head from your shoulder and raises a brow. âYou were going to stay with me anyways,â she says matter-of-factly, trying her best to appear intimidating. Â
You smile at her cute expression. Wanda could never be intimidating, especially now when her hair was slightly tousled from her pillow and she was wearing an old T-shirt of yours that was full of wrinkles from her time in bed.Â
She was about as intimidating as a baby sea otter.Â
âNot anymore,â you shrug, âcausing Wanda to narrow her eyes slightly.Â
âWell, you better,â she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. âOtherwise Iâm never getting over this fever.âÂ
You smile once more.Â
âYou know, youâre really cute when youâre sick.âÂ
âYouâre insufferable when Iâm sick.â Â
You laugh, âPlease, will you have some soup?âÂ
âOnly if you cuddle with me when Iâm better.â
âIâll cuddle you right now if you eat a couple spoonfuls,â you say. âIâll even feed you.â
âI donât want to get you sick,â Wanda says before her eyes narrow at you once more. âAlso, Iâm not a child.âÂ
âI got my flu shot last month,â you tell her, reassuring her worries. âAnd youâre kinda acting like one,â you tease, before kissing her forehead. âBut itâs really cute.âÂ
Finally, Wanda relents. âFine, Iâll have some soup.âÂ
âThank you, love.âÂ
You grab the soup from the nightstand and hand it to her, and as she eats you rest your head on her shoulder, one of Wandaâs top 3 favorite ways to be next to you. Â
She eats about half before sheâs full, and you tell her youâre proud of her before heading off to the kitchen to put the bowl away.Â
However, as you get up from her bed, Wanda stops you by grabbing your wrist.Â
âWhere are you going?â she asks, sitting up slightly as she was already laying back down with the blankets tucked under her chin.Â
âTo put the bowl away,â you respond gently. âKeeping it in your room might make it start to smell like chicken noodle.âÂ
Wanda scrunches her nose, accepting your answer quickly making you laugh.Â
But as youâre about to leave, you see Wanda watching you, staying sitting up and you can tell that itâs because she wants to wait for you to come back.Â
Making your way back over, you gently tell her, âGo back to sleep,â you brush a strand of hair away from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. âYouâre nauseated again, I can tell.âÂ
âWill you be here when I wake up?â she asks.Â
âOf course,â you kiss the tip of her nose.Â
And when she lies back down, groggily croaking out the words, âso american,â most likely commenting on the chicken noodle soup, you smile, you smile because you know thatâs Wandaâs way of saying she loves you.Â
But to Wanda, itâs also her way of saying she wants to marry you.Â
***
âThis isnât fair,â you pout as Wanda beats you in Mario Kart once again.Â
She had been better for about a week, and she was back to herself which you were ecstatic about.Â
âBaby, how is this not fair,â she laughs.
âYouâre way better than me! You had all those years where you played against Pietro, whoâs unbeatable, and I only learned âcause Sam forced me to when no one else was available!â You cross your arms over your chest.Â
Wanda smiles at the cute pout on your face before kissing you softly, and your expression eases up a bit.Â
âWe can play something else if you want,â she offers, pecking your lips once more.Â
âCan I just cuddle you?â you ask, suddenly feeling very shy.Â
âYou donât even have to ask,â Wanda says, opening her arms for you to lay down on her, as she leans back against the pillow of the couch, your head resting on her chest as youâre comforted by the sound of her heartbeat.Â
You wrap your arms around her waist as she grabs the blanket from the other side of the couch, and pulls it over the two of you, making sure youâre completely covered from the neck down before she tightens her arms around you.Â
âI love you,â you say softly, closing your eyes as you relax to the feeling of Wanda stroking your hair gently as you lay on her chest.Â
âI love you too, detka. So much,â she says, watching as sleep starts to overcome you due to how exhausted you were from being on call for the past two weeks.Â
âYou know, itâs really not fair,â you mutter sleepily.Â
âWhat, me winning over 10 times in a row on the Wii?â she laughs.Â
âNo,â you shake your head. âItâs not fair of you to make me feel this much.âÂ
Wanda responds by kissing your forehead gently, and you burrow deeper into her chest as you fall into a deep slumber.Â
Wanda smiles, content and so so happy as she watches you, feeling the weight of the ring in her back pocket.Â
***
It was your one year anniversary, and Wanda had planned a small weekend getaway for the two of you as you had been exhausted due to a bunch of new projects you were taking on.Â
Wanda was so proud of you, but a lot of the time she felt worried because of how heavy of a workload you were taking on.Â
You were planning on coming over later tonight, as you had to work extra hours in the hospital.Â
So, to make you feel better and to let you know about your vacation Wanda made sure wouldnât interfere with your schedule, she had spent all day cooking you a wonderful 3-course meal which consisted of all of your favorite foods. As well as a large batch of chocolate chip cookies that would last you a solid month so long as you put them in the freezer.Â
She smiled at the thought of you as she rolled out the homemade pasta she was making you, how you had turned her world upside down as she navigated the unfamiliar territory of being the newest and youngest Avenger, just having you made her feel like she was so much better than before, and Wanda fell so so deeply in love with you and she never wanted to stop.Â
She wanted to give you the world.Â
She thought about how kind you were, how you cared so deeply for everyone, always stopping to help wherever and whenever you could. Wanda felt so special to be the partner of someone so undeniably incredible.
Suddenly, the oven beeps, snapping her out of her thoughts as she pulls out the chicken to go along with your pasta, the appetizer of calamari already prepared as it layed on a wire rack, as well as the chocolate chip cookies which she had prepared earlier in the day to make sure she had time to make enough. Â
Once she finished up, she plated the table for the two of you as she had kicked everyone out for her special dinner with you, wanting you all to herself. She smiled as she lit the candles and set up the plates along with the knives and forks, laying the plate of calamari in the middle as she kept her entree and dessert a secret from you.Â
Hearing her phone go off, she grins once she sees that youâve texted that youâve just arrived.Â
Taking her apron off as quickly as possible, she rushes downstairs to open the door for you, exhilarated at the thought of seeing you.Â
Swinging the door open, you smile softly at her while she grins, bursting forward to wrap you in a tight hug.Â
âHi,â you laugh, wrapping your arms around her. âHappy anniversary.â Â
âCan you take a break from doctoring once in a while?â she mutters into your neck.Â
âI wish,â you say, wrapping your arms tighter around her.Â
Once she lets go, she grabs your hand to pull you upstairs, excited to surprise you.Â
âWanda, whatâs the rush?â you ask as you make your way up the stairs.Â
âI missed you too much, come on!â she says, making you laugh.Â
Once you finally make it to the top floor, Wanda stops you from walking any further. âClose your eyes,â she says.Â
You shoot her a look.Â
âTrust me,â she says, pecking your lips quickly.Â
Closing your eyes, you say, âWhat now?âÂ
âOkay, Iâm gonna guide you,â she says excitedly as she stands behind you, starting to lead you to the dining room table.Â
âThis is not how I expected our anniversary to go.âÂ
âJust trust me,â Wanda says.Â
Nodding, you continue to walk in the direction Wanda guides you before she stops you in place.Â
âOkay, ready?â she says and you nod. âThree, two, one, open your eyes!âÂ
You open your eyes, and they widen in shock as you see the most beautiful candlelit dinner youâve ever seen in your life.Â
Wanda has swapped out the regular dining room table for a round one covered in a shiny white tablecloth, as well as swapped out the regular wooden chairs for more expensive looking ones that match the elegance of the table. The plates and utensils are arranged perfectly, along with the restaurant quality napkins that were beautifully folded so they were standing upright, absolutely nothing was out of place, and the calamari in the middle was cooked to perfection, the smell wafting towards you no doubt making you hungry.Â
It looked like Wanda had taken the appearance of a michelin star restaurant and copied it to perfection right here in the Avengers compound.
But what was even more unbelievable was the string of lights she had arranged all throughout the room, from every nook and cranny, the lights brought a hope to the dinner that nearly brought tears to your eyes at how romantic and calm they made the room feel. Â
And finally, to top it all off, right in the middle of the array of candles on the table was a large vase of your favorite flowers.Â
Flowers you had only ever mentioned to her once when she asked you, and you had told her not to worry about it because you could only ever get them in New Zealand. Â
âWhat do you think?â she asks, coming up behind you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.Â
You quickly turn to wrap her in a tight hug, squeezing so tightly youâre surprised she can even breathe. âI love you,â you breathe out. âSo much.â Â
Wanda laughs. âDoes that mean you like it?â she says teasingly before continuing, âI love you too,â she kisses the crown of your head.Â
Burrowing deeper into her, you mumble, âI canât believe...I canât believe Iâm really here.âÂ
You remember how awful you felt 2 years ago, how hopeless you felt. How unworthy you felt. Now, standing here in Wandaâs arms, who youâre still convinced is much too good to be true, feeling so so loved, everything feels surreal.Â
âI have the same thought about you,â Wanda says, her powers running amok as she accidentally reads your mind again and hears your thoughts about her. âYouâre too good. Sometimes I canât believe you exist.âÂ
âStop,â you say as your cheeks turn red against her neck.Â
âHappy anniversary,â she says softly. âI have another surprise for you.âÂ
That makes you look up. âWhat is it?âÂ
âJoin me for dinner and Iâll tell you,â she says cheekily.Â
âWhy canât you tell me now?â You pout.Â
âNice try, but I didnât spend all day cooking this meal for nothing.â She runs her hands up and down your arms. âBesides, you deserve a nice relaxing dinner after all the work youâve done the past few weeks.âÂ
You look up at her with a shimmering look in your eyes and a lovesick smile on your face.Â
âWhat?â she laughs.Â
âJust happy,â you reply, kissing her lips.Â
âYou deserve it,â Wanda says easily. âNow come on!â
She leads you over to the table by the hand, pulling out your chair for you as you sit down, planting a quick kiss on your lips before sitting down across from you.Â
You share countless smiles and laughs as you have the best dinner of your life, zoning out a couple times as Wanda talks and you simply admire her for everything she is.Â
And as you bite into your chocolate chip cookie after Wanda has revealed the enormous batch she made, sheâs telling you what the surprise from earlier was.Â
âSo, Iâve checked your schedule,â she says excitedly. âAnd since youâre free this weekend I booked us a vacation in Palm Springs! The weatherâs perfect, and youâll finally get to relax after working so hard, plus, they have amazing grass tennis courts and I know youâve been wanting to get back into playing since you donât have much time for it anymoreââÂ
âWanda,â you cut off softly, shaking your head.Â
You canât even begin to comprehend that tonight is real at all.Â
âWhat?â she asks, looking at you with a smile.
âEvery time I start to think you couldnât get more perfect you justâŠâÂ
âI get the same feeling about you,â she says, making you blush. âBut Iâm not perfect.â She takes a hold of both of your hands and rubs her thumbs over the backs softly. âHowever, I do love you, so much, and I want to show it.âÂ
âWell, youâre perfect for me,â you reply, meeting her gaze and smiling softly as the two of you just stare at each other. But suddenly, it clicks in your head. âHow did you know I used to play tennis?âÂ
Wanda blushes before she starts off shyly, âUm, before we started dating I went to your hospital to see if you were there, but you werenât so I may have asked your oncology friends a couple things about you.âÂ
âSo you stalked me?â you tease.Â
âI couldnât help it I had a crush on you!â she defends, letting go of your hands and putting her head into her arms. âI still have a crush on you.âÂ
âHow embarrassing,â you comment with a chuckle.Â
âItâs not embarrassing,â she defends as she lifts her head from her arms. âHave you seen how pretty you are?âÂ
You blush, ducking your head down so your hair covers your face slightly. Even after a year of dating Wanda always managed to fluster you to no end.Â
âWow, now whoâs embarrassed,â Wanda teases back.Â
âShut up, I hate you,â you say, embarrassed.Â
âWow, thatâs not very American of you,â she says with a chuckle.Â
âTake that back,â you say, lifting your head and narrowing your eyes at her.Â
âIf you say yes to the Palm Springs trip.âÂ
âI thought I already said yes.âÂ
âNot verbally,â she emphasizes.Â
âIâll go anywhere you go,â you say easily.Â
âCute cop-out, but I need the word yes,â she says, sitting up and kissing your lips quickly before sitting back down.Â
âYes,â you relent with a smile. âIâll go to Palm Springs with you.âÂ
âGood,â she smiles before a mischievous twinkle brings itself out in her eyes. âSo Iâll get to watch you play tennis all weekend. I can already imagine how hot thatâll beâŠâÂ
âWhy do you insist on teasing me?âÂ
ââCause you look so cute when youâre flustered.âÂ
You shake your head, taking a bite of your chocolate chip cookie to distract yourself from the way Wanda was making you feel.Â
But instead she decides to mess with you even more, softly saying the words âso americanâ as she watches you.Â
And Wanda telling you she loves you made you the most flustered of all.Â
***
You had gotten Wanda a necklace for your anniversary, and she had gotten you a bracelet with both of your initials on them.Â
Now, waking up in your hotel in Palm Springs, you smile once you see the bracelet on your wrist. You turn in bed to see if Wanda was there, but you frown once you see the empty spot next to you.Â
Where was she?Â
You wonder where she could be, because she would never leave to go to breakfast without you, nor would she head out without telling you where she was going after waking you up with a soft kiss.Â
You donât know where she could have gone.Â
But soon, your question is answered as she enters the room, a large tray of your favorite breakfast foods in her hands as she greets you with a smile.Â
You tilt your head in confusion.Â
âHi,â she says, setting down the tray and kissing you on the lips. âI made you breakfast.âÂ
Your heart flutters and your stomach fills with butterflies. âHow did you manage to do this?âÂ
âTurns out that locked room isnât a closet, but a tiny kitchen,â she explains, pointing to the aforementioned room. âI found out after I woke up early this morning by accident.âÂ
âI missed you,â you say, hugging her side. âWhereâd you get the food from?âÂ
âMagic,â she replies easily.
âOh, right, I forgot Iâm dating a witch,â you chuckle, hugging her tighter.Â
âIâm not a witch,â she says defiantly. âI was voted most powerful Avenger at Tonyâs ceremony last year.âÂ
âTheyâre right,â you say, looking over to the breakfast tray and smiling once you see the gorgeous rose that lays on its side. âBut that doesnât mean youâre not a witch.âÂ
âIâm a not-witch whoâs really in love with you.âÂ
âAnd Iâm a not-doctor whoâs really in love with you.âÂ
âWell, then we agree to disagree,â she says, putting the tray in front of you, silently telling you to start enjoying your meal.Â
âMhm,â you say, eating a forkful of the omelet she had prepared and moaning at the taste. âWhereâd you learn to cook?âÂ
âMy mother taught me, back in Sokovia,â she says quickly, heat flushing to her cheeks after she hears the sound you had made. Shifting from her position on the bed to move behind you, she gently shifts you forward slightly so she can sit behind you and outstretch her legs as she wraps her arms around your middle. Â
You lean your head back to rest against her shoulder. âShe taught you really well,â you say, closing your eyes.Â
âDetka, are you gonna fall asleep while eating breakfast?â she laughs.Â
âNo, Iâm just savoring this moment,â you reply, kissing her shoulder. âAnd I want to savor this breakfast too.âÂ
âYeah? Iâm that good?â she says with a chuckle.Â
âYou are,â you say, opening your eyes to look up at her. âIn fact, I might marry you right now if you keep this up.âÂ
âIâd do it every day just for you,â she replies, kissing your lips.Â
And when you smile at her, that beautiful smile that makes Wandaâs heart beat faster than she can comprehend, she seriously considers pulling out the ring from her pocket to propose to you right in your hotel room.Â
***
âBaby? Wake up,â Wanda whispers, bright and early in the morning on September 8th.Â
You groan, not wanting to get up.Â
Wanda laughs. âCome on, itâs your birthday,â she says, kissing you on your forehead.Â
âDoesnât that mean I should get to sleep in,â you grumble, burying yourself deeper into the pillows. âCome cuddle with me,â you say, sleepily patting the spot next to you where Wanda had slept last night.Â
âAs much as I would love to, if I cuddle you right now youâre only gonna end up sleeping for another hour. And thereâs a bunch of things prepared for your special day,â she says softly.Â
âAnother hour sounds great, thanks,â you mumble as you start to feel yourself drift off.Â
âNo, no, no, come on!â she laughs, gently pulling the blankets off your body.Â
âItâs cold,â you groan as the air of the room starts to wash over your body.
âBecause you and I sleep in negative degrees,â Wanda says teasingly before gently sitting down on your bed to hug you tightly.Â
After a few minutes, you accept your fate as you sit up with a sigh against the headboard, Wanda letting go of you to grab the glass of water on your nightstand to hand to you.Â
âHappy birthday,â she says softly as you take a sip of the water and she watches you with a smile.Â
You kiss her gently. âThanks.âÂ
âHowâd you sleep?â she asks.Â
âReally well.â You grin. âI got to cuddle with you all night.âÂ
âLast night must have helped tooââÂ
âI will throw this water in your face if you finish that sentence,â you cut her off, starting to blush.Â
âI wouldnât mind,â she says with a smirk. âYouâre really hot when youâre angry.âÂ
âSo, theoretically if I yelled at you, youâd just end up wanting to have sex?âÂ
âFirst,â she says. âYou would never yell at me.â You give her a look, and she just smiles smugly because she knows sheâs right. You were way too nice to ever yell at anyone. Even animals. âAnd second, yes, thatâs usually how that works.âÂ
âYouâre a middle school boy,â you say with a shake of your head.Â
Wanda just smiles before kissing you deeply. âCanât help it.â She brushes a strand of hair away from your face. âYouâre the prettiest girl Iâve ever seen.âÂ
âYouâre the prettiest girl Iâve ever seen,â you say back.Â
Wanda grins. âReady for your birthday?â she asks, standing up from the bed and holding out her hand for you to take.Â
You nod, smiling as you take it and stand up, kissing her quickly before she starts to take you through the day she had planned.Â
And when youâre back, cutting into your birthday cake to hand out to the team members (Natasha was on a mission in Africa) which Wanda had baked, youâre back after a sunrise picnic full of your favorite foods, a relaxing walk across the beach, lunch at your favorite diner, a tour of your favorite locations in New York City as well as somehow meeting your favorite tennis player on the Arthur Ashe stadium of the US Open (you have absolutely no clue how Wanda pulled that off), you turn to your incredible girlfriend, whoâs already staring at you with an adoring gaze in her eyes.Â
Softly, you say, âIâm so in love with you.âÂ
You never knew your heart could ever feel this full.Â
âIâm so in love with you too,â she replies, kissing you in the most gentle way yet somehow still communicating the deepest sense of passion. âHappy 24th, detka.âÂ
You want to cry, you want to cry the happiest tears of your life because, god, you have no idea how you got so lucky to have this woman in your life.Â
But instead, you kiss her on the lips, hoping it says everything you need to.Â
And Wanda knows exactly what youâre saying.Â
***
âOh, my god, what if itâs too much!â you ramble to Yelena as you pace back and forth in your apartment back home.Â
âYouâve been dating her for 4 years, you idiot,â Yelena replies, rolling her eyes.Â
âExactly! What if this is like a 5-year thing, or 7 yearsâ Or, god, I donât know!âÂ
âY/N,â she says, grabbing your attention. âListen, this is ridiculous. That girl is so disgustingly in love with you, you could tell her youâve hated her all this time and she would still think you gave her the sun or something.âÂ
You frown. âI could never hate Wanda.âÂ
âGod, you two are insufferable,â Yelena sighs.Â
But Yelenaâs secretly so happy to see that youâve finally found someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated.Â
âHey!âÂ
âFor Godâs sake, just go tell her you donât like ravioli.âÂ
âItâs her favorite food! We eat it every Thursday just for her!âÂ
âItâs actually you whoâs her favorite food.â
âWhat? Yelena, I swearââÂ
Later that day, Wanda accepts your revelation with a smile on her face and a kiss on your cheek.Â
***
âWanda,â you say softly as you two walk hand-in-hand through the streets of New York.Â
âYeah?â she says, turning to face you with a small smile.Â
âSo, I donât want to assume this,â you pause, fidgeting with your fingers nervously. âBut, will you go out to dinner with me?âÂ
Wanda grins. âWeâve been dating for four years and you donât want to assume that Iâll go to dinner with you?âÂ
âWell, you might be busy!â you defend.Â
Wanda laughs. âIâm never too busy for you, milaya.âÂ
âYouâre just saying that. What if thereâs a criminal who shows up out of the blue and youâre needed for superhero business or somethingâŠâÂ
âThen weâll reschedule,â Wanda says, shrugging. âAnd Iâll make sure I always have time for you.âÂ
You bite your lip anxiously. âWhat ifâŠwhat if you donât come back one day?â your voice trembles.Â
âOh, baby,â Wanda says, hugging you. âIâll always come back to you.âÂ
âYou canât know that,â you mumble into her shirt.Â
âBut I do,â she says, holding you by your shoulders and pulling away slightly. âBecause youâre worth every bit fighting for, and Iâll always make sure that I keep fighting until I see your face again.âÂ
Wanda frowns as she watches the tears roll down your cheeks.Â
Wiping them away with her thumb, she says softly, âI love you. Iâll always come back to the person I love most in the world.âÂ
âI love you too,â you reply, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. âSorry.âÂ
âDonât be,â she tells you. âIâm always happy to care for you.âÂ
âIâm really hopelessly in love with you,â you say quietly only for Wanda to hear.Â
âThe feelingâs mutual, detka.âÂ
***
Wanda was going to propose to you tonight.Â
It was almost Christmas, which she had found out in your first year of dating was your favorite time of year (besides her birthday or your guysâ anniversary) because it made you feel like you belonged somewhere.Â
Wanda smiled while she watched you from the couch, biting the nail of your thumb as you thought carefully of which ornament to put next on the Christmas tree.Â
She was so in love with you, your work ethic, how much you cared for her, how loved you made her feel. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with you.Â
âWanda?â you ask, snapping her out of her thoughts.Â
âYeah, detka?â she replies, looking over at you.Â
You point to the box of blue and silver ornaments by her feet. âCan you pass me the silver one shaped like a Christmas tree?âÂ
Nodding, she grabs the ornament from the box and makes her way over to you, hugging you from behind as you placed it carefully on the branch only a little bit taller than you.Â
âHow does it look?â you ask with a smile, turning your head slightly to kiss her on the cheek.Â
âEven better than last year,â she replies, squeezing you tighter.Â
If someone didnât stop her soon, she was going to propose to you right then and there.Â
In order to stop herself, she clears her throat and steps back from you a bit, letting go, hoping you donât notice her actions.Â
However, you know her too well, and you turn to look at her with a small furrow of your brows.Â
Wanda gives an awkward smile. âUm, Iâm gonna get started on the cookies,â she says, pointing towards the kitchen.Â
âOkay,â you say slowly.Â
Wanda nods, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving you to head towards the previously mentioned room.Â
Once Wandaâs in the kitchen, she lets out a sigh, wondering how she was going to get through the day without breaking down due to her nerves. Wanda checked her back pocket, making sure the ring was still there, and felt a sense of relief once she felt itâs black box.Â
She had it planned perfectly. After tonightâs holiday party with the team (which she had exclusively made sure Natasha could not make it), she was going to take you to the coffee shop where you two had first met, then she was going to take you to Shakespeareâs garden where you two had first admitted you loved each other, and she was going to officially propose to you at the firework show she had begged Tony to help her host.Â
Everything had to be perfect.Â
âWanda?â you startled her out of her thoughts as you knocked on the doorway. Furrowing your brows, you ask, âare you alright?â
âWhat? Yeah! Yeah, Iâm fineâŠâ Wanda replies awkwardly, looking down at her feet and shifting awkwardly.Â
You laugh slightly, âBaby, you havenât even started on the cookies.â You walk over to her, seeing nothing but two eggs on the counter in front of her and nothing else.Â
Wanda gulps slightly at your close proximity. How stupid that she had been dating you for 6 years yet you still made her feel like a teenager in high school. âI didâŠâ she says weakly.Â
âOh yeah?â you tease. âHow delicious if we left out two eggs with milk for Old St. Nick?â You pick up an egg between your fingers to show her.Â
âItâll give him something new to try,â Wanda shrugs.Â
Sighing, you put the egg down, and cup your girlfriendâs cheeks in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over them. âWhatâs going on?â you say gently.Â
âJust nervous,â Wanda admits.Â
âNervous for what?â you ask, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face.Â
âYou make me nervous,â Wanda says, relenting as she rests her forehead on your shoulder. âYouâre so perfect,â she mumbles into your shirt.
Your heart feels like it might explode. âI donât understand,â you say as you shake your head. âHow are you the nervous one yet somehow you still make me feel like Iâm gonna burst with happiness?âÂ
Wanda smiles against your shirt. âItâs âcause I love you.â
âAnd I love you,â you reply. Â
âYou know, we still have about 2 hours until Tonyâs partyâŠâ she says suggestively, starting to kiss her way up your neck.Â
âMore than enough time for you to help me finish the tree,â you say lightheartedly.Â
Wanda groans. âI hate you.âÂ
âToo late, youâre stuck with me already.â You grin as you grab her hand and lead her into the living room, the cookies unspokenly abandoned.Â
Little did you know, Wanda wanted nothing more than to be stuck with you for the rest of her life.Â
And tonight, she was going to make it official.Â
***
âWhy the fuck is it so cold,â Wanda muttered, rubbing her bare arms to warm herself up, before intertwining your hands once again. âItâs way colder than the temperature you and I sleep in.âÂ
âBecause Pepperâs here,â you say easily. âAnd Tony turns the place into an ice box just for her.âÂ
âCanât he just invite some sort of nano-machine that keeps it cold for her all the time? Heâs got the money,â Wanda says bitterly.Â
You chuckle. âCome on, grumpy,â you start to pull her onto the dance floor. âThis ought to warm you up.âÂ
Wanda accepts as you wrap your arms around her shoulders and she wraps hers around your waist, the two of you becoming lost in your own little world as you admire one another in your respective dresses.Â
âYou look so pretty,â she tells you, awestruck at your beauty.Â
âSo do you,â you say, taking her in before resting your head on her shoulder, swaying as the two of you try to stay as close as you possibly can.Â
Wanda closes her eyes as she rests her cheek on the crown of your head, feeling so content with you in her arms.Â
âWhen did you first know?â you whisper next to her ear.Â
âWhen you made that stupid pun,â Wanda says, and she giggles once she hears you groan in embarrassment.Â
âThatâs the worst one you couldâve said,â you say, lifting your head up from her shoulder to meet her gaze.
âCanât help it,â she says, kissing you quickly. âIt was so adorable.âÂ
âI still think itâs insane that you actually find me funny,â you shake your head.Â
âIâll laugh at all your jokes,â she replies easily. âItâs one of the reasons I fell in love with you.â
âAre all Sokovians this romantic?âÂ
âAre all Americans this incredible?âÂ
You both grin stupidly at each other before the two of you canât take it and kiss each other deeply, pouring every ounce of love you feel for one another. Â
âNope,â Wanda says as she pulls away. âJust my so American girlfriend.âÂ
You smile, kissing her again, and again, and again.Â
And Wanda thinks it wasnât fair of you either, to make her feel this much.Â
***
âWanda, where are we going?â you laugh as she pulls you through the streets of New York.Â
âI need to show you something, come on!â she says, stopping once you realize where sheâs brought the two of you.Â
The coffee shop where you first met.Â
âWhat are we doing here?â you ask, unable to stop the cheesy grin that makes its way onto your face.Â
âItâs a surprise, come on,â she replies, opening the door for you and letting you in. Once she shuts the door behind her, you turn, and your eyes soften once you see the shiny look in her eyes. âIâm taking you on a tour,â she says, guiding you to the back table where you two had first spoken.Â
âA tour of what?â you say, smiling as you follow her.Â
âA tour of how much I love you.âÂ
And Wanda only falls deeper and deeper in love once she sees the happy tears in your eyes when she reveals your coffee cup from when the two of you had first met, which she had kept all this time.Â
***
âNo way,â you say with awe as your next stop comes into your line of sight, the coffee cup held safely in your hand at your side.Â
âAnd I re-made the batch of cookies we shared that day,â Wanda said, pulling a tupperware of cookies from behind her back as you follow her onto the bridge of Shakespeareâs garden.Â
âWhat made you do all this?â you ask, shaking your head in disbelief as you come up to her to wrap your arms around her shoulders.Â
âItâs a surprise,â she replies, kissing you. âBut for now, I want you to know how much you mean to me.âÂ
âI do,â you say easily. âEvery day.âÂ
âGood,â Wanda grins. âAnd Iâm gonna keep showing you.âÂ
***
Wanda might not even propose tonight.Â
In fact, she doesnât know if sheâll even remember as sheâs lost in awe at how beautiful you look under the stars, holding the rail that separates you from the body of water in front of you while standing on top of a craggly rock, the booming fireworks causing your eyes to shine in a way that makes Wanda want to capture this moment forever.
But, sheâs on a mission.Â
And when it came to you, Wanda always put her best foot forward.Â
âTheyâre so beautiful,â you say, completely in awe as you watch the colors explode in the sky.Â
âJust like you,â Wanda says softly.Â
âYou know, I still really want to know why you did all this,â you say, turning to her and smiling once you see her already watching you. âI didnât miss any special date, did I?âÂ
âOf course you didnât, your google calendar is already filled to the brim,â she replies with a teasing roll of her eyes.Â
âWell, if I didnât have everything booked then you would forget all of your check-up appointments with your doctor,â you reply cheekily.
âYouâre already a doctor.âÂ
âNot the right kind of doctor.âÂ
âYouâre actually exactly my kind of doctor,â Wanda flirts, making you blush.Â
âI hate you. That was awful,â you say as you turn away.Â
And as you watch the fireworks in the sky once again, Wanda decides, nowâs the time.Â
Taking a deep breath and swallowing her nerves, she gets down on one knee.Â
Then, almost robotically, she pulls out the ring, opening the box slowly, as if any sudden movement would cause the whole thing to shatter.Â
She just needed you to turn her way.Â
To turn your head slightly and see her message for you.Â
I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.Â
It feels as if time has stopped.Â
All she feels is the beating of her heart through her chest, the blood pounding in her ears, and her nerves washing over her over and over againâ and all she needs is for you to look. Â
It feels like hours before youâ
Then, you do.Â
And itâs slow, and careful, and gentle, and so you. Â
You gasp.Â
And Wanda shakily breathes out, âWill you marry me, detka?âÂ
Both of your hands cover your mouth, and tears build in your eyes.Â
And Wanda feels the happiest she has ever feltâ
When you croak out a yes.Â
Wanda wants to keep this moment forever. She wants to remember how full her heart feels when she slips the ring onto your finger. The feel of your lips on her own when you kiss her hard through both of your tears and your laughs of disbelief.Â
Itâs the happiest day of her life.Â
And itâs the happiest day of yours, too.Â
***
âIâm so, so, in love with you,â you say as the two of you walk back to your shared home, wrapped in each otherâs arms.Â
âIâm so in love with you too, detka,â Wanda replies, kissing your temple as she holds you close.Â
âWhen you were a kid, did you ever think you were going to have an American girlfriend?â you chuckle.Â
âI never did,â Wanda admits with a smile. âBut I couldnât be happier that I ended up with a beautiful, so American fiancĂ©e.âÂ
You blush at the new title, hiding your reddening face in your fiancĂ©eâs neck. âTonight doesnât even feel real,â you mumble after a moment.Â
Wanda laughs slightly. âYeah, I know the feeling.âÂ
Suddenly, out of curiosity, you ask, âWhen did you buy that ring?âÂ
âA week after we started dating,â Wanda says resolutely.Â
âWhat?â Your head snaps up from her neck.Â
âI just knew,â Wanda says, kissing the tip of your nose. âI knew you were going to be my wife.âÂ
âThatâsâŠâ you shake your head in disbelief. âWow.âÂ
Wanda pulls you closer to her. âIt was the easiest thing Iâve ever known. Wanna know why?âÂ
âWhy?â you ask.Â
âBecause, from the first day I met you, I knew, you were everything to me. And you still are.âÂ
Your eyes start to water. âIâm everything to you?âÂ
âYou are,â Wanda nods, kissing the crown of your head with so much tenderness it makes you want to cry.Â
But, you donât start to cry because of the kiss.Â
And you donât start to cry out of joy although you really, really want to.Â
No. The tears finally escape your eyes as you realize that you finally have everything youâve ever wanted.Â
That youâre finally, finally everything to somebody else.Â
âYouâre everything to me too.âÂ
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wandamaximoff#wanda maximoff fluff#marvel mcu#mcu#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#wanda marvel#wanda imagine#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#wlw post
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"License and Registration?"
Shit.
Seven clowns packed into the seats of an old beat up van. As if luck turned a blind eye to their favor, the crowded space was messing its final member. Stress levels at an all time high through the group, the two clowns capable of descalating the situation they've found themselves in had the fortune of sitting up front that evening.
"Is there a problem, Officer? You must forgive us if our driver here went a tinsy bit over the speed limit. We lost track of someone dear to us and its getting rather late, you see-"
As the driver of the vehicle stares the police officer down, observant of the officer's intriguing in a small, retingular device in hand - a voice chases their ear from the backseat.
"Red- We're wasting too much time here. Mime could be seriously hurt for all we know. There's no other cars around so they're probably on foot and alone. Use Pink's gun if you have to."
Orange swiftly ducks behind Red's chair as a sharp snap rings throughout the quiet night. The officer picks at their lip, jaws in perpetual motion as they chew; absent-mindedly scrapping bits of gum off the corner of their mouth. From the bill of their cap draped over their face, it almost appeared as if they were scratching at nothing.
"Officer. How is your evening going so far?"
Beads of sweat line the officer's neck as they shift, angling their body away from its previous placement against the side of the van. Trembling fingers press at the device gripped tightly in their palms.
"License and Registration?"
There's something odd about their tone of phrase. Spoken in the exact same pattern and robotic droning as before.
"Wait a fucking second...."
Rolling the windows down, a hand snatches the officer's cap before they're given the chance to flee. Startled, the officer drops their device as they take a few steps back - shoes letting out a small squeak with every fall. What upon first speculation seemed to be a walkie-talkie turns out to be a tape recorder.
"Mimey?!"
Your chest rises and falls rapidly with silent laughter as the remainder of the group peek outside the windows to get a look.
"Mimey, what the fuck?! Blue nearly had a heart attack when you disappeared- Get your ass in this van right now!"
Muffled whimpers join the symphony of a fist banging against the windows.
"I'm so glad you're okayyyy."
"That's Mimey?...Arrest me first, officer~"
"Naughty little mime.... This type of behavior calls for punishment. I gotta say you do look... delicious in that outfit..."
Yellow is the last to speak as few of the gazes from the windows turn predatory.
"Twenty second head start sound good to you, Mimey?'
Stealing your cap back from Orange, you bow to your partners in crime - barreling off into the darkness as all four doors unlock simultaneously.
#Murder Clown gang#yandere clown#Mime reader#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere oc#yandere insert#yandere blurb#yandere drabble#yandere harem#poly yandere
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