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fushitoru · 2 months ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?”

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.”

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.

“do what?”

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.

your breath catches. “satoru…”

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.

that’s when he freezes.

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

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dawnwriterimagines · 6 months ago

Text

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

#simon riley angst x reader #cod angst #tw torture #tw angst #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost angst #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty

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shotmrmiller · 11 months ago

Text

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #cbf!simon #cod smut #cod

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hannieehaee · 9 months ago

Text

18+ / mdi

content: bff'sbrother!jungkook, softdom!jungkook, enemies2lovers-ish, he's a lil annoying in this, angst, mentions of rejection, one-sided crush, afab reader, smut, fingering, dry humping, penetrative sex, overstimulation (kinda), etc.

wc: 4076

a/n: another jk fic bc im taking time off work and have nothing to do</3 this went longer than anticipated lol sorry

masterlist

"what are you doing here?", grumbled the man as soon as he opened the door and spotted you on the other side of it.

"can you get out of the way? i'm obviously here for minji."

"she doesn't get here til tomorrow," he responded, though still moving out of the way to let you in.

you were about to snark at him again when he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening when they made contact with the suitcases you were struggling to drag behind you, "why are you carrying suitcases? fuck, don't tell me you're staying here," he grabbed onto one, stopping your movements.

"yes, jungkook. minji told me i could crash here for spring break. what's it to you? your house is big enough. just ignore my presence," you attempted to move your suitcases again, knowing you'd receive no help from the boy even if you asked.

"so you're here to ruin my break?" the complaints were never ending despite having entered the home only mere moments ago.

"stop being a child and get out of my way," you grumbled when the idiot refused to remove his hand from the handle of your suitcase.

he let out a heavy sigh, scrunching his eyes closed in annoyance before speaking again, "okay, move. i'll bring your shit upstairs."

"no, i can-"

"you can't carry all this upstairs. my mom's gonna be mad if i don't offer to help you. just let go," he muttered, pushing your hands away and somehow lifting both suitcases at once as he walked towards the stairs.

without any energy to argue with him, you just followed him upstairs, annoyed he insisted to pretend to do you a favor.

"are your parents home?", you asked, confused as to why he had been the one to open the door.

"no, they went out of town this weekend. they should be here tonight."

"why are you here?"

you knew this was his home, but it was a valid question. this had been the third time you'd spent some sort of school break at minji's house, yet jungkook had never been there during the duration of it, usually only popping up for a day or two by the end of each break.

"you mean in my house?", he chuckled sarcastically.

"you're never here- you know what i meant."

"didn't have any plans this time. why? am i ruining your break?"

the two of you finally made it to the extra guest room in minji's house, with jungkook settling your stuff on the bed and uncharacteristically taking a seat on it, as if planning to hang around. you ignored the thought and went to open your suitcase, planning to unpack a few of the things since you'd be staying for over a week.

"yeah," you deadpanned.

he scoffed, "not like i wanna spend my break with you either, princess."

groaning, you threw a folded shirt at him, "ew, i told you not to call me that."

seemingly pleased at having annoyed you, he chuckled and picked up the shirt you threw, folding it and placing it on the bed. he continued to occasionally grab one thing or another as you unpacked. you always knew jungkook to be quite fidgety, so you didn't question him grabbing your stuff to entertain himself as you unpacked.

jungkook wordlessly stayed on your bed as you went around the room organizing your stuff, attempting to ignore his presence but not entirely able to. you were willing to retain peace without complaining, but then he started making noise.

you usually didn't care for his presence too much, even as badly as the two of you got along, but the constant humming quickly got on your nerves. he hummed and hummed and did not stop even as ten minutes passed by, still taking stuff from your suitcase to fidget with. currently he was entertaining himself with a random shoe.

"jungkook! why are you still here?", you suddenly snapped, confused as to why he'd been sitting on your bed with a blank look on his face despite usually being liberal in expressing his dislike for you.

he looked at you for a few moments, no emotion on his face before speaking up.

"why don't we get along?"

"what?"

"you heard me. why don't we get along? you've been friends with my sister since childhood, but you've always hated me. why?"

"you started it," you murmured, taking the shoe he currently had in his hold and turning around to place it somewhere else.

he got up, walking over to you and turning you around by your shoulders and taking the shoe from you again, "i started it? what are you talking about? you've been rude to me since the seventh grade. i've just been returning the favor."

sighing in frustration, you grabbed shook his hands off your shoulders and stubbornly grabbed the shoe again, "why do you think that is, jungkook?"

a confused look overtook his face at your insinuation of your relationship being his fault, clearly not remembering what you were referring to.

"wha-what are you talking about?"

"god, you're such a dumbass sometimes. i mean, i assumed you didn't remember, but to have confirmation of it just kinda sucks," you chuckled bitterly.

he grabbed onto your shoulders again when you tried to walk past him, "tell me what you're talking about," he insisted.

for the most part, you didn't want to. you still felt embarrassed thinking about it, even if it had been over a decade since it had happened. to know he really didn't remember the source of your dislike for him also didn't really help matters. it just frustrated you at his presence even more.

through the years you had learned not to take the mutual banter too seriously. it was mostly lighthearted, to be honest. but any time you thought back to how it had started, you became beyond angry at the boy who was seemingly nice too all those he knew but you. sure, you had technically been the one to source this animosity, but he bad been the instigator of it after all.

you had been nine years old at the time, having recently moved into town and befriended minji. she had been your salvation, becoming instantly interested in being your friend despite you being brand new. you became quick friends, hanging out inside and outside school almost every day.

minji had the good fortune of being extremely close to her family, which allowed you to bond with them quite a lot. that was when you met her older brother, one of her favorite people in the world.

jungkook had been pure perfection in your young eyes, seeing him as unattainable at the young age of nine. he was two years your senior, which made you come to the quick realization that your crush would remain one-sided forever. except this didn't stop your naive heart to read into his nice demeanor and wishfully believe that maybe he'd like you back.

you crushed on him silently for three years, even coming to befriend him in the process. you wouldn't see him too often, but it was always nice when you did, always getting along quite well. this continued up until you hit twelve years of age, your tweenhood years. unfortunately, jungkook was now into his teens, meaning that he followed the footprints of every other man and had a short-lived phase where he was a bit insensitive to girls his age.

being completely delusional and being on your way to graduate middle school, you took a leap, deciding to invite jungkook as your date to your middle school prom. you had thought you read all the signs right, thinking that even if he rejected you, he'd still be nice enough to go with you as a friend. your hopes were completely crushed when he turned you down with zero hesitance, even patronizing you in the process.

the worst part of it all came later, when you were first entering high school. somehow a few of his friends had gotten word of the situation, dubbing you as desperate and obsessed with him. although the rumors died pretty quickly, and you were able to feign indifference to jungkook and everyone else, the seed of hate began to grow in you. little by little, you stopped speaking to jungkook altogether, eventually coming to proudly dislike him. despite minji's constant questioning about your change in demeanor towards her brother, you never told, not wanting any drift to be caused between you and minji, nor her and her brother.

the gradual change in your feelings for jungkook had been so natural that it made sense for him to not remember the source of the current state of your relationship. he had caught on naturally, simply bantering back with you whenever you gave him attitude. it was likely that he believed it all to be lighthearted at first, eventually becoming accustomed enough to it to not question it.

and now you were here, having to explain a stupid childhood heartbreak to the perpetrator of it all as he stared down at you in absolute wonder.

"eighth grade, jungkook. remember?"

he shook his head in confusion, his eyes still wide as his brain wracked itself to remember.

"the dance?"

"the dance? what dan- oh! the- the dance? that's it?"

'that's it'?

he mustve caught the look of annoyance in your face, as he quickly went to retract himself.

"fuck, wait. i didn't mean it like that, just- is that why you hate me? because i said no to you?"

you took a step away from him again, still frustrated, but his arms remained on your shoulders so you would keep looking right at him. it was awkward and extremely uncomfortable considering the context, but you didn't move away.

"it wasn't just that, jungkook," you started, "was it that horrible of a thought to go to the dance with me? i was twelve, you couldve been nicer about it. and to tell your friends about it? i was mocked for weeks after that. and now you wanna act like this is my fault? like ive just been mean to you for no reason?", you scoffed, looking at your feet in favor of not having to look at him.

"wait, who ... who made fun of you? i- i never told anyone what happened. why would i do that?"

"jungkook, stop. taehyung? jimin? they wouldn't stop bringing it up for weeks. it died down after a while, but i was already humiliated."

he shook his head and denial, seemingly at himself. finally letting go of you, he sat back on the bed, look of confusion still on his face before a lightbulb metaphorically manifested itself above his head.

"oh fuck," he muttered, "i- i remember now, but it didn't go down the way you think, okay? let me explain."

you crossed your arms and nodded, signaling for him to continue.

he uncrossed his arms, running them through his hair in a frustrated fashion before he began to explain, oddly passionate as he did so, "i told them right after it happened. i felt so bad for saying no to you, they noticed how down i was about it and asked. i swear i didnt say anything bad. fuck, i never knew they teased you about it, im so sorry," he rambled, "and i didnt- i didnt mean to make you feel bad when i said no. you're my sister's best friend and- and you were so young. i know it doesnt matter anymore, but saying yes felt wrong. it felt like id be taking advantage of you somehow."

"jungkook-"

"if it makes you feel better," he hesitated before continuing, "i, uh, i kinda had a crush on you when we were 17. i- i was going to ask you to my prom, but you picked a fight with me that day and told me to get the fuck out. thats, that's kinda when i started to hate you back," he smiled awkwardly towards the end.

that took you for a bit of a loop. you weren't a heartless asshole. it wasnt like you meant to hurt him through your dislike of him, but rather protect yourself from further rejection. it made you feel bad to know that you'd somewhat done a similar thing to him at some point, even verbally berating him time after time when his intentions hadn't been malicious.

"are you serious?"

"do you really hate me? for what i did, i mean," he interrupted.

did you? for the most part, you had just grown far too used to your animosity with jungkook. due to your own mean behavior towards him, he became equally as rude, creating a vicious cycle of disrespect between the two of you. but did you hate him?

the answer was probably not.

if you did, your heart wouldn't have jumped at the mention of him having had a crush on you back when you were seventeen.

"no, i don't hate you. do you?"

he turned to you, shaking his head, "of course not," he confirmed, "do you wanna start over?", he asked, getting up from the bed and walking over to you.

you couldn't help but chuckle at his sudden proposal. you also couldnt help in nodding in agreement, confirming that yes, you'd be willing to put aside a petty middle school misunderstanding in favor of starting over.

then he opened his arms, gesturing for a hug before asking for permission for one, "hug?"

wordlessly, you accepted the offer of a friendly hug, reasoning that it was only natural considering how touchy he was with everyone other than yourself.

when you went to pull away, his arms tightened around you, head burying itself further into your hair, "just a little longer," he murmured.

with no reason to deny him, you wrapped your arms around him once more, only letting go when he started to slowly pull away.

that's when you made the mistake of looking up at him as he attempted to make himself let go of you.

seemingly, he had made the same mistake, now locking eyes with you at a proximity far too close for two people who hated each other just mere minutes ago. stupidly enough, your eyes predictably went down to his lips, not realizing his own had done the same. the only difference was that he was far more daring than you, allowing his lips to lower down onto yours and envelop them in a soft kiss.

greedy hands dug into your hips before making their way to your waist, holding you as close to him as he could. your own hands wrapped around his shoulders, moving to play with his hair as soon as the kiss turned more heated.

moaning against him, he pulled away for a second, still keeping his lips entirely too close to your own as he breathed through his nose to calm himself down. the following kiss was even more harrowing, causing you to take a step back due to the sheer force of it. he walked you back, pressing you up against the nearest wall as he took advantage of being able to crowd you, allowing his hands to get a feel of your body as you kissed.

despite how pathetically you followed his lips, he still pulled away, throwing his shirt off before going back to kissing you, letting his hands wander underneath your own shirt as he did so. his hands dug deep under your shirt, feeling up your bare breasts and groaning at the lack of bra.

gradually, his lips made their way to your ear and then down your neck, murmuring against your skin.

"fuck, so fucking pretty ... and so needy for me, huh? sound so good moaning for me like that," he breathed against you.

you burned up, embarrassed by how easily he had an effect on you, but you still let him do whatever he wanted, knowing that nothing you did would prevent your body from wanting his touch.

throwing off your shirt, his lips trailed down even further south, latching onto your nipples and groaning into your skin at the way you arched your body, pressing up even closer to him.

but suddenly there was a shift.

jungkook halted his movements, making his way back up to your lips and locking them with his own in a heavy and greedy kiss, resulting in a lack of breath from both of you. against your lips, he whispered something that made your knees buckle.

"i'm gonna pay you back for all those times you were mean to me, baby," his lips moved to your ear, chuckling at your anticipatory shudder, "gonna do whatever i want with this pretty body, yeah?"

nodding pathetically, you gave way for him to do anything he wanted. already drenched, there was no way you could possibly formulate any words that didn't come out as an embarrassing whine. he seemed to enjoy this too, holding a pleased smirk in his face as he easily dragged you over to the bed, pushing off your suitcase and dropping you on it with a bounce.

before you could even think, jungkook had already thrown off his shoes and undone his pants, his hands coming to do the same to you. your shaky hands attempted to help him, but he simply tsk'd at you, letting you know that he'd take care of everything tonight. everything, he emphasized.

"oh, fuck," he groaned once you were fully nude, "this is all mine now, yeah? fuck, been waiting for years for you to stop being a brat and let me have this pretty body all to myself," he kissed your lips between each sentence, "might lose control at how gorgeous and mine it is ..." he murmured as his hands took their rightful place exploring your body.

"kook-" you whined, already wanting him to do something – anything.

"shh, baby," he coo'd, "i'm gonna do whatever i want. and you're gonna take it like a good girl, okay? gonna behave for me for once."

fully crawling on top of you, jungkook went back to making out with you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he began humping against your already soaked cunt.

groaning, he pulled away for a second in favor of nibbling softly at your lip, "oh, this pretty pussy's so fucking soaked already ... thought you hated me, baby, what happened?" he chuckled darkly, giving you no room to answer before shoving his tongue in your mouth.

just as his tongue attempted to suck all air out of you, his hand suddenly snuck between your bodies, finding your cunt with ease and beginning to drag his fingers up and down your folds, not giving you want you needed.

"pretty fucking pussy," he murmured, "gonna play with your clit now, baby. it's gonna cry for me by the time im done."

his fingers found your clit almost immediately, taking turns in rubbing teasing circles over it and hammering in and out of your cunt. he swallowed every single moan, groaning against your lips any time your cries went so high they went straight to his cock.

"that good, pretty? so good that you have to cry for more? oh, baby. you're so lucky this pussy's so fucking cute. lucky i cant control myself around you ..."

"f-faster, please ..."

"faster? oh, like this?", his fingers slowed down drastically, barely stimulating you at all as you cried and clawed at his back, whining for more than he seemed willing to give you.

"n-no! please, just- just wanna cum, kookie. please?"

his fingers curled entirely too well at your cry of his nickname, even making him groan when he felt your own reaction to his fingers. it was clear he liked you crying out for him, so the more you did it, the more of his fingers he gave you, leading you to the verge of an orgasm.

afraid he'd try and deny you just for sadistic means, you cried for him prematurely, begging him to let you cum.

"kookie, p-please, please let me cum, i-i'll do anything. i'll give you anything, just, fuck, please!"

there was not a single care in you about how pathetic and out of character you sounded, not when jungkook's wasnt faring any better at the effect your desperation had on him.

"cum. cum for me, baby. wanna feel that cunt cream around my fingers so i can fill it back up with my own, okay? be good for me and- fuck, and cum ..." as much as he wanted to be in charge and show a dominant side to him, your cunt just kept dragging his fingers back in, making him feel a carnal need to steal your orgasm all for himself and many others after this one.

your hand wrapped around his free wrist, needing it as support as an otherworldly orgasm took over you. back arching and eyes rolling back, you became a sight that jungkook had only ever seen in his most depraved of dreams about you. he was surprised at his cock not bursting upon such an arousing view, making him realize that he needed to fuck you as soon as posible before losing his mind.

despite talking you through your orgasm, jungkook still gave you no time to recover before shoving his tongue in your mouth and grabbing his dick to drag up and down your sensitive folds.

crying against him, you attempted to push him away at first, feeling too sensitive for immediate stimulation, but your body gave up quickly after, melting into the overload of pleasure. tears crowded in your eyes, but your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, needing more of that pressure against your cunt.

taking the hint and far too horny to drag this out any longer, he pushed inside you, groaning against you at the feeling of finally being wrapped around your warmth.

"it's so fucking wet ... oh, fuck. you wanted this so bad, didnt you, baby? fucking soaked and just pulling me in ... it's so- so tight n warm n perfect for me," he babbled, lost in pleasure.

jungkook's hips were restless against yours, an insatiable desire to chase for his pleasure taking over him as the sound of skin slapping made him dizzy. the occasional babble accompanied by a pitiful hiccup that came out of you did not help his situation, making him fear that he might cum before you.

"let- let me just get my finger there- yeah, fuck. just gonna rub that tiny little clit, okay? shit, you just tightened around my cock so fucking good ..." he groaned, thumb circling your clit to accelerate your orgasm.

"g-gonna, fuck, gonna cum ... p-please ... with me? cum with me?" you begged, barely able to get a single coherent word out while jungkook showed no mercy against you.

nodding, he kissed you, promising he'd cum – begging you to cum. counting you down, he whispered against your ear while his hips stuttered messily against your own, now completely overtaken by both yours and his orgasm.

the sounds shared between the two of you were nothing short of shameful, consisting of whines and cries filled with desperation. it was a depraved scene only meant for the two of you to enjoy.

pulling out of you proved to be a challenge, as jungkook would happily remained inside you until his last breath, but the thought of holding you innocently in his arms as you caught your breath was something he did not want to miss out on.

and so he held you against him, crowding your face against his chest so you could lay your head right by his heart.

"that was-"

"yeah," he breathed with a chuckle before turning to you with a boyish smile on his face, "i have a confession to make."

you turned around too, unable to not match his smile, "what is it?"

"i lied earlier. i, uh, i did like you when you were seventeen, but ... i kinda still like you."

it was impossible not to feel your face warm up at this, scrunching up your nose at how cutely he had confessed, "what if i said it was mutual?"

his smile somehow got bigger at that, "then i'd say i'm gonna have to steal you away from my sister," he pulled you into his chest again, enjoying the vibrations of your laugh.

a/n: this was rushed and not proofread sorry</3

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts oneshot #bts scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut

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almostempty · 5 months ago

Text

Never made it as a wise man

(joel miller x f!reader)

Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that.

However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy?

You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic?

Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre

ao3: read here | masterlist: here | part 2 here | part 3 here

Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk

WC: 4.2k

You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift.

Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him.

At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that.

That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories.

The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach.

You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there.

Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked.

Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right?

You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible.

You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway.

After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course!

You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life.

The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench.

You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is.

The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep.

The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right?

You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything.

You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench.

Still, no Joel, however.

You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls.

As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.

The next moment is a blur.

“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone.

You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow.

“What are you doing here?” he barks.

Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run.

He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist.

“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you.

“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face.

But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch.

Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon?

He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks.

“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead.

Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal.

You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic.

“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?”

“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door.

This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it.

You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.

He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken

For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop.

“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face.

You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk.

“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans.

Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues.

His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately.

“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock.

“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts.

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now.

“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core.

He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock.

They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop.

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess. You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one.

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin.

He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor.

Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you.

Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back.

The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer.

You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin.

Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours.

He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief.

He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought.

“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.

“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point.

“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?”

You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”

You snap your legs back shut with a glare.

“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.”

His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked.

“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.”

He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle.

A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat.

“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him.

“You need more?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum.

“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon.

But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.

“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.

“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene.

Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision.

“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.”

“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you.

“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway.

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face.

“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move.

“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door.

When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose.

Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize.

The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display.

You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen:

Joel

Attachment 1 image

part 2 here | part 3 here

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

Please let me know if you enjoyed or hated this or a secret third thing (???) heheh

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #hotdilfsummerchallenge #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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tcmmysheiby · 1 month ago

Text

oh, loverboy - dbf!joel miller

authors note - listen, i love myself some pedro pascal but game!joel?? another level for me, ok. you can picture with either game!joel or show!joel, you do you. i haven't written in five years and i have come out of writing retirement just for this man. pls be kind to me!! any feedback is appreciated, especially as this is my first smut in so long and i'm used to writing about peaky blinders boys! feel free to send me asks, requests, whatever whatever u want

warnings - dbf!joel, afab, reader described as wearing a dress, dry humping, cheating (joel is married!!), joel takes readers underwear, reader is v horny and shameless about it, facesitting/riding (aka reader would kill joel irl), lots of dirty talk, pussy pronouns, brief female masturbation and brief mention of male masturbation, dryer is in the kitchen cause i'm british ok!!!, slight cum play but not really, use of the word slut, joel gets off on having just hair pulled at js, somewhat switch!joel towards the end but maybe not idk, semi-public sex, office sex, age gap (20 years, the rest is down to you)

word count - 8k.

You knew it was wrong to be besotted with your parent’s best friend, especially when he was a married man but how could you resist? Joel Miller did nothing to help your cause.

He was polite, handsome and always walked around like he oozed confidence and could do whatever he wanted and no one would bat an eyelid. His smile was enough to have you clenching your thighs during family meals and your fingers stuffed deep in your pussy the very same night as you dreamed of what else that mouth could do. It was a long, tortuous, heavenly roundabout that you were stuck on and frankly, you didn’t want to get off.

What did you do in a previous life to deserve this? Why couldn’t you have met Joel in another life? A life where Joel and your dad didn’t meet every Saturday night to play card games and drink beer whilst discussing the latest game. A life where your mother and Joel’s wife, Charlotte, didn’t have spa nights and drink cheap fruity wine they got from the local store. You deserved more, you deserved better, you deserved Joel.

You have been so good. You’d resisted him for years. You’d perfected your best, fake smile during every anniversary dinner, congratulated them as they announced the renewal of their vows, you’d helped his wife pick out her wedding dress alongside your mother, you’d done everything you were meant to do. When was it your turn?

“What you thinkin’ bout, girl?”

You dragged your eyes away from the kitchen window and over to Joel who stood in the doorway, halfway to the fridge before he stopped. How long had you been staring out the window at him? You had only come in here to check on your laundry, how long ago was that? Were you going crazy?

“Nothin’, Joel,” you said softly, quickly glancing down at the dryer, only a few minutes left. “You and my dad havin’ a good time?”

You nodded out the window and towards the car that Joel and your dad had been working on for almost six months now, they never seemed to get any further with their latest mechanical mission. On the lawn next to the drive sat your mother and Charlotte, both of them engrossed in conversation as they sipped on lemonade whilst basking in the Austin summer heat. You didn’t hate Charlotte exactly but you envied her and you didn’t know what was worse. You envied her pretty flowery dresses and long curled hair that always look elegant, her fingernails which were always painted a pretty light blue colour and perfectly maintained, envied the fact she slept next to Joel every night and probably didn’t realise how lucky she was. God, maybe you did hate her.

“Be havin’ a damn better time when I don’t have to look at that car again, swear your dad buys the stupidest shit going,” he scoffed before opening the fridge and pulling out two beers, eyeing up the cheap brand your father had purchased. Joel then turned towards you, “Looks like something’s on your mind - “ he paused before the slight graze of a smirk morphed on his luscious face. “Or someone?”

It was your turn to scoff, only yours came out uncomfortably loud. “N’ what’s that meant to mean?”

“C’mon, charmin’ girl like you must have someone by now,” Joel questioned, an eyebrow arched as he stared over at you. Was he moving closer to you? No, it was your imagination. “Not seen ya’ with anyone since that lil boy you had back when you were twenty, what a fool he turned out to be.”

Yeah, a fool indeed. What a waste of time he turned out to be.

“Tell me about it.”

“Nobody then?” Joel was definitely closer. Could your laundry please hurry up?

You took a quick look at him briefly before smiling and shaking your head. You turned back towards the window, your back to him now. “We all ain’t lucky to be loved up like you, Joel. Boys my age, well…”

“What’s wrong with 'em’, sweetheart? That guy turned you off men completely, huh?”

“Well, they just ain’t my type, Mr. Miller…” You trailed off, you hadn’t called him that in many years. “I like men that are a bit older, ya know?”

As soon as you finished your sentence, you felt Joel's presence behind you.

This is what happened between the two of you. Nothing out of turn was ever said but there was a tension, an indescribable sends-you-crazy in the middle of the night, tension. You were adamant it was just you being delusional. You were twenty-years younger than Joel, he would never have any interest in you that way. Plus, your parents were his best friends. Oh, and he was married.

Were you some infatuated young woman who just couldn’t stop fantasising about her dad’s hot best friend? This was more than a fantasy though, this had been going on years. You’d spent endless nights with your hand tucked in between your thighs as you thought dirty things about him. Had mastered every excuse going as to why you couldn’t attend any of the Miller’s functions that Charlotte insisted on throwing.

“Older?” Joel leaned across you to grab the bottle opener. Of all the places for your father to have left it, why did you have to be in front of it? You got a whiff of his aftershave and almost fell to your knees there. “What makes you like older men so much, huh?”

“Just somethin’ about them, somethin’ special, somethin’ that makes me feel a lil’ bit naughty, you know?” What were you doing? Words came out of your mouth before you could even process what you were going to say. Joel being behind you, his arm brushing past your waist as he brought the bottle opener towards him. It was all too much, you couldn’t stop rambling but he looked so good, black t-shirt so tight and jeans fitting in all the right places. Did she tell him how good he looked all the time? “They got more experience, more knowledge, and know how to treat a lady right. Boys my age, they don’t know what they doin’. Boys at college showed me that, that’s why i’m wantin’ an older man, ya know? Want someone who ain’t gonna mess me around or throw me to side when someone prettier comes along.”

“These city boys stupid if they throwin’ you to the side baby,” Joel purred, his breath hot on your neck. He looked down at you from where he stood, trying his hardest not to stare down your shirt. You always made it so difficult for him. “You have many boys in college?”

Joel moved to your side and faced away from the window. He stared straight ahead as he placed one of the beer bottles down and brought the other to his lips. You stared directly at his wife as you tried not to imagine her husband bending you over the counter, dropping to his knees and using his mouth to eat your pussy from the back. She had no idea as she giggled alongside your mother, had no idea of the thoughts that had ruined your brain since hormones came to play.

“They wanted me, I didn’t always give them the same attention back.”

You took a step back at the sound of the dryer beeping, finally. You grabbed the washing basket you had discarded to the side and lowered yourself to both knees as you emptied your load of dry, clean washing into it. Maybe this wasn’t the best position to be in considering you only had to glance slightly to your right and make eye contact with Joel’s bulge. You weren't straining your back for no-one though.

You felt your heart drop as Joel crouched down to your level besides you. The two of you were no longer in view of the window, nor the front door if anyone was to walk in. This felt wildly inappropriate, you loved it. You just silently prayed that Joel felt the same gravitational pull as you did.

It all seemed different. You’d had these conversations before, sometimes there had been flirtatious comments but Joel was a tease, could flirt with a lamp post if he really tried hard enough. There was something about the way he was looking at you now, almost as if there was resistance there. Like he was trying to resist you.

“Older men won’t always treat you well,” he rasped, training his eyes to stay level with yours and not fall below your neckline. Your little white tank top doing nothing to hide your chest, it seemed you had skipped wearing anything underneath. Such a tease, he thought. “Young pretty thing like you wanting a bit of them? C’mon now, you can’t handle no-one your own age, let alone someone twenty years older than you.”

There was a taunting smile on his face. Your heart began to thump under the thin material of your vest as you looked at him, not paying attention to the clothing in your hands. His head tilted to the side slightly as he eyed you up, waiting for you to respond.

“You are twenty years older than me,” you whispered out loud before you could stop yourself. “Do you think I couldn’t handle ya?”

Joel shook his head and sniggered slightly. “I know you couldn’t handle me baby, ain’t no shame in that.”

“Why don’t you give me the chance to prove you - “

“I’ll have these.” The words were spoken and an item of clothing was stolen from your hands before you could finish your sentence . You suddenly felt tiny as Joel stood up. You looked up at him, eyes wide and mouth open as you watched him hold your pink, lace panties in his hand. “I’d prefer them used but this will do.” You kneeled with your mouth open, unable to make any argument back. Joel looked down at you before he bent over slightly to grab your jaw. You whimpered pathetically at the action and a wide shit-eating grin was on Joel’s within seconds of you making the sound. “Goodbye sweet girl.”

“Joel - “

“Goodbye sweet girl,” he repeated sternly, his eyes lingering on yours as he stood up straight and walked out of the kitchen, your panties stuffed in his back pocket and both bottles of beer in his hands.

----

You were a fool. A big fool.

As soon as Joel had gone, you were running upstairs into your room where you slammed the door shut and threw yourself down on the bed. It had never gone that far before. He’d taken your panties - your favourite but you’d let that slide. Your mind was clogged with thoughts of him with your panties wrapped around his cock as he edged himself over and over again. His hand pressed against the locked door of the bathroom he shared with his wife. He wouldn’t be thinking about her though, no, his mind would be flooded with filthy images of you doing the stuff his wife wouldn’t do for him, you bent over wherever he wanted, his cock stuffed wherever he wanted, your mouth wide open and pussy sopping for him. You wanted them back, covered in his cum and filth, his scent embedded in the material. He was making you feral, the panties you were currently wearing already so soaked.

He wanted them used? Well, he’d get them used.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, your right index and middle finger slowly massaging your clit.

It was the same routine almost nightly. The moment your fingers touched your clit, dirty thoughts of Joel would arise in your brain. You wanted every inch of him, wanted his fingers rubbing delicate circles on your clit rather than your own, wanted his tongue lapping you up as he slowly slipped his large fingers inside of you, slowly but surely bringing you to the edge over and over and over again.

You felt restricted by the panties you were wearing but you needed them soaked. Needed Joel to have one smell of the fabric and go mad with lust, unable to control himself to the point he tugs his cock out wherever he is and strokes and strokes until he’s coming so hard that the only thing he can purr is your name over and over again. You were so mad for this man, you needed him to be the same back.

This is what you were put on this planet for. You were made to make Joel miller go crazy at the scent of a younger woman.

You rubbed your clit harder as you arched your back, mumbling his name repeatedly until it was the only thing you could do. Your legs spread wider as your eyes fluttered open and shut, the room blurring as you felt the pressure grow in your lower abdomen.

You always came quick when you thought of Joel but this, this was humiliating.

As your orgasm washed through you, all you could do was concentrate on Joel’s voice. I know you couldn’t handle me, baby. You could, you knew you could. You could hear the disgustingly beautiful words that he would speak to you as he thrusted his cock in and out of you, the delicious stretch as he split you open and opened your legs wider than you ever could yourself.

“Oh fuck, Joel, Joel - “ you stuttered shakily, your orgasm sending shockwaves through your body. You tightened your legs around your hand that was still rubbing your clit and your back arched off the bed, the sound of his name on the tip of your tongue as you slowly came down.

You needed him. You were going to have him.

You spent the next few moments trying to gather your thoughts and talk yourself out of making a bad decision. This could ruin your life and your relationship with your parents but most importantly, it could ruin everything with Joel. Not just the sexual stuff either. Being able to have someone to call in the middle of the night when you were stranded at a party and too frightened to call your mother, the memory of having your first sip of alcohol with Joel when you were eighteen, the way that he would smile sweetly to you whenever he saw you unloading groceries from your mothers car. It would all be ruined, gone. A new, uncertain, dangerous territory would arise and you would be stuck there, unable to go back on what you have done. But you wanted this more than anything, had dreamed about this endless time. If you could only have him for one night, then one night it would be.

Before you could talk yourself out of anything, you jumped off the bed and ignored the pulsing feeling in your pussy. You reached over to the freshly washed laundry and grabbed a hoodie and a pair of leggings. As tempting as it was to walk down the stairs in nothing but your soaked underwear and an oversized t-shirt, have Joel peel them from your body before taking you over to the dining room table and fucking you, you had to have some class about you.

The sound of your parents and Charlotte could be heard from your bedroom, they must have come in at some point but you were sure they hadn’t heard you. You listened out for Joel’s voice or laughter but heard nothing.. A part of you hoped he’d rushed off home to fuck himself with your panties. You bounded down the stairs with a skip in your step, excited for what was to come.

“Where’s Joel?” you asked as you came into the kitchen, voice laced with fake innocence as you smiled sweetly at the three of them around the dining room table. Your used panties hidden in the pocket of your hoodie.

“Garage,” Charlotte answered. “Everything okay? Anything I can help you with?”

Absolutely not.

“Yeah, I just need to ask him something about Sarah.”

“Before you go,” your mother started, stopping you as you made a rush for the front door. She showed you her laptop screen, a stunning spa resort on the screen. Nice. “Me and Charlotte were thinking about booking a weekend away at the end of summer, are you interested in coming?”

“You really should,” Charlotte answered, not giving you a chance to oppose the situation. “I could always see if Sarah is free to come along with us so you’re not stuck with us the whole time.”

You shrugged your shoulders and glanced towards the garage door through the kitchen window. Could you really be in close proximity to Charlotte for a full weekend? Especially considering what you were about to do.

“I’ll think about it,” you answered with a smile, hoping it would be enough to satisfy them. “Anyways, bye.”

You rushed out the front door and over to the garage before they could say anything else. As you reached the door, you caught a glimpse of Joel around the corner, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him. He was so pretty, years of labour engrained on his face but he wore it so well. His hair was messy after spending hours running his fingers through it, most likely at annoyance towards your father for buying another car that didn’t run. His beard was unruly and all you could picture was the feeling of the coarse hair running along the inside of your thighs and leaving red marks in its wake.

You coughed loudly and caught his attention. He turned around slowly, already trying to fight an erection at the sight of you and a seductive smile. “I want my panties back, Joel,” you began. You wanted to move closer, run your hand up his chest and grab the curls at the back of his neck but you maintain your dignity, for now. “They’re my favourite pair.”

Joel tutted and shook his head.“Not happenin’, darlin. They are mine now.” He threw the rag he had in his hand on the work bench behind him, eyes not leaving yours for even the briefest of seconds.

“But what if I give you something better?” You slowly stalked over to Joel and pressed your body up close towards him and fought the urge to not stare up at him. “Somethin’ so much better.”

Joel watched with hooded eyes as you reached in between your bodies, your hand accidentally grazing his lower belly. He took in a deep breath and clenched his fists. He was struggling as much as you and you loved every moment.

“You filthy girl,” Joel chuckled darkly, the sight of your panties having his cock rock hard against the rough denim material of his jeans. He was fucked. He took them from your hand and admired them with a glimmer of humour in his eyes but there was something darker there, almost worrying. He fondled with the material, his rough finger moving along the crotch and he audibly moaned when he felt the wetness. “These are still wet, baby. What you been doin’ up those stairs, huh?”

You tilted your head to the side and grinned. “You wanna’ know?” You asked, so sweet and sexy that the way you spoke went straight to Joel’s cock. You ran your hand up Joel’s chest and over his neck before pressing the two fingers you’d used to get yourself off against his plump lips. “You can have a taste if you wanna’.”

“Pretty girl - “ he purred, unable to finish his sentence as you pressed your fingers into his mouth. “Dirty girl,” he finished, his mouth enclosing around your fingers as he took in the faint taste of your previous orgasm. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you in place whilst he stared down at you with a fire in his eyes that you’d never seen before. He popped your fingers out of his mouth, “Always knew you were a fuckin’ slut for me.”

You stood up on your tippy-toes as you attempted to capture Joel’s mouth with your own but he pushed you back, enough to make you stumble back into the bonnet of the car that Joel and your father had been working on.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered, sounding more pathetic than you normally did when you were around him - you wanted something to happen when you passed him your wet panties but this, well this was something else. You watched him as he walked over to you, an internal battle playing out in his head but he knew which side of him would win. You reached out for him as he got closer but he gently slapped your hands away. “I’m not a slut, i - “

“Ya think I don’t notice the way you suddenly become a slut whenever I’m around? How I’ll walk into your house and you’ll be dressed in jeans and a shirt and within five minutes, suddenly you’ve got on them lil’ pyjama shorts with the frills on the bottom and an even littler tank top that you should be fuckin’ ashamed to be wearing around your parents,” he spat. He stood directly in front of you, one large hand reaching out to lay flat against your stomach as he pushed you further against the bonnet until you were practically laid flat against it, your elbows the only thing keeping you slightly sat up. “But you ain’t ashamed. You fuckin’ love it. Love knowing that my cock’s damn near bustin’ out my jeans all night, don’t ya?”

“I didn’t know, Joel - “ You knew.

“Didn’t know? See, you’re a liar as well as fuckin’ slut. You think you deserve my cock?”

“Yes, please,” you moaned loudly without any shame. No concern for the three people not that fat from you. You were fucked if anyone was to come into the garden. Due to the placement of the work bench, you were thankfully out of sight of the house.

“Why?” he asked, his hand running up and down your stomach delicately.

“I’ve been so patient, Joel. It’s been torture, knowin’ you going back to her and fuckin’ her when it should be me you fuckin’,” you cried out, your eyes watering with desperation. “Don’t you think I deserve ya cock? I’ve been good, I promise. I gave ya’ my used panties. Made myself come whilst wearin’ them, just for you, thought of you, I promise.”

Before you could begin to process your actions, you grabbed Joel’s hand and moved it further down so it was situated in between your thighs. You had ‘forgotten’ panties and with your previous encounter with Joel, your orgasm and this current situation, you were dripping all the way down to the seam of your leggings.

“Can you feel it, Joel?” you asked, voice soft and quiet. “Can ya’ feel how wet I am for you?”

Joel moaned lowly as he slowly moved his fingers along your clothed pussy, the material from the leggings adding an extra layer of pleasure. You were already so sensitive still from your previous orgasm but you weren't going to back out of this.

“I feel it, baby,” he grunted. “Fuck, ya’ so beautiful, so wet, I ain’t got no choice but to fuck ya’, have I?” Removing his hand, Joel placed both of his hands on each side of your inner thigh and split your legs apart so you were fully spread out for him. The action caused you to fall flat onto your back and you attempted to open your legs even wider for him. “That’s it, good girl.”

Joel took one large step until he was situated between your thighs. His hands reached up to grab your waist and he moved your body down until you were pressed against his bulge, his hard cock pressing directly onto your clothed pussy. His hands tightened around you as he slowly rubbed his cock against you, his eyes fluttering shut with ecstasy.

Joel felt so wrong. If someone was to walk into the garage and see the scene in front of them then Joel would be leaving yours with a black eye but how was he able to resist such a beautiful woman who was equally as desperate as him? He’d tried so hard to resist you, spent the last few years trying to purposely avoid you but there were times when he couldn’t, and he couldn’t even count the amount of times on one hand that he had to rush off to your parent’s bathroom and stroke his cock until he finally saw sense. This was his best friend's daughter, this was you. Not some random girl in a club that just wanted a quick fuck. This was quiet, pretty, sweet you. He didn’t even want to think about his wife who was blissfully unaware of his sinful thoughts, especially didn’t want to think about her when your hips were moving and creating more pressure on his cock.

“Want more, Joel,” you whispered, eyes shut as you continued to grind along his cock. You definitely looked a mess but Joel didn’t seem to care, not when his hands left your waist and he let you take control. “Cock feels so big, bet it feels even bigger deep inside of me.”

Within seconds, you were flung around so you were now bent over the bonnet, your legs dangling over the edge. Joel’s hands were on your waist again as dragged you back so your back was perfectly arched for him and arse up in the air for him to admire. His cock pressed against you as he shamelessly rutted his hips into you, allowing the sensation to go straight to his cock - and head.

“Pretty fuckin girl’, told you earlier that you wouldn’t be able to handle my cock,” he moaned, one hand moving down to squeeze the flesh of your ass. There was nothing delicate about the touch, you didn’t mind. “But like I said, gonna have to fuck ya’, aren’t I? Wouldn't be fair of me to let you carry on like this, so desperate and horny for an old man’s cock that you gotta’ stuff your fingers inside your pussy every goddamn time I’ve been in the same room as ya’.”

You’ve never seen Joel this desperate, all fury and hormones as he rubbed himself against your ass, almost as if you weren't there. You could do nothing but grind your hips up against him, waiting and anticipating and his animalistic nature took over. He messily fucked his cock against you, whispering sweet nothings out loud as the usual authoritative Joel slips away. His eyebrows dipped as his orgasm approached and suddenly, he felt like an eighteen year old boy again. He was no better than those college boys you bitched about. He wasn’t going to come in his pants at the feeling of your ass pressed against his cock and he certainly wasn’t going to sit next to his wife on the drive home and pretend that he didn’t just get himself off using your body.

“No, no, no, where you goin’, Joel?” you whimpered as you felt the loss of his body against yours. You turned your head around and reached for him, only for him to shake his head as a warning. If you touched him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Want you to come, need you to come, please, I’m so desperate, please. Can fuck my throat, please - “

“Shut up,” Joel snapped, taking a few steps back as he eyed you down like you were his prey. “If I only get to fuck you once, then it ain’t being like this, you understand? Plus baby, your parent’s are in the house, my fuckin’ wife is in the house. Need to be careful if we gonna’ do this, shouldn’t even be doin’ it but fuck, you right girl, you waited long enough, ain’t ya’?”

You nodded pathetically as you stood up straight. “So long.” You were no longer the woman that walked into the garage and made Joel suck on her fingers. You were weak, desperate and a horny pathetic mess. Frankly, you didn’t care slightly about the people inside the house, not when you could see how hard his cock was.

“I need to go by my office tonight and pick up some paperwork.” Joel stated, not looking anywhere else but at you. His cock was throbbing in his briefs, begging to be released and forced inside your tight, warm pussy but Joel needed to wait. He couldn’t do this here - couldn’t risk his wife or your parent’s walking in despite how badly he wanted to bend you over the stupid car. “You’ll be there, won’t ya’?”

Again, you nodded pathetically. “I’ll be there.”

“Wear a pretty dress, or skirt, yeah?” The sound of Charlotte's voice reached both of you at the same time and you took note of the way Joel grimaced - he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. He was already counting down the hours until he could help you get over your need for his cock. “No panties either and I’m keeping these.”

----

When you had woken up that morning, you hadn’t expected that this is where you would be but here you were, standing outside Joel’s office feeling like nothing but an idiot. You looked down at the dress you’d put on just for him, a pretty pink off-the-shoulder flowery summer dress, you looked cute, irresistible.

You stepped inside, knowing the way to go from your previous visits with your father. Those times had been innocent, you’d sat in Joel’s office whilst him and your dad discussed whatever business they needed to talk about. This time was different. You felt so anxious as you approached the office door - not bothering to knock as it was already slightly open. You had a plan to open the door slowly and say something that would have him dragging you over to the desk but you didn’t get a chance. Before you could say anything, his voice was ringing through the room.

“Take your dress off for me.”

You stood still in the doorway to his shared office with Tommy as silence occupied the room you were in. Not even a hello, straight to the point. Joel faced away from you as he flicked through some paperwork that was untidily placed over the desk, could he feel how desperate you were for him?

“What if I say no?” you fire back, your tone of voice playful.

Despite your voice showing some confidence, you could feel yourself getting smaller under the harsh gaze of Joel as he turned back to look at you briefly. The glance only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to let you know he wasn’t down to play your games anymore. Joel turned back towards the paperwork and sighed loudly enough for you to hear it from the other side of the room. Was his cock aching at the thought of having you?

“Ya’ think you’re so cute, don’t you?” Joel asked rhetorically. “Did you listen to what I said earlier on? Did you wear your panties or nah?”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I listened to what you said, Joel. Behaved myself. I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress.”

“So do as you're told and take that dress off before I have to come over there and do something about it, understood?” Tempting. You watched as Joel strolled casually over to a sofa besides his desk. He looked at you properly for the first time and his cock hardened at the sight of you. “We shouldn’t be doing this, you know that.”

“I know,” you said softly with a shrug of your shoulders. “But I kinda’ don’t care.”

Joel stifled a laugh. “Me neither, baby.” He raised one eyebrow and nodded towards your dress, encouraging you to finally free yourself of the loose clothing which felt like it was stuck to your body.

Standing at a distance from Joel, you allowed the dress to slip from your body until it fell lightly to the floor. You were completely naked for him, body bare and on show. Goosebumps arose on your skin as you watched him take every inch of you in, his eyes slowly trailing over your collarbones, down to your breasts where the nipples had peaked due to the cool air, down your soft belly which was gagging to be covered in his kisses, and finally your pussy. If he was any closer, he would be able to see the glistening in between your legs.

“You think she’s ready for me?”

“She?” you asked with a confused expression etched onto your face.

“Your pussy, baby,” Joel cooed, his voice soft and loving. “God, you can be so innocent when you wanna’ be. Come over here, wanna see all of you.”

You gulped as you walked over to him slowly, suddenly feeling anxious at the feeling of his eyes roaming over your body. He looked so hungry for you with his right hand rubbing against the growing bulge in his jeans. So pretty, you thought to yourself.

When you finally stood in front of him, you looked everywhere but down at the fact that had ruined your dreams since you could remember. Maybe this was wrong but it felt so right at the moment.

“I can see she’s ready, she’s so wet for me already,” Joel said, his large palms coming to lay on the back of your thighs. You shuffled forward slightly until his face was in direct view with your soft belly. Joel leaned slightly forward and placed one chaste kiss directly above your belly button. As you looked down, Joel looked up and the two of you were silent for a brief moment, just staring at each other and waiting for one to back out but when neither of you spoke out against what you were about to do, Joel continued on. “When we got this office, Tommy brought some dumb shit for it. Told him we’d never need a sofa in here but I’m starting to think that maybe it wasn’t a bad purchase at all.”

“Why’s that, Joel?”

“Because imma’ eat your pussy on it.” He said the words so casually that you almost fell to your knees there. “Bet you’d look so pretty with your thighs on either side of my face.”

“Joel,” you hummed, hands automatically coming out to thread in his thick hair. A soft moan came through Joel at the action.

“What do you want, pretty girl?”

“Please.”

Joel gracefully pulled you down so you were straddling his lap, his large hands roaming along the skin on your back as he admired you. “So beautiful,” he mumbled, mouth pressed along the base of your neck. “Wanna mark you up so bad. Fuck if you were ten years older, not my bestfriends daughter and I weren’t married, I’d do such bad things to you, fuck you full of my cum till I was leaking outta’ ya’ for days.”

“Can’t, I wish you could, more than you’ll ever know,” you whined, fingers gripping his head as the flurry of kisses along your neck went straight to the fire in your loins. “But you can do what ya’ said before.”

“Tell me what you want me to do, wanna’ hear them dirty words come from that sweet mouth of yours.”

“Want you to eat my pussy, Joel. Please.”

Joel grunted before taking a hold of your body and shuffling you around on the sofa until he was laid flat and you were straddling his waist. Joel looked as desperate as you as he thrusted his hips up, shuffling you slightly along his body.

“Come on then, I’m waiting for her. Been waitin’ on her for far too long.”

Joel grinned widely, excited at the prospect of having his best friend's daughter come all over his tongue. Joel was obviously lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about this before but they were just taboo thoughts that he had, nothing serious, everyone fantasised, right? He almost felt ashamed when he left your parents house only hours before, cock still hard and leaking in his boxers as he pictured you spread across your fathers car. He tried to make conversation with Charlotte on the way back home but it was physically impossible, his mind clouded with the memory of you bent over your dads precious project with your ass in the air, basically inviting him in. But he felt no shame now. Not with you, straddling him and looking down at him with an anxious, but compliant, smile on your face - he was completely and utterly fucked.

“Happily, Mr. Miller.”

You sensually moved your body further up his, pausing briefly to place your thumb against Joel’s mouth. You dragged his bottom lip down as you smiled down at him sweetly, the memories of your fingers in Joel’s mouth as he sucked them clean had you throbbing onto his t-shirt, sure to leave a stain in its wake. Before you could go any further, Joel gently wrapped a hand around your wrist.

“Up here, now. You know what to do, doll.”

Smiling, you placed both of your hands against the arm of the sofa that was behind Joel’s head and lifted your body up so that you could move until you were hovering above his face. You’d never done this before. Sure, you’d had someone go down on you but never like this, never so intimate and never whilst you had been this wet. Joel was in no rush though as you hesitated above him. He would never force you to do anything that you didn’t want to do and he understood that you were most likely nervous - you was fucking your father’s best friend after all. The sight he had wasn’t too bad either, your pussy soaking and dripping just for him. So close to his mouth. After some hesitation, Joel came to the conclusion that he couldn’t look at your sweet cunt for any longer and do nothing about it.

Both of his strong hands gripped onto your thighs as he brought you down to his face and delved in, a moan coming from both of you as his tongue immediately started to lick along your clit in a teasing manner. You lurched forward at the sensation, your hands gripping onto the sofa with a tighter grip.

“Oh, that feels so good,” you cried out, one hand leaving the sofa to grab his locks. “Don’t stop, please, please don’t stop.”

Joel wrapped his mouth around your clit as he gently moved his head from side-to-side, he would keep you on top of his face for the rest of his life if it was possible. You looked down at the sight of him, so beautiful and sensual that you couldn’t help but moan just from that. Your thighs squeezed against the side of his face as you felt yourself relax into him, allowing yourself the chance to roll your hips and meet the stroke of his tongue. His hands grabbed both of your thighs as a sign of encouragement.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he purred before placing small flicks against your clits, starting slowly but becoming more distressed as your moans became louder and more frequent. “She’s so fuckin pretty, girl. Such a pretty pussy, so wet and all for me.”

“For you, Joel,” you breathed out as your eyes squeezed shut and you stuttered forwards. Joel’s actions were becoming more ferocious on your cunt, his tongue having no limits as he continuously brought you to the edge.

You could barely speak, only the filthiest of moans coming from your timid body as you continued to grind along Joel’s face. Worries about harming him were gone, all you could focus on was the unmeasurable amount of pleasure that he was bringing you. If his tongue alone could do this, what could his cock do?

Joel didn’t need to hear you speak though. The moans and whimpers that blessed his ears was enough to tell him everything that he needed to know. You were gone when it came to him, would allow him to do whatever he wanted and just the feel of his cock against your ass and his tongue on your clit had done that to you. He wanted to ruin you so bad it almost hurt him.

As you looked down at Joel again, your eyes flickering open for the briefest of moments, you noticed the cockiness that glimmered behind his eyes.

“I’d do this every day of my life if I could,” he said as he lifted you up briefly. You whimpered at the loss of contact but also at the sight of him. His face glistened with your wetness, his beard drenched and lips swollen as he stared up at you. Darkness had clouded his eyes.

You can. You can. You can. You wanted to scream at him. But he couldn’t. He was married.

“Just shut up,” you mewled before reaching down, grabbing his hair and planting yourself firmly on his face. An animalistic growl came from Joel as he returned his heavenly lips to your core. His moans and whimpers vibrated against your clit as you tugged harder on his hair with every action of his tongue.

You found a rhythm that had Joel’s eyes slightly widening but he didn’t once stop as you rode his face, his tongue and lips drinking in every drop you released. His tongue went from moving leisurely swirls along your clit to rough, mixing the rhythm up and having you yearning for more.

His cock was so hard it was painful. He wanted nothing more but to flip you over and fuck you from the back, have you keening and arching your back for him as you screamed his name over and over again, legs shaking and orgasm so strong you black out but he needed this just as much. Wanted to have you flood his mouth with your arousal, he needed to struggle to breath as you put all your weight on his face and took what you needed, deserved.

Your head was thrown back as you chanted his name like a prayer, your voice becoming embarrassingly higher. Small flicks that he left against your clit were becoming more distressed and the thrust of your hips was almost making it hard for Joel to breath but he would die happily if it meant dying in between your legs with his tongue pressing against your enterance.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered out loud, your cunt clenching around his tongue as he behaved like a frenzied woman between your thighs. His tongue was everywhere all at once and you could feel yourself start to build up, the excitement of the release making you tug on his hair harder as fucked yourself harder on his face.

Joel pulled back for air, his breath laboured and eyes glossy. He gave himself a few seconds to collect himself as you made stared at each other, both so fucked out your brains it was ridiculous.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl? Gonna coat my face?” Joel asked, his words broken up due to being unable to tear his mouth away from your clit for more than a few seconds. “Answer me baby, tell me how good I’m making you feel - “ Joel cut himself off with a long, drawn-out moan as your hands returned back to his hair. “Keep tugging my hair.”

Tugging harder and putting most of your weight onto Joel’s face was the only response you could give him. Your moans and whimpers matched Joel’s as he continued his tortuous assault on your cunt and you weaved your fingers throughout his hair, your fingernails digging slightly into his scalp causing a delicious burn.

The burn in your lower stomach grew stronger with every movement of Joel’s tongue and your legs started to shake around his head. “Come, pretty girl,” he growled against your clit. “Come so hard on my tongue I can taste you for days.”

You dissolved into pleasure as you felt your orgasm rush through your body, every part of you in utter bliss as lowly moaned out Joel’s name. His own cries of pleasures were adding to the orgasm, the vibrations rippling through you. His hands grabbed you tighter as he held you down, surely not able to breathe but frankly, not caring in the slightest. This was heaven to him. Being able to feel your thighs shake and stutter, your whole body clench up and the taste of your wetness gushing out of you and onto his tongue, drinking up every inch of you like he was a man dying - he was done for. This was perfection. This is what he had been craving for so long.

It felt as if everything had stopped as you gently moved your cunt across his mouth, the last of your orgasm sizzling out. You attempted to move off Joel and give him a chance to catch a breath but he pulled you back down, using his tongue to clean up the evidence of your orgasm. It was only when the pleasure became too much that you pulled him back with another pull of his hair, earning an almost silent whimper from him.

“You did so well, baby,” he whispered as he moved you down to his lap and sat himself up. Joel’s hand moved to your face as he brushed some of the hair out of the way. You looked so good, so blissful and angelic. He looked even better though, completely fucked out as he tried to labour his breathing.

You nodded slowly and pressed your forehead against his. “So good. Thank you, thank you so much.”

Joel gulped and hesitated before speaking, “We can do this again,” he started, ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to shut up. This was so wildly inappropriate but how was he meant to resist you after you’d just sat on his face and ridden him to high heavens? His heart clenched at the hopeful smile on your face. “Our secret though, baby. Can’t tell no-one, ya’ get that?”

“Our secret.” You leaned back on Joel’s lap, expecting to feel his hard cock pressing into your sensitive core but instead, you just felt his soft bulge and a hint of disappointment hit you. “You not get hard for me, Joel?” you asked sadly.

There was a devilish smile on his face as he watched you shuffle back until you rested on his lower thighs, your eyebrows pressed together. You undid the buttons of his jeans and slid your hand inside of his briefs so you could cup his bulge - he had wanted you so bad before, what had happened?

Joel continued to watch you with a smile as your mouth formed into the perfect ‘o’ shape at the realisation of what had happened.

“For me?” you asked sweetly as you removed your hand from Joel’s boxers, the remnants of his come on your finger tips.

“For you,” he answered with a faint blush to his cheeks. “Made me come untouched, girl. All from those pretty fuckin’ hands of yours in my hair and the way you rode my face…” he trailed off and grabbed your ass, pulling you against him. “Suck ya’fingers baby, taste me.”

You did as told, maintaining eye contact as you slipped your digits into your mouth and tasted him on your tongue. Fuck, he was delicious.

“Funny,” you moaned around your fingers before letting them pop out your mouth. You leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of Joel’s mouth, ignoring his look of confusion. “Told me I couldn’t handle an older man but it looks to me like you can’t handle a bit of younger pussy.”

Joel chuckled as his fingers started to trail along the inside of your thigh. “I’m not finished with you yet, darlin’. Fuck, I ain’t even started yet.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us smut #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #ok imma go eat my lasagna now

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radioactiveparker · 7 months ago

Text

A Proposition To Make Amends - Steddie X Fem!Reader (Smut)

Summary - Your boyfriend Steve does whatever it takes for you to get along with his best friend.

Warnings - Strong Language / Use of Y/N / Alcohol / Mentions of Drunk Driving / Threesome / Rough / Unprotected Sex / Spanking / Dry Humping / Riding / Daddy Kink / Praise Kink / Spitting / Choking / Oral (M & F Receiving) / Spit Roasting / Multiple Orgasms / Multiple Creampies / Cum Play / Cum Eating / Subspace

Word Count - 5.6k

A/N - Inspired by that one audio I was never able to find again :'(

~~~~~

You hid your fatigue behind a big cheesy smile as you and Steve bid the last of your guests goodbye and good night, waving at them from the front door of your home as they drove off down the road. The second the door shut, you relaxed your sore cheeks with a liberated sigh. Steve chuckled, pulling you in for a much needed hug. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in as close as he could. You pressed your lips to his out of habit.

Despite the many years that you and Steve had been together, you still got butterflies every time you kissed. It was like there was a button on your lips that only Steve could activate that shot a rush of adrenaline through your body. It was only meant to be a quick peck on the lips, but you couldn't seem to pull away. Your lips melded together like fluffy marshmallows in a freshly brewed hot chocolate. His tongue was warm sugar, sweet and addicting, making your eyes roll back under closed lids. You moaned gently into his mouth, clasping your hands behind his neck and playing with his soft hair. It was his turn to moan when you gave it a gentle tug, feeling his half hard on beginning to grow against your hip.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The two of you pulled back abruptly. Eddie stood before you, trying to take another sip of his beer through a smirk. In all honesty, you thought that Eddie had left already, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking. You were ready to kick him out so that you and Steve could continue where you had left off.

"Yes, you are." You snapped bitterly.

"You leaving?" Steve asked, clasping his hand in Eddie's and giving him a side hug.

"Yeah, the boys want to get band practice in early tomorrow."

"Good luck with it, man." Steve patted him on the back and opened the door for him. He froze when he noticed Eddie's van in the driveway. "Wait, you're not driving, are you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Dude, you've been drinking."

"Only like three beers." Eddie brushed him off, using a strong arm to push his empty beer bottle into Steve's hand. "I'll be fine it's like a ten minute drive."

"No way, man. I'm not having you driving under the influence. Why don't you just stay the night?"

You diverted your gaze from Eddie's arms, suddenly catching yourself staring at his muscles in his tank top. "Or he could just call a cab?" You chimed in. The last thing you wanted right now was Eddie here. Especially when Steve had got you all hot and bothered.

"He's got no chance of getting a cab this late. C'mon babe, it's just one night."

But it wasn't just one night. You couldn't seem to get rid of Eddie lately. He was always hanging out at your place or asking Steve to go down to the Hideout to watch his band play (which he would always drag you along to despite your protests) or calling him up to talk for hours. You knew they were best friends, but you didn't even see your girl-friends that much. If it was anyone else, you probably wouldn't have minded. But Eddie annoyed you to no end. He was always loud and such a slob, always talking about the girls he's hooked up with and the music that nobody but him liked. You honestly didn't know how Steve could stand the guy.

"But Steve..." You tried to tell him through your eyes the words you couldn't say out loud. Not with Eddie there.

I want you to dick me down until I can't walk.

"Please babe," he clearly didn't get the message, "for me?"

He could be so oblivious when he wanted to be.

You rolled your eyes with a reluctant sigh, not being able to resist his big brown puppy dog eyes. "Fine, but he's taking the couch."

He shut the door and grabbed your face to force you into an appreciative kiss that went straight to your core. You loved it when he got rough.

"No man, really, it's fine." Eddie tried to persuade. "I can drive."

The truth was, Eddie didn't like you either. He had been friends with Steve first, but then you came along and ruined what they had going. Suddenly Steve was too busy to go to Hellfire night, he couldn't watch his band practice. Heck, he couldn't even make the time to go get ice cream together. And you were far too clingy. Every time he invited just Steve to the hideout, you were always there with him to ruin Eddie's mood. And always wearing those skimpy little outfits that left nothing to the imagination.

Not that he was imagining you.

"No, Eddie, you heard the lady, you're staying." Steve guided Eddie back into the house.

He turned to you, trying not to smile at how cute you looked when you were annoyed and pressed a loving kiss to your lips in an attempt to subdue it. "Why don't you go get changed while me and Eddie clear this mess up."

You agreed, only if it meant that you got another kiss from him. He chuckled against your lips before giving your ass a playful smack when you turned and headed for the bedroom.

"Is that why you wanted me to stay? So I could help you clean up?" Eddie teased walking through your open plan living room and into the kitchen to grab a garbage bag.

Steve held his hands up in defence. "You got me, man."

They shared a laugh before beginning to clean. You and Steve had planned a little get-together for all of your friends. You found it so hard nowadays to all be together like you used to, so everyone managed to free up a weekend and spend it together. Even the kids had managed to come down from college to see you. It was one of the best nights you had had in a while, catching up, eating pizza, drinking beer, and watching movies. It had felt like nothing had changed.

You managed to reminisce about the night as you swapped your party clothes for your pyjamas. With the summer heat easing its way in, it was difficult to wear anything more than a pair of shorts and a tank top. You even had to ditch the bra because the heat was making you itch.

You grabbed your used clothes and made your way downstairs to put them in the laundry room, deciding to do the washing tomorrow. With an overheated sigh, you headed for the kitchen to find some way to cool off. You passed the boys on the way as they carefully deconstructed the beer bottle tower Dustin and Lucas had so proudly made.

Eddie watched you from the living room as you made your way to the fridge wearing the sluttiest pyjamas he had ever seen. The shorts barely covered your backside and the top was so tight that he could see your nipples through it when you opened the fridge.

You visibly relaxed from the coolness emanating from it, practically moaning in relief.

"You alright over there, babe?" Steve laughed, putting the final beer bottle in the bag.

"Yeah, you boys want a drink to cool down?"

With a small chorus of agreements, you grabbed three bottles from the back of the fridge, pressing one of them against your forehead as you walked into the living room. You placed the other two on the coffee table in front of Eddie and Steve. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, Steve with his feet kicked up on the table and Eddie with his muscular arms spread over the headrest, giving you no choice but to sit between them. You did not want to sit near Eddie.

Reluctantly you took the single seat on the side closest to Steve, curling your feet up and twisting the cap off your drink.

"Do we smell bad or something? What are you doing all the way over there, babe?" Steve joked, patting the spot on the sofa beside him.

You kept your eyes on the TV, not being able to look him in the eye when you lied to him. "No, it's just too hot to all be crowed on one sofa."

"Now I know from experience that it's never to hot for a cuddle."

You wanted to curse yourself for making up that stupid rule. Whether it was because of the hot weather, or a steamy bath, you always cuddled Steve. You didn't care that you were sticky and sweating, you just loved the feeling of Steve's arms wrapped around you.

"I'm sure Eddie won't mind. Right, Eddie?"

"Actually I wouldn't mind if she stayed over there." Eddie disregarded, taking a long swig of his beer.

He watched as you did the same. A droplet from your bottle splashed onto the soft flesh of your collar bone. He couldn't help but stare as it rolled steadily and slipped in between the valley of your breasts.

Steve stood from his seat on the couch, switched the TV off and stood in front of it so that he was the centre of attention. "Alright, what is up with you guys?"

You and Eddie stared at him blankly as he looked between the two of you, waiting expectantly for an answer.

"What do you mean?" Eddie asked dumbly. You had to fight against rolling your eyes at how obvious his tone was.

"Why are you guys so tense around each other all the time? Don't think I don't see the way you roll your eyes at each other, or the petty little argument you're always having. Why do you guys hate each other so much, huh?"

You sighed, sitting up straight and placing your beer on the coffee table. "It's not that I hate him, It's just that... it's like he's always there. And he's annoying."

"I'm not annoying." Eddie frowned, clearly offended.

"Yes you are, and you're such a slob. Every time you come over here I'm cleaning up after you."

Eddie scoffed in perplexity. He had literally just helped clean the living room for you. "Well, if I'm a slob, you're a slut."

"Excuse me?"

"Whoa man, that's too far."

"I mean, just look at her Steve. She's practically naked. She's always wearing skimpy fucking clothes. She's just begging for attention"

"Dude, you can't just hate someone because of what they wear-- don't you start laughing, Y/N."

"He's got no real reason to hate me." You snickered. "At least I said something."

"Can we just act like adults please?"

Eddie pouted. "I will if she will, but I wouldn't hold you're breath."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Alright, guys stop!" Steve raised his voice. He had never spoken to you that way. You hated that it kind of turned you on. "What is it going to take for you to get over whatever rivalry you two have got going on, huh? A rage room? Therapy? Do you need to bang one out or something?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

"Absolutely not, besides he's one to talk. Calling me a slut? He's the one that's forever boasting about his hook ups."

"Hey, I don't boast, okay? And my sex life had nothing to do with you."

Steve began laughing in disbelief. "I can't believe that that is what this is about?"

"What what is about?"

"That you two need to just fuck already." Steve expressed like the brightest lightbulb was blazing over his head. "All this fighting because you two are attracted to each other."

"I am not attracted to him." You gasped. "Do you think I'm cheating on you?"

"What? No, babe I'm not accusing you of that. I'm just saying that I understand if you're attracted to him."

"Yeah, I'm not attracted to you're girlfriend, dude." Eddie flushed.

"I wouldn't blame you, man. I mean, look at her, she's hot." It was your turn to flush. "So how are we gonna do this then?"

"Do what?"

"Have you two get it out of your systems."

"Dude, I'm not fucking your girlfriend."

"At least we finally agree on something." You laughed. Never in your life did you think you would be saying that.

"Look, baby," Steve sat on the coffee table and took your hands in his, making you look him in the eye. "Eddie's my best friend, and you're my best girl. I don't want to see you fighting all the time. Please, just for me, just this once."

Those god damn puppy dog eyes. You couldn't believe that you were actually considering this. You shifted uncomfortably to ease the throbbing between your legs. It had been a while since You and Steve had had sex, especially with Eddie being around all the time. Your dry spell was making you feel like a bitch in heat, so desperate to feel something. Anything. You blamed your horniness for clouding your judgement.

You sighed in defeat. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"You have my blessing." His smile turned to a smirk, his tone lowered to the rasp he always used in the bedroom. "Besides, it could be kinda hot."

There it was again. That burning desire deep within your core. The feeling hadn't really gone away. You almost always had a smouldering passion for him, but he managed to reignite it with a snap of his fingers. Steve couldn't help but smile at the fucked out look on your face; eyelids heavy with desperation and lips parted, just begging for something to slip between them.

"You see that Eddie? She wants to fuck you."

Eddie couldn't stop the feeling stirring within him. The look on your face and the way your nipples perked through your shirt had him squeezing his legs together like a fucking teenager. Try as he may, he couldn't deny that you were hot.

"I swear to God Steve, If this is a fucking prank--"

"It's not." You assured him, standing from your seat and making yourself comfortable on his lap.

You straddled him, resting your hands on his shoulders before calling Steve to sit beside him. Eddie stared at you in confusion when you pulled Steve in for a kiss, suddenly feeling like a third wheel. He felt like a perv watching your tongues swirl along one another and the way you would suck on Steve's like it was a cock. Just when he was about to call it quits, you slowly began rolling your hips. Eddie couldn't help but groan at the sweet relief, resting his head on the back of the sofa and enjoying the view. You moaned as Eddie grew harder beneath you, giving you more friction on your aching clit. You pulled away from Steve, putting your full attention into grinding on Eddie.

"Fuck, that feels good."

"You wanna take your shirt off, baby? Show him those perfect tits?"

You nodded drunkenly, raising your arms above your head so Steve could pull your top off. Eddie groaned almost instantly at the sight of them. He cupped one tenderly, feeling the flesh burning beneath his touch. He sat forward pressing harsh kisses along your neck and traveling down until he reached your breast. He sucked your pebbled nipple into his mouth, lapping it up and teasing it with his teeth. You gasped at the feeling, even more so when Steve mirrored his actions, first painting hickeys along your neck until he popped your other nipple in his hot mouth. You cupped the back of both their heads, guiding them with your movements as you continued to rock your hips against Eddie's.

"Shit, I'm gonna need you to fuck me." Eddie strained with a bruising grip on your hips.

"You hear how desperate you've got him, baby?"

You moaned against Steve's lips again as he kissed you. Eddie paused your grinding so he could slip off his boxers and pants. His weeping cock sprang free, the tip crying in relief. You ogled at it's perfection. It was a similar size to Steve's (that's to say huge), but with much more girth. You worried for a moment that Eddie could ruin Steve for you, but your mouth was just filling with saliva staring at it. You needed it inside of you.

"Wow, look at that, baby." Steve cooed in your ear, standing behind you and kissing your neck. "Is that what you wanted, huh? You want Eddie's fat cock deep inside your sweet little pussy?"

"God, yes." You breathed.

"You gonna take those shorts off then? Show Eddie your pretty little cunt."

You expertly took your shorts and panties off while still remaining in Eddies lap, having had lots of practice with Steve. With your pussy free from it's confinements, it was free to drool all over Eddies cock. You swiped your folds along his shaft, spreading your juices so you were ready to take him.

You twisted your neck to look at Steve. "Will you help me, daddy?"

His eyes rolled into his skull at the name. "Of course I can, baby. Ready?"

You lined the tip of Eddie's cock to your entrance, letting Steve guide your hips with his hands. He manoeuvred your hips downward, letting Eddie's cock ease into you. You gasped at the intrusion, finding yourself falling forwards. You grasped the head rest of the sofa, your face falling within kissing distance of Eddie's. You moaned and grunted into each others mouths, lips barely brushing and sharing breath as Steve continued to assist you onto Eddie's length. It took you a moment to adjust to his ridiculous size, Steve giving you a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

"C'mon baby, you've still got a few more inches left. Be a good girl and show Eddie how well you can take him."

You were already creaming all over him, your juices dripping down his length and pearling along his balls. Steve watched as your pussy struggled to swallow him whole, his cock just about ready to burst out of his jeans at the sound of your moans. He unbuttoned them and shoved them down to the top of his thighs, just enough to release his own throbbing cock.

"There we go." He spurred you on with gentle kisses to your shoulder as he fisted his own cock. "That's my good girl."

You whimpered at the praise, struggling to even clench around the thickness of Eddie's length. You gripped desperately at Eddie's top, tugging it over his head and pressing your chest against his to feel his hot skin on yours. You sucked gently along his neck, blindly reaching behind you to yank on Steve's shirt for him to do the same. He practically ripped it off himself before pressing his body against yours, sandwiching you between them. You sighed at his familiar warmth and the feeling of his hard cock on your back. Goose bumps prickled your skin as he danced his fingers down your sides until he reached your hips and then cupped the cheeks of your ass in his hands. He gave them a delicious squeeze before using them to guide you along Eddie's cock. Your hips lifted until just his tip was left dribbling into your cunt. You whined at the loss, resting your head on Eddie's shoulder and lapping your tongue in the crook of his neck. He let out one of the hottest moans you had ever heard when Steve forced you downward, your pussy devouring his cock whole. You practically sobbed when his blunt tip jabbed that swollen spot deep inside you. You breathed and gasped against Eddie's neck, cooling the wet spots of saliva on his skin and making him groan at the sensation.

Steve continued to guide you up and down. His own length nestled between the cheeks of your ass, your sweat and his leaking precum acting as lube, sliding his cock along the soft flesh. He pressed into you more, wedging his cock between your ass and his stomach for more friction. You moaned at the feeling of him humping your body to get off. Your juices were practically flooding out of you, causing wet slapping noises with every roll of your hips.

You wanted more.

You propped yourself up, coming face to face with Eddie and placed your hands on his shoulders. You started driving your hips faster, angling them to get his cock as deep as possible. You had Eddie and Steve moaning in each ear.

"God, you feel so good wrapped around my cock."

You wanted to tease him for complimenting you, but you were so drunk on his cock that you couldn't say anything more that a sensual whimper.

"You gonna say something nice back, baby?" Steve cooed in your ear, nibbling at the lobe before giving your ass a harsh smack. "You're supposed to be bonding, remember?"

You opened your mouth to say something, but you could do nothing but moan, your head rolling back onto Steve's shoulder in pleasure.

"His cock feels that good you can't even talk, huh?"

"Fuck. It's so good, daddy." You managed breathlessly.

He kept a palm on your ass, and snaked the other one up to wrap around your throat. He gave it a taunting squeeze as he pressed gentle kisses on your cheek until he reached your lips, forcing his tongue inside. It was so fucking messy. The angle made it awkward to capture his lips properly and your mixed saliva ended up pooling out of your mouth. It dribbled down your chin, dripping into the valley of your breasts. Eddie couldn't help but reach up a hand, collecting it and smearing it over your tits, giving them a delicious shine. The open air cooled it on your skin, making your nipples impossibly hard. The feeling of Eddie's rough hands grazing over your skin was slowly pushing you to the edge.

"Fuck! Eddie, I'm so close." You moaned like you were the star of your own porno.

"That's it, sweetheart. Cum on my cock."

"You hear that, baby?" Steve teased. "You've got him calling you sweetheart."

You moaned wildly as you bounced, desperate to feel your release wash over you. Steve's strong hands had you slamming onto Eddie's cock so rapidly that your shaking legs were struggling to keep up. Your pussy throbbed with the pounding of your heart, hungry for euphoria. With a few more guided thrusts, your orgasm spread across your entire body with searing pleasure. Your walls squeezed harshly around Eddies cock causing him to groan. You fell onto his chest, panting and shaking pathetically.

"Good fucking girl." Eddie growled in your ear. "You think you can take more?"

You nodded aimlessly, completely intoxicated by your orgasm. You couldn't prevent the whimper from escaping your lips when he pulled out, leaving you feeling completely empty. Eddie moved you onto the couch with his muscular arms, resting your upper body on the arm rest so you were on all fours for him. Your back arched in anticipation, your ass glistening with sweat and Steve's precum. He gave it a smack, causing you to moan.

In one swift motion, Eddie forced his cock back into your abused cunt, punching the air from your lungs. He slammed his hips into yours frantically, ramming his cock deep inside you at a much faster pace than you had ridden him. You were practically screaming, eyes rolling into your skull and mouth hung open in complete bliss.

Suddenly, you felt a hand gripping on your jaw and guiding you forwards. Steve stood in front of you, grasping the base of his cock and awaiting your eager mouth. You opened wider, lolling out your tongue. He placed the tip of his cock on the soft muscle, letting you lap at in like a lollipop and suckling it into your warm mouth. At the feeling of the soft walls of your cheeks, he released his hand and harshly thrust his cock all the way to the back of your throat. He groaned, stroking the top of your head until a vein bulged in your forehead. He reluctantly pulled back to allow you some oxygen. You coughed and spluttered for air, taking in a few lung-fulls to prepare yourself before his cock intruded your mouth again. You had had plenty of practice deep throating him that you hardly ever gagged anymore. But Eddie's constant thrusting had your body edging forwards, taking Steve's cock deeper and deeper until your throat was constricting around him. He moaned again at the tightness before placing both hands on the back of your head and pounding his hips into your face. You were moaning and crying around his length, high in ecstasy at the feeling of being taken from both ends at the same time.

"You can go harder than that, man. You're not gonna break her." Steve critiqued. "And spank her too, she likes it rough."

"Yeah, I can see that." Eddie laughed breathlessly.

His hips pistoned into you at a ridiculous pace and a large hand struck your ass. You gagged around Steve's cock at the sting, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He did it again, leaving his mark on your other cheek before rubbing the skin tenderly. Your sensitive cunt was screaming at you to stop, but you were getting so close again. You murmured around Steve's length, trying to warn him of your oncoming orgasm.

"What was that, baby?" Steve teased. "I couldn't hear you over my cock."

You tried to repeat yourself, but Steve wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing his cock through it so it was tight around his length. Your words were gargled and the vibrations shot along his shaft, making him grunt animalistically. You looked up at him through wet eyelashes, begging him to let you talk. He took pity on you, pulling his cock from the back of your throat and putting you out of your misery. You gasped for air.

"Fuck, I'm so close!" You're voice was hoarse. "Can I cum again, daddy?"

"I don't know, baby. You're gonna have to ask Eddie, he's the one who's gonna make you cum."

Never in your life did you think you would be begging Eddie for anything. You could practically hear him smirking behind you. Any other time you wouldn't dream of it, but right now you were desperate.

"Please can I cum, Eddie?"

"Fuck, you're so fucking hot." He slapped a hand on your ass again before reaching round to play with your clit. "Cum for me, sweetheart."

His callous fingers on your sensitive clit had you cumming almost instantly. You were glad that Eddie had his arm around your waist because you didn't think that you could hold yourself up on your shaking legs. Your entire body was humming in pleasure as Eddie continued the thrust into you. You moaned an 'ah, ah, ah' with every snap of his hips, your walls quivering around his length.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, sweetheart. Where do you want it?"

"Inside. Cum inside me, Eddie. Fill me up."

His eyes squeezed tight and his hips began to lose their rhythm. Despite your overstimulated cunt, you threw your hips back to meet his thrust, sending him over the edge. His hands gripped your hips and impaled you on his cock, keeping you firmly in place. You pussy engulfed him completely until his balls were pressed against your clit. You could feel them tightening as he released his load deep inside you with a loud groan. He pressed a soft kiss to the centre of your back before slowly pulling out and falling back onto the couch. You followed suit, not being able to hold yourself up. You fell between his legs, resting your back on his heaving his chest.

"You think you got one more in you?" Steve's voice was soft as he climbed between your legs and pressed a persuasive kiss to your lips.

His cock stood tall, red and twitching, and dripping precum onto your stomach. Despite your reluctance, you could feel your mouth watering for him. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own. You nodded listlessly with heavy eyes and spread your legs wide for him.

Your cunt was swollen, dripping with Eddie's cum and eager to please. Steve's cock twitched in his hand as he scooped the still-warm cum onto his tip and shoved it all the way back into your pussy. You let out a quiet whimper at the sensation. Steve was definitely longer than Eddie. You could feel him much deeper, especially when he pressed a hand to your stomach, feeling himself inside of you with every thrust.

You were just completely lost in pleasure. Completely and utterly cock drunk.

Unexpectedly, feather light kisses trailed along your neck and calloused hands danced delicately over the soft skin of your arms until they met your tender breasts. You turned your head to look at Eddie. His eyelids hung low, chocolate irises staring longingly at your lips. You angled your neck upwards, meeting in the middle for your first kiss together. He delved in tongue first, massaging yours soothingly and humming at the softness of your lips. It was perfectly unrushed and gentle. The complete opposite of Steve's actions, who thrusted into you desperately trying to chase his high.

You were moaning into Eddie's mouth with every snap of Steve's hips as he shushed and cooed against your lips, telling you how good you were for them and goading you to cum again. The contrast in their actions was making your head spin. Your hands clasped over Eddie's that were continuing to knead your breasts. You guided his rough palms to squeeze gently and you nibbled his bottom lip at the feeling. You gasped loudly against Eddie's tongue at a particularly pleasurable thrust from Steve, his cock perfectly angled to plough deep inside you when he pressed your knees into your chest.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby."

"Cum inside me, daddy. Give it to me, please."

He thrusted a few more times, his cock gliding effortlessly in a mix of your juices and Eddie's cum. The thought of that alone was enough to push him over the edge and he shot his load inside of you. You whined into Eddie, feeling utterly filled to the brim after being stuffed full twice. The second his softening cock slipped from inside of you, he ducked between your legs, gathering his spend and spreading it all over your swollen folds with his tongue. You hands immediately weaved themselves into his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue delved into your bullied hole. Eddie dragged his fingers along your spoilt clit, rubbing harsh circles until your legs started quivering around Steve's head. Your back peeled from Eddie's front as it arched. You struggled to catch your breath between your crescendoing moans. Your toes curled as you released a pleasurable cry to your final orgasm. Eddie stroked your hair and whispered praises in your ear as Steve continued to slurp at your pussy until you pushed him away.

He collected the mix of all your juices on his tongue before pressing his lips to yours, forcing the liquids between your lips and licking into your mouth to swirl the flavours onto your tongue. You moaned at the mix of sweet and salty. Resisting the urge to swallow, you pulled yourself from Steve before passing the mixture to Eddie. He took it from you eagerly, shoving his tongue as deep into your mouth as he could to savour every drop.

"That was so fucking hot." Eddie commended, finally relaxing properly into the sofa.

"Hey, good job, man." Steve complimented, throwing a friendly punch to his arm.

You could hardly hear any of it. Your ears were still ringing from your orgasm and your eyes were threatening to close, feeling completely absent from reality. Three sharp snaps of Steve's fingers had your bleary eyes opening.

"Are you still with us, baby?"

"Yes, daddy." Your voice was just above a whisper and laced with sleep.

"It's not daddy anymore, baby. It's Steve."

"Steve?"

"Yeah, that's it baby." He praised, gently stroking your cheek to ease you back into the real world. "Keep your eyes open, baby. I'm gonna get you a glass of water, okay?"

You nodded drowsily, your head lolling back onto Eddie's chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head when Steve was out of sight.

"You good, sweetheart? You have a good time?"

You nodded again, humming a soft 'mm hmm'.

"Well, I'm glad that we could resolve our differences." His laugh rumbled against your back.

Steve waltzed back, jeans hung loosely and unbuckled on his hips as he approached with two tall glasses of water. "Can you sit up for me, baby?"

You had barely any strength left in your body. Eddie had to sit you up with him, keeping you pressed against his chest. Steve handed him a glass of water. He brought it to your lips, the coolness of it hydrating your parched lips and dry mouth. You gulped it down greedily, nearly half the glass gone before you started feeling more awake. You finished the glass before using what little energy you had left to pry yourself from Eddie's sweaty skin and sat yourself properly on the couch between the two boys.

"We need to do that again." You exhaled with a chuckle.

"We can talk about that in the morning, sweetheart. For now, let's get you cleaned up."

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ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat · 21 days ago

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girlfriend? - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader wonders why exactly she's not spencer's girlfriend and he's more than happy to play along

genre: fluff and maybe kinda sorta comfort?? wc: 739 warnings: reader is younger and has never had a boyfriend, mention of roommate, awkwardness??, new relationship, kissing, reader uses physical affection to distract spencer, "i'm fine" no you're not!!!, insecurities and simply spencer being a cutie

my very first time writing fanfiction and posting my writing!!! please give feedback

After a long day of daydreaming and a rather upsetting conversation with my roommate, I've come to realize that I'm technically not Spencer's girlfriend. I mean, he's never asked me to be. Of course he's sweet and we've kissed several times but he's never formally asked. I've never had a boyfriend so I just assumed that one or two dates ultimately meant together. Apparently that's not right. Maybe I'm overreacting and maybe I'm not cut out for this dating thing but why hasn't he asked? We can hardly go a day without seeing each other. Doesn't that mean something? Maybe I'm insane because that's highly likely, too.

Although anticipating it, I still jump when he knocks. The door opens and it's clear that he came straight from work, his messenger bag on his shoulder. Like every other day, we walk straight to my bedroom and he leaves his satchel on the same old cushioned chair.

Spencer places his hands in his pockets, his eyes floating over me dubiously.

"Are you alright?"

Well, that took all of three seconds.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I answer, fiddling with my pajama shorts' strings. There's no way I'm turning psycho-not-even-girlfriend on him because he hasn't defined our relationship. Because of the chance he doesn't want me to be his girlfriend, that's a conversation I'm not having.

His eyes narrow and he steps closer. "You're fidgeting, avoiding eye contact... not to mention that you've hardly spoken to me since I've got here which is just... not you at all. You always talk."

"Hey!" I frown.

I watch as his hands come up to hold my face and I begrudgingly look him in the eye only to find concern. "Did I do something?" he asks softly.

My head shakes in his hands. He drops them. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He notices the emphasis, following me when I go to sit on the edge of my bed. I'll never get over how out of place Spencer looks in my room.

His eyebrows raise as he looks down at me. I feel like I'm in trouble. "But I did something apparently."

"Nope," I hum simply, pulling him down by the tie to mush our lips together with little grace. The reciprocation was fleeting, his mouth briefly opening only to move away as fast as it came. "See? I'm fine," I grin unconvincingly.

"You're a terrible liar. Tell me what's wrong," he sighs, stuck between worried and annoyed.

He steps back, eliciting a whine from me. My eyes drop and I figure that I might as well dance around it since I'm a terrible liar. Picking at the loose string on my comforter, I murmur, "do you... um... you like me, right?"

Confusion draws his eyebrows together. "Of course I do. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Honestly, I'd be crazy not to. What told you I didn't?"

"I'm not your girlfriend," I whisper pathetically, eyes never leaving my fidgeting fingers.

I can practically feel the realization hit him. A shaky breath that never quite becomes a nervous laugh leaves him before he responds gently, "I haven't asked you to be. Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

My head finally lifts, a slight frown on my lips as I nod.

"Will you be?"

My eyes go wide and I freeze. "What?"

He laughs softly, walking a few steps closer before crouching down to my level. "Will you be my girlfriend... please?" he asks politely, a tiny smile on his face.

I nod eagerly before I can do anything else. When words do come out, they're frantic like I can't get them out fast enough. "Yes! Yep! Mhm. Please."

This time, when I kiss him, he doesn't hesitate or pull away, he smiles, hands finding my face and brushing away any stray hairs. A thought occurs and I break the kiss, thumbs brushing his cheeks. "So... why didn't you ask before?" I ask almost absentmindedly.

He swallows and very gently mutters, "I didn't know if you'd want me to be your boyfriend."

I can feel my heart melting as I press a soft peck to his mouth. How did he not know? Isn't the way I'm constantly nervous obvious to him? I'm not exactly good at masking anything.

"Of course I did. I do. And now you are my boyfriend so how about that?" I smile and he does too.

"I'm glad," he laughs.

"Me too."

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

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strawberrynull · 10 months ago

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──⯎ ˙❤‍🩹 ̟ after the fight

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | ot7

──Pairing: enha ot7 x reader

──Genre: angst, fluff

──Synopsis: After you have a fight, they try their best to make things right again

──Warnings: mentions of arguing, fake violence/play fighting, cursing, kissing

──A/N: yall i literally got the idea for this from a couple tiktok my bsf sent me... o_o

masterlist

이희승 | Heeseung

Immediately after Heeseung raised his voice at you, he regretted it. He approached you slowly like you were an angry lion. Slowly, he wrapped a gentle arm around your waist. He was quickly swatted away though. A look of shock washed over his face; eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Being cocky enough to try again earned him another slap on the arm. His lips press into a straight line. He grabbed hold of your wrist to restrain you from hitting him again. Before you could resist, his other hand was on your waist, pulling you towards him. His lips crashed onto yours and you couldn't resist kissing your precious boyfriend back. Heeseung whispered against your lips about how sorry he was and how much he loved you.

박종성 | Jongseong

You turned away from Jay, tears pricking your eyes. It was typical for him to be a bit irritable after a long day but he was pretty good at not taking out his frustration on you. Today, though, he had lashed out and yelled at you. The regret hit him as soon as you turned your back to him and he could hear small sniffles from you. His legs felt like jelly as he began to walk toward you. Jay's arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he dipped his head down into the crook of your neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby." he whispered, muffled from nuzzling into your neck. "I'll never yell at you ever again, I promise." he said, kissing your neck in between words.

심재윤 | Jaeyun

Jake wasn't one to get easily upset and definitely no one to yell but today something in him made him more upset than usual. He was pissed off and ended up shouting at you, ending in you storming out of your apartment. Now you were in your own living room sulking about it. You heard a knock, making you groan as you slowly dragged your feet to the door. As soon as the door knob was turned, the person on the other side slammed it open. There was Jake with several snack filled shopping bags in his arms. He knew that snacks always made you feel better. "Damn it, I had a whole apology speech but you're so pretty that I forgot it already." The bags were dropped to the floor as Jake attacked you with a huge bear hug.

박성훈 | Sunghoon

You turned your back to him, folding your arms across your chest. He placed a hand on your waist, attempting to hug you from behind. "Wait, baby I'm sorry. Don't-" He was cut off by you walking away from him. His eyes widened before he began to chase after you. Sunghoon reached out to grab the back of your shirt but you shook your shoulders, releasing yourself from his grip. He tried again and again but somehow you were a pro escape artist. He resorted to grabbing your hair to stop you. You winced and turned around to try to escape. Just what he wanted you to do. He quickly pulled you toward him, placing his lips on yours. His hand was tangled in your hair as he apologized over and over again between kisses.

김선우 | Sunoo

"I'm.. I'm really sorry." Sunoo whispered with sincerity in his tone. You ignored him though. "Hey. Are you listening to me?" He asked, poking at your cheeks. He cupped your face and put his own face super close to yours. Then he scrunched his eyebrows together as his lips curled into a pout. "Ya, answer me. I said I'm sorry and I meant it." All you did was avert your eyes, causing him to grumble. "Fine. Then I'm going to be unresistably cute until you forgive me." He grabbed your face and turned it towards as his lips formed a thin smile. You couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. As soon as he saw your smile, he cheered and hugged you tightly.

양정원 | Jungwon

"Oh shit-" he gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, my love. I- I didn't mean that." Jungwons voice trembled as he reached for you, only to be met by your shocked expression. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears forming in his eyes. He was even more upset at his own actions than you were. "Angel? Will you please forgive me?" He whispered, hooking his fingers on the belt loops of your pants. He pulled you close to his body and placed a soft kiss on your lips. Then he began kissing all over your face, followed by an apology every time.

니키 | Niki

You furrowed your eyebrows after Niki had finished yelling at you. His ears turned red like they always do when he's ashamed. "Fuck, I'm sorry. You know i would never-" You cut him off by telling him to shut up. His mood changed like a switch as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. "Alright, fine." His fist clenched before he threw a punch that landed just inches from your face. But for some reason it had just missed you. Out of pure instinct, you threw a punch back, hitting him in the stomach. You gasped, putting a hand up to your mouth in shock at what you did. "Nice punch, baby. Feel better now?" Then you remembered that he had told you once to just hit him if you were upset with him. "O-oh... yeah.."

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wolvietxt · 1 month ago

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ᰔ what really matters !

pairing : dean winchester x fem!reader warnings : shy!reader, crazy overthinking, friends to lovers, insecurities, implied anxiety, crying, hurt / comfort, jealousy, kiss, dean flirts w other people to show off, happy ending, size diff wc : 6.5k a/n : currently working on a part 2!

it was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn. sam had found a lead on a restless spirit haunting a small-town diner, and dean, ever eager for some pie and action, had jumped at the opportunity. you’d tagged along, like always, quietly sitting in the back seat of the impala, offering occasional input between the brothers’ banter.

the plan was clear: investigate during the day, torch the bones at night. simple enough. yet somehow, being in close proximity to dean for an extended period always felt anything but simple.

“you’ve been awfully quiet back there,” dean said, turning slightly in the driver’s seat to glance at you. his green eyes lingered a moment too long, forcing him to correct the car’s steering. “everything good?”

you nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “yeah, just… thinking.”

“uh-oh,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips. “are you thinking weird again? i told you, sweetheart, you don’t need to do that with us. leave the worrying to sammy.”

sam huffed from the passenger seat. “thanks for that, dean.”

you offered a small smile, unsure how to respond. dean’s words felt warm, like a blanket, but your mind couldn’t stop picking them apart. was he teasing, or did he mean it? did he think you worried too much? was it annoying?

you shook the thoughts away as the car rolled to a stop in front of the diner.

inside, the place was charming in that worn-down, small-town way. red vinyl booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a waitress who seemed to know everyone’s name. dean leaned against the counter, his usual swagger on full display.

“so, martha,” he said, flashing the waitress a smile that could’ve melted butter, “anything weird going on around here lately? cold spots, flickering lights, mysterious whispers…?”

you hovered awkwardly near sam, feeling out of place. martha’s eyes sparkled as she leaned closer to dean, completely ignoring you and sam.

“oh, weird stuff always happens around here,” she said with a giggle. “but nothing too scary. why, you boys hunting ghosts or something?”

dean chuckled. “or something.”

you shifted on your feet, pretending to study the menu even though you weren’t planning on ordering anything. dean’s charm was undeniable, and you’d seen him use it a million times to get information, but it always left you with a strange, hollow feeling.

not that it mattered. it wasn’t like he meant anything by it.

“you alright?” sam asked softly, pulling you from your thoughts.

“yeah,” you lied. “just tired.”

sam didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.

the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of questions and notes. martha had mentioned a former cook who’d died on the job and hinted at some unusual occurrences in the kitchen, which gave you all a solid lead.

“we’ll dig up his records, find the grave, and salt-and-burn tonight,” sam said as you walked back to the car.

“easy peasy,” dean added, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he held the door open for you. “see, this is why you keep us around. all the hard work, none of the worrying.”

your heart jumped at the casual contact, but you forced yourself to focus. it didn’t mean anything. he was just being dean.

the graveyard was damp and cold by the time you arrived. armed with shovels, salt, and gasoline, you worked as quickly as possible, trying not to draw attention.

“you’re sure this is the right spot?” you asked, glancing at the headstone.

“positive,” sam said. “records match up.”

“don’t worry,” dean said with a wink, “we’ve got this.”

you weren’t sure how he managed to be so confident all the time. it was like he didn’t feel fear, or at least he never showed it. you, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about what might go wrong. as the brothers dug, you stayed on lookout, flashlight in hand. the woods were eerily quiet, every rustle of leaves setting your nerves on edge.

“hey,” dean called, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “you good over there, sweetheart?”

you nodded, gripping the flashlight tighter. “yeah, just keeping watch.”

“you’re cute when you’re focused, you know that?” he said, grinning as he tossed another shovelful of dirt aside.

your face burned, and you quickly turned away, pretending to scan the trees. cute? he probably didn’t mean it. he said stuff like that all the time.

still, the word echoed in your mind, making it hard to think straight.

the ghost showed up right on cue, just as dean and sam hit the coffin. it was a tall, shadowy figure with glowing eyes, and boy did it move fast. too fast.

“stay back!” dean shouted, stepping in front of you as the spirit lunged.

sam was already throwing salt and iron, keeping it at bay while dean lit the match and dropped it into the open grave. flames roared to life, and the ghost let out an ear-splitting scream before vanishing.

you stood frozen, heart pounding as the grave smoldered.

“you okay?” dean asked, turning to you. his hands landed on your shoulders, steady and warm.

you nodded, your voice stuck in your throat.

“you sure?” he pressed, his green eyes scanning your face.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you managed to whisper, hoping the fear in your eyes wasn’t too obvious.

he didn’t look convinced but let it go, giving you a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

the ride back to the motel was quiet, exhaustion settling over the group.

“not bad for a day’s work,” dean said, trying to lighten the mood.

you offered a small smile, but your mind was still racing. every little thing he said, every glance, every touch — it all felt so significant, and yet it probably meant nothing to him.

“you’re thinking too much again,” dean teased, catching your eye in the rearview mirror. “what’d i tell you about that?”

“it’s nothing,” you said quickly, hoping he’d drop it.

but dean being dean, he didn’t.

“come on,” he said, turning in his seat to face you. “spill it. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

you froze, unsure how to respond. sam shot you a sympathetic look but didn’t intervene.

“seriously,” dean pressed, his voice softer now. “are you good?”

you nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, ‘m just tired.”

he studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the road.

back at the motel, you retreated to your room as quickly as possible, needing space to breathe.

dean had always been a little too much — too loud, too charming, too... everything. and yet, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, even if you knew it was hopeless. you sighed, flopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling.

somewhere in the room next door, dean was probably cracking jokes with sam, completely unaware of the chaos he caused in your mind.

it was fine. it had to be fine.

because as much as you wanted to believe he saw you as more than a friend, you couldn’t risk getting your hopes up.

the day started like any other, with sam at the laptop, you poring over your notes, and dean bustling around with an air of restless energy.

“coffee?” dean asked, holding up a cup for you.

you nodded, offering a small smile. “thanks.”

he plopped down beside you at the motel table, his knee bumping yours. “so, what’s the game plan today, professor?”

“um…” you hesitated, flipping through the notebook in front of you. “so, i think we should — ”

“let me guess,” dean interrupted with a grin. “the safest, most boring route possible, right?”

you blinked, taking a second to process what he’d just said, hurt surely beginning to form in your features.

“it’s not boring,” you mumbled.

“sure thing… but hey, relax!” he said, patting your shoulder. “you’re good at what you do, even if you’re a little… well, a lot predictable.”

your stomach twisted. predictable? was that how he saw you?

“thanks, dean,” you muttered, staring down at your notes to hide the burn in your cheeks. sam noticed though. sam always noticed.

sam shot dean a look from across the room. “hey, maybe ease up a little, man.”

“what?” dean said, shrugging him off, a deep chuckle reverberating from his chest. “i’m just messing with her.”

the lighthearted tone didn’t soften the sting. you knew dean teased everyone, but his words stuck like a burr under your skin, refusing to let go.

soon after, the three of you piled into the impala, the rumble of the engine filling the silence as dean cranked up the radio. you stared out the window, letting the music blur into background noise while your mind replayed the conversation from earlier.

predictable. you thought, the word echoing in your head.

you weren’t mad at dean — how could you be? he didn’t mean anything by it. but the overthinking wouldn’t let up, weaving a web of doubt and insecurity that clung to you like static.

“you okay?” sam asked from the front seat, glancing back at you.

you forced a smile. “yeah. just tired.”

sam didn’t press, but his concerned expression lingered.

the diner was bustling with mid-morning activity when you arrived, the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. you slid into the booth, hoping the noise would drown out your thoughts.

“what can i get ya?” the waitress asked, her voice cheerful as she slid the menus across the table.

“just a coffee, please,” you said quickly, barely looking up as your fingers fumbled over the paper.

“and a stack of pancakes,” dean added, leaning forward and giving her a grin that was just a little too easy. “extra syrup. gotta start the day off right, y’know?”

the waitress’s eyes lit up, and she laughed, her attention lingering on dean as she jotted down the order. there was something almost playful in the way she looked at him, an expression that made your chest tighten.

“you sure know how to charm, don’t ya?” she teased, her voice warm and full of flirtation.

“what can i say?” dean replied, that easy smirk tugging at his lips. “comes pretty easily when i’m speaking to women like you.”

you forced your eyes back to the menu, though you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the way the waitress’s fingers lingered on the pen, her attention still fixed on dean. the two of them seemed to be in a world of their own, and you were just... here. watching. waiting.

“what about you, sweetheart?” the waitress turned to you, her smile softening just slightly, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“uh, just coffee, please,” you mumbled again, feeling heat crawl up your neck. your voice felt small in the noise of the diner, a whisper lost among the clatter of plates and low hum of conversation.

“gotcha,” she said, giving you a brief, almost dismissive nod before turning and making her way to the kitchen. you could still feel her attention on you, like an echo, but this time, it was empty, no warmth behind it.

dean shifted beside you, leaning back and letting out a low chuckle. “she’s got quite the smile, huh?” his eyes were teasing, his grin crooked as he looked over at you and sam. the joke was light, but there was an edge to it that made you feel off balance.

you forced a laugh, but it came out hollow, cracking under the weight of the moment. “yeah, sure,” you said, keeping your eyes fixed on the coffee cup in front of you, the porcelain cool and solid beneath your fingertips.

“you okay?” sam’s voice broke through the silence once again. dean’s teasing slipping away as his eyes studied you too. there was a flicker of concern in them, but before you could let yourself get lost in it, he added, “didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart. it’s just... that kind of smile, you know?”

the question hung in the air, and you couldn’t tell if he was talking about the waitress or you. but the sharp sting of jealousy you felt at the thought made your throat tighten. you forced a smile, though it felt like a lie. “i’m fine. just... not hungry, that’s all.”

“you sure?” he pressed, his expression softening as he reached for his coffee. the playful energy had faded, and now there was something else, a vulnerability that felt rare for him.

“yeah,” you said, voice quiet. “just... never mind.”

he leaned back, eyes still on you, but this time, there was a shadow in them, a shift that made your heart twist. he looked away, watching the waitress as she came back with a smile that was just for him. his eyes softened, and he laughed as she spoke to him, teasing and warm.

it was almost too much, the way he could be so effortlessly charming. your chest ached with the realization that the way he looked at her was the same way he looked at you sometimes, though it felt different when it was just the two of you, alone in the dim light of the bunker.

by the time the food arrived, your appetite had disappeared. dean was still chatting with the waitress every time she came by, his voice low and easy in a way that made your chest ache.

you stared at your coffee cup, your fingers tightening around it as your thoughts spiraled. was this what dean wanted? someone confident, flirty, and self-assured? someone like her?

the sting of earlier comments layered on top, building a weight that felt impossible to carry.

“you sure you’re okay?” sam asked again softly, his voice cutting through the haze.

“fine,” you said quickly, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over.

sam’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push.

dean, oblivious, kept talking. “man, this coffee’s strong enough to put hair on your chest. might wanna ease up, professor,” he teased, nudging you lightly.

that was it. the dam broke.

you barely registered standing up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“excuse me,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

you hurried out of the diner, your chest tight and your vision blurred.

sam found you a few minutes later, sitting on a bench just outside. he didn’t say anything at first, just sat down beside you and offered a quiet, grounding presence.

“you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, his tone careful.

you shook your head, unable to form the words.

“okay,” he said gently. “you don’t have to talk. just breathe.”

his arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close. the dam fully burst then, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands.

sam held you, his voice low and steady. “you’re alright. just let it out.”

his hand alternating between rubbing soothing circles on your back and tapping you lightly to the beat of your heart, the steady motions helping to calm the blur.

“‘m sorry, sam,” you choked out between sobs.

“don’t apologize,” sam said firmly. “you don’t even owe anyone an explanation. especially not dean.”

you flinched at the mention of his name, fresh waves of doubt and embarrassment washing over you.

sam seemed to sense it, his tone softening even more. “he doesn’t mean half the crap he says, you know. he’s just… dean.”

you managed a shaky nod, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully ease.

“hey,” sam said, tipping your chin up to look at him. “you’re okay.”

he pressed a light kiss to your forehead, the gesture warm and comforting in a way that made you tear up all over again. sam had always had a way of calming you down, knowing what was wrong and when. you were very similar in lots of ways.

inside, dean sat in the booth, fidgeting with his coffee cup.

“where’d they go?” the waitress asked, dropping off the check.

“outside,” dean muttered, his gaze fixed on the window.

he watched as sam wrapped you in a hug, his jaw tightening.

“everything okay with your girl?” the waitress asked, her tone light.

“she’s not my girl,” dean said quickly, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

the waitress raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further, the hint of a smile ghosting over her features.

dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. he hadn’t meant to upset you — he never did — but the sight of you crying, with sam comforting you, made something twist in his chest. he threw some cash on the table and stood, his mind racing with a mix of guilt and something else he couldn’t quite name. jealousy, maybe?

he pushed the thought aside, heading toward the door.

“dean?” sam’s voice cut through the noise of the diner.

dean turned, finding his brother standing outside the far doorway, his arm still draped protectively around you.

“give her a minute,” sam said, his expression firm.

dean nodded, swallowing hard as he watched you lean into sam’s side.

he retreated back and stood in the doorway of the diner, his boots scuffing against the floor as he watched you outside with sam. his jaw ticked, the familiar burn of guilt twisting in his chest.

you’d looked so hurt when you bolted. he hadn’t meant to upset you — hell, he rarely thought before he spoke, but he hated that his careless words had made you cry.

and then there was sam, playing the role of the comforter, his arm draped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

dean hated how that made him feel. jealousy wasn’t a look he liked wearing, but damn if it wasn’t fitting him like a glove right now. he shoved his hands into his pockets, staring down at the worn linoleum. when sam finally walked you back in, dean forced himself to meet your eyes.

you glanced at him briefly, your cheeks blotchy and red, before dropping your gaze to the floor. the pang in his chest deepened.

sam gave him a pointed look, one that said, don’t screw this up, before gently nudging you toward the booth.

you slid in first, keeping as much distance between you and dean as possible.

“hey,” dean started, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you murmured, not looking up.

the waitress returned, her cheerfulness only adding to the tension at the table.

“ready for the check?” she asked, glancing between the three of you.

“yeah, we’re done,” dean said gruffly, tossing some cash onto the table without counting it. “keep the change.”

the waitress hesitated, her gaze lingering on dean for a second too long before she turned and walked away.

sam cleared his throat. “we should probably hit the road.”

“yeah,” dean muttered, sliding out of the booth.

the ride back to the motel was quieter than it had ever been. the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of paper as sam reviewed the hunt notes. dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror, but you didn’t notice. you were too busy staring out the window, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

“so,” sam said awkwardly, breaking the silence, “any ideas on how we’re gonna track this thing down?”

dean grunted. “same as always. follow the trail, kill the thing.”

sam shot him a look but didn’t press further.

you stayed quiet, your thoughts miles away.

back at the motel, you retreated to your room almost immediately, mumbling something about needing to check your notes. dean and sam both watched you go, the motel door clicking shut behind you.

dean’s jaw tightened as the guilt settled deeper in his chest. he wasn’t used to feeling like this — so unsure, so aware of every single way he’d messed up. he rubbed a hand over his face, frustration building as he stared at the floor. he could feel sam's eyes on him, the tension thick in the air. he didn’t know how to fix it, and that made everything worse.

“dean, what the fuck? that shit you pulled at the diner… it doesn’t impress her you know. flirting with other people. christ.” sam said, his voice getting louder with every word, visibly stressing out. evidently, he’d been holding that in for a while now, waiting to get dean alone.

“i know i fucked up. okay, sam, i know.” dean snapped back.

“you’re gonna talk to her, right? you better.” sam asked, leaning against the kitchenette counter.

“yeah,” dean muttered, running a hand through his hair. “just… give me a minute.”

you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the thin motel walls didn’t leave much to the imagination.

hearing dean pacing and muttering under his breath made your stomach twist. you couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was talking about you. the familiar voice of self-doubt crept in, louder than ever.

he’s probably frustrated with me. i overreacted. i always overreact.

you sank onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands.

dean knocked on your door a little later, his knuckles rapping softly against the wood.

“hey,” he called, his voice hesitant. “you busy?”

you hesitated, then opened the door a crack. “no.”

he stood there, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

“can we talk?” he asked.

you nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

he glanced around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “listen,” he started, “about earlier…”

you shifted nervously, not meeting his eyes.

“i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “i didn’t mean to upset you. i was just… being a bit of an idiot, like usual.”

you looked up at him then, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you said quietly.

“yeah, i did,” he admitted, his green eyes locking onto yours. “i was an ass, and you didn’t deserve that.”

the honesty in his voice made your chest ache.

“it’s okay,” you said, though you weren’t entirely sure you believed it.

“it’s not,” dean insisted. “you’re… you’re important to me. and the last thing i want is to make you feel like crap.”

your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he took a step closer, his gaze searching yours. “are we okay?”

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“good,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing.

he seemed to hesitate a little before taking another step closer, looking down at you as he seemed to study your expression. he smiled once again, a big cheesy dean smile and then after he seemed to contemplate what to do he turned on his heel after planting a soft kiss on your head. as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d just imagined the way his eyes lingered on you, soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

inside his own room, dean collapsed onto the bed with a groan. he stared at the ceiling, replaying everything over in his head.

he’d apologized, sure, but it didn’t feel like enough. not when you’d looked so… defeated. for one of the first times in his life he felt awkward, he hoped you hadn’t thought too much of the kiss, however short lived. his chest tightened at the memory of your tear-streaked face in the diner. it was like a punch to the gut every time he thought about it.

“damn it,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.

he hated this. hated feeling like he was losing his grip on something that mattered so much to him. because you did matter — to him, more than you probably knew. and that was the problem. he wasn’t sure how to show you without screwing it up further.

the tension you thought was resolved seemed to linger between you and dean the next day, hanging over the group like a storm cloud. sam did his best to fill the silence, but it was clear neither of you were really in the mood to talk.

“i’ll check out the library,” sam said finally, grabbing his bag. “you two stay here, see if you can dig up anything online.”

dean nodded, not meeting your eyes as sam left. the door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone.

“you want the laptop?” dean asked, his voice gruff.

you nodded, taking it from him without a word.

he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “look, i don’t know how many more times i can say i’m sorry, but — ”

“you don’t have to keep apologizing,” you interrupted, your voice softer than you intended. a stark contrast to his.

he blinked, caught off guard. “i just… i hate that i made you feel like that.”

you glanced at him, your heart aching at the genuine regret in his eyes.

“it’s okay, dean. you’ve already said sorry, i thought that was it,” you said, even though part of you wasn’t sure it really was.

he nodded, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

that night, dean stood outside your door again, debating whether or not to knock. he hated this distance between you two, hated feeling like he was walking on eggshells. but most of all, he hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

finally, he knocked, his heart pounding in his chest.

“come in,” you called softly.

he opened the door, hesitating in the doorway.

“hey,” he said, his voice quiet. “you doing okay?”

you nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“look,” he started, running a hand through his hair, “i know i’m not great at this kind of thing, but… i care about you. more than i probably should.”

your breath caught, his words hitting you like a freight train.

“dean, i…”

he held up a hand, cutting you off. “just… let me say this, okay? i care about you, and i hate seeing you upset. especially if it’s because of me.”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you fought back tears.

“you’re not just a friend to me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in. what could he mean by that? what you’d always wished he felt for you?

“dean,” you said softly, your voice trembling, “you mean a lot to me too.”

he looked at you, his green eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“so… are we good?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

you nodded, a small smile breaking through the tension.

“yeah,” you said, your voice steadier this time.

he smiled back, the tension in his shoulders finally easing fully. and for the first time in days, things between you felt like they might actually be okay.

you weren’t sure how it happened, but somehow you and dean ended up crammed together in the tiny motel room armchair, your knees brushing his and his warmth radiating off him like a furnace.

sam had taken off to follow a lead, leaving you and dean to man the research front. but the computer battery had died, the coffee had gone cold, and now you were both lazily flipping through books neither of you were really reading.

dean tilted his head, watching you as you squinted at the small print. “you always make that face when you read?”

“what face?” you asked, looking up at him.

“that cute little scrunched-up thing,” he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

your stomach flipped, and you ducked your head, suddenly very interested in the book in your lap. “i don’t scrunch my face.”

“yeah, you do,” he said, leaning closer. “like this.”

he exaggerated a dramatic squint, furrowing his brow and twisting his mouth into something ridiculous.

you couldn’t help it — you giggled, the sound soft and bubbling out of you before you could stop it.

dean grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “there it is,” he said, his voice warm.

for a moment, everything felt easy, natural, like the awkwardness and tension of the past few days had melted away. but then your eyes caught the faint smear of grease on his hand, and your mind drifted.

you thought back to the first time you’d realized you had a crush on dean winchester.

it had been a quiet night in the bunker, just the two of you tinkering with the impala. he’d handed you a wrench, his hand brushing yours, and you’d felt it — a spark, like a live wire connecting the two of you.

he’d smiled at you then, soft and genuine, and it had made your heart race.

you’d brushed it off at first, chalking it up to admiration or something equally benign. but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized it was something else entirely.

you’d fallen for him — hard.

and it wasn’t just his looks, though you’d be lying if you said those green eyes and that cocky grin didn’t make your knees weak. it was everything about him: the way he protected the people he cared about, the way he laughed, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still managed to crack a joke.

but he’d never see you that way. how could he? you were just… you.

and then there was the size difference. it wasn’t something you normally thought about, but around dean, it was impossible to ignore. he was tall, broad-shouldered, and solid in a way that made you feel both safe and utterly self-conscious.

you, on the other hand, felt small in comparison — too small, too quiet, too unsure of yourself to ever catch his attention.

“hey,” dean said, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “you good?”

“yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile.

“you sure? you spaced out there for a second.”

“just tired,” you lied.

he didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him.

dean wasn’t immune to overthinking either, though he’d never admit it out loud. he’d had a thing for you for what felt like forever, but he’d always convinced himself it was a bad idea.

you were shy, sweet, and way too good for someone like him. besides, he didn’t want to scare you off — not when having you around was one of the few things that made the job bearable.

so he kept his feelings to himself, content to just be your friend, even if it killed him a little every time you smiled at him like he hung the moon.

but there were moments — moments like now, with you sitting so close, your leg brushing his and your eyes darting to his every so often — that made it damn near impossible to keep his cool.

“you know,” he said, his voice low, “you don’t have to keep everything to yourself.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… you can talk to me,” he said, his gaze steady. “about anything.”

your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice.

“i know,” you said softly.

he smiled at that, a small, lopsided grin that made your chest feel warm.

“good,” he said, leaning forward slightly.

the proximity made your breath hitch, your eyes locking onto his for a moment that felt like it stretched on forever. but then the moment passed, and he leaned back again, running a hand through his hair.

later that night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, your thoughts wandered again.

you thought about all the little things dean did — how he always walked on the side closest to traffic, how he made sure you ate on hunts, how he was quick to tease but just as quick to defend you if anyone else tried.

he cared about you. you knew that much.

but as a friend, or something more?

the uncertainty gnawed at you, and you rolled onto your side, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

dean wasn’t faring much better. he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his mind racing.

he thought about all the times he’d come close to saying something, only to chicken out at the last second.

he thought about the way you’d looked at him earlier, like you were trying to figure him out. he thought about how often he fucked up infront of you, trying to distract himself from his silly crush only to regret it afterwards. and he thought about the way you made him feel — like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was.

“screw it,” he muttered under his breath, standing up and heading for your door.

a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, startling you. you sat up in bed, heart thudding.

“it’s me,” dean’s voice came softly from the other side, muffled but familiar.

“come in,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

the door creaked open, and dean stepped inside, his movements careful. he closed the door behind him quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar way, his gaze briefly flicking to yours before darting away.

“yeah, me neither,” you murmured, fingers twisting the edge of the blanket draped over your lap.

he hesitated for a moment, standing awkwardly near the door before crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of your bed. the mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

finally, dean broke the silence. “so i’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice quiet but deliberate. “about us.”

your stomach flipped, your pulse quickening as his words hung in the air. “us?” you echoed, barely audible.

he nodded, his jaw working like he was trying to find the right words. “you mean a lot to me,” he said finally, his voice rough around the edges. “more than i’ve ever really let on. i regret that.”

your breath caught, your chest tightening at the quiet vulnerability in his tone.

“dean…” you began, but he held up a hand, his eyes meeting yours fully now.

“let me say this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “i’ve spent so much time trying to keep things simple, to keep things from getting messy. but with you…” he trailed off, his expression softening as he searched your face. “it’s never been simple. and i wouldn’t want it to be.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut — raw, honest, and so undeniably him.

“i don’t know if i’m any good at this,” he admitted, his hand brushing yours where it rested on the blanket. the touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver up your spine. “but i want to try. if you’ll let me.”

your heart raced, a thousand emotions swirling inside you. “dean, you don’t have to…”

“i want to,” he interrupted, his voice steady. “i care about you. more than i probably should. and i don’t want to keep pretending like that’s not true.”

your hand was fully engulfed in his now. you swallowed hard, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. he looked at you, his green eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

dean’s gaze flickered, his lips parting slightly before he closed them again, his hesitation palpable. his other hand hovered near yours, fingers brushing faintly, the touch so light it was almost imagined. the space between you seemed to shrink on its own, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. his eyes lingered, tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing every detail.

his fingers shifted closer, finally grazing yours with deliberate care. the air grew warmer, each heartbeat louder than the last, as if the world itself held its breath, waiting.

“can i…?” he started, his voice trailing off as he leaned slightly closer, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes.

you nodded, unable to find your voice, your chest tight with anticipation.

his hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leaned in. his lips met yours softly, testing, like he was afraid to push too far. but when you didn’t pull away, he pressed a little closer, his warmth grounding you.

the moment his lips met yours, the world seemed to tilt. his kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. your fingers clutched at his shirt, the fabric bunching beneath your grip as a quiet whimper escaped you.

dean groaned in response, the sound low and rough, reverberating against your lips. it sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing hotter. his other hand found your waist, firm but gentle, anchoring you to him. his thumb traced the curve of your jaw as he deepened the kiss, his touch igniting something that left you breathless.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and his breathing slightly uneven.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so damn long,” he confessed, his voice low and filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“me too,” you whispered, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding.

he chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. “guess we’re both a little stubborn, huh?”

you smiled, a weight lifting off your chest as his words settled into your heart. “maybe just a little.”

dean’s fingers traced the edge of your jaw, his touch lingering as if he wasn’t ready to let go. “you’re fuckin’ awesome, you know that?” he said softly, his voice almost reverent.

you giggled quietly, the sound light and easy. “if i’m fuckin’ awesome, what are you?” you said, mimicking his much deeper voice,

he smirked, his expression softening as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “just lucky,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet sincerity that made your chest ache in the best way.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

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