#anyways whatever this is such a stupid problem to have. but hey i have like $280 on my ebt gonna buy some snacks.

[itseasytoremember]

[[For ease of reading, and so don't annoy everyone with more excessively long posts, I've posted the entirety of the story under the cut]]

Day 2

I feel like I'm going to want to start logging these posts. If for nothing else than a log of Things I Tried that DID NOT work. We will call this day 2 because I started writing this log yesterday. Or not yesterday, but like, last today. Yestertoday. Yestoday. This is dumb. Anyways.

My plan did not go to... Plan.

Let me explain the problem first, and then I'll explain my "plan."

A few loops ago, before I knew it was a loop, I figured I would skip my morning workout in the hopes of getting to work early, because "there was a lot of traffic on First st. these last few days" I hadn't yet realized it was always the SAME traffic.

Anyways I left early and sure enough there was no traffic. I was actually at the red when I saw the guy for the first time, he seemed distracted, he kept looking at his phone and then whipping his head around, clearly he was looking for something and, by the amount of sweat on his forehead, he had been for a while. I only really noticed the guy because every other person I could see was looking at him too. The crossing guard, the kids, their parents, the people at the cafe, everyone was looking at the dude having a really bad day. He wasn't exactly being subtle is what I'm getting at.

All of a sudden he looks across the street and gets this big relieved look, seemed to find whatever it was he was looking around for, and headed toward it. It's just unfortunate that the light had changed while he looked at his phone.

No one had time to react, to even say anything. One second twe were all watching some guy act out the 5 stages of grief at 7:35 am, the next a Ford F-150 turned him into paint.

So, my plan was this; to stop that from happening.

I'll admit it's not the most thorough plan but I figure what it lacks in steps, it makes up for in adaptability.

Today, I made it there just as the man was looking up from his phone, maybe 45 seconds later than the day before, which meant I was still early enough to get out of my car, run into the road and yell "HEY STOP" but decidedly not early enough to then avoid the fucking truck myself. Oh also, the guy still got hit. He ran onto the road, I guess to try to help me, and a BMW took his legs out. The bastard. What was he going to do? Reattach my spine?

Well I'm back in bed at home so I'll take that as suspicions: confirmed re:timeloop.

I'm going to go to work now, after that I'll figure out a plan to get to the intersection earlier.

Day 3: I'm stupid

Why the fuck was I still going to work. Yesterday I TRIED to warn my boss about his paper coffee cup having a bad seam, and when he rolled his eyes and took a sip, thus spilling coffee on himself YET again, he tried to make it MY fault. He said I somehow distracted him? I went back to my office thinking one day I should find a better way to spend my life once I'm out of this loop when it hit me, and man do I feel dumb. 9-5 for the last I don't even know how many actual days. I could have been planning. I could have been doing anything other than finance. So I quit. I mean it won't matter tomorrow but I've decided to stop going in regardless.

I'm going to spend the next few days experimenting. Currently I wake up with my alarm at 6:30, which gives me one hour to put into action my plan, my first goal is to try and extend that time as much as I can.

The morning after my brush with a pickup's grill, my neck and back were achy for about an hour, which leads me to believe that my body remembers something of the last days events, even if after a while they fade. I'm going to first try staying up all night, to see if I can just start the day at midnight, and failing that, I'm going to try the exciting plan of going to bed early and drinking loads of water, because changing my phone's alarm won't do anything as it will reset every morning anyways.

I'll make sure to keep note of anything interesting over the next few loops, but I doubt I'll make much actual progress. Still, this log ensures I remember what happened, every detail, so I can change it. why? Why not spend eternity trying to save a life.

Day 7

Okay staying up doesn't work. The second I pass midnight I pass out, waking up at my usual time, just a little more tired and sluggish than usual. I run the risk of actually sleeping through my alarm and losing precious minutes. Lacey's alarm actually woke me up the first time I tried it.

Chugging water just meant I had to rush to the bathroom when I woke up, but it was still my alarm waking me.

Weirdly, going to bed early was the the thing that did the trick. I didn't have much hope in this working, but Lacey has been going to bed early for the last 20 years of our marriage and she's always up well before her alarm, so I figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Now it's not like I'm gaining hours, but yesterday I went to bed at 9:00 pm and I'm currently writing this at 6:25 am. Is going to bed 2.5 hours early worth it for 5 extra minutes in the morning? Usually I'd say no, but this isn't a usual situation. 5 extra minutes might be the difference I need.

5 minutes does, unfortunately seem to be the max I can get though, two days ago I tried going to bed at 8:30 and all I got for it was a weird look from Lacey. If anything, It took me longer to fall asleep than at 9, and so I ended up actually sleeping in a few minutes before I realized what I was doing.

The guy steps into the path of the truck at exactly 7:35am, meaning I have 1 hour and 10 minutes to stop that from happening every day. That means prep, getting there, and execution of my plan must require a maximum of 70 minutes, including the 34 minutes it take for me to drive there.

Actually I wonder if there is a better route. I'm going to try a few different paths over the next couple loops, and keep note of which one is fastest.

Okay, my alarm just went off, I'm gonna try getting there early and just tackling the guy. Maybe I'm overthinking it and it's just that simple.

Day 8: it was NOT that simple.

So I tried just running up and tackling the guy. Apparently some people don't appreciate being, in bystanders words, "chased by a guy who ran out of his car."

So, when the guy RAN AWAY FROM THE MAN TRYING TO SAVE HIS LIFE, and INTO TRAFFIC, everyone made it seem like it was somehow MY fault, and I spent the rest of the day in a holding cell. I called Lacey to bail me out, but I couldn't reach her at work and they only allowed me one phone call. I suppose I could have sped up the wait by hanging myself in my cell or something dramatic like that but that just doesn't feel right to me.

Maybe if I keep getting arrested, sure, but it wasn't actually all that bad once the processing was done. I did what I imagine you are supposed to do in jail; I thought about what landed me in that position and how to prevent it from happening again. That left me with a few things I'm going to have to consider moving forward if I want to save this guy and also continue on with my life as normal.

Which, is still a time loop, but, again, I'm fine with routine. I'm also finding that I'm perfectly content with this situation now that I've found something interesting to do with my days. "Day". That's still annoying.

Okay here's my list of Things I Considered In Jail:

- I shouldn't resort to anything that can get me arrested, injured (or killed) or otherwise caught up in unnecessary shenanigans.

- If I get caught in a lie, remember what the person said, I can try again next time round. confidence works wonders.

- I should figure out the guys name, what he does, where he is headed etc, you are more likely to look and listen, rather than RUN INTO TRAFFIC, if the guy yelling at you is not yelling but instead calling your name, smiling and waving.

- On that note, be friendly and get there early. I was over thinking my prep and under thinking my follow through. Get up and out of bed, I can speed a little as long as I don't get pulled over, and get there and PARK your car.

Okay writing this out has given me more confidence in my next attempt. I probably won't update this log until I've made some progress.

Day 13

YES! PROGRESS!

First is that the guys name is Ben. The second, and indisputably bigger discovery, is that Ben does something different every day! Different! Meaning not looping! Or not perfectly looping at least. He’s still dying every day, which I’m not crazy about, but he definitely feels like he’s connected to the loop. It’s not anything big, but I’ve noticed he will have his phone in a different pocket from one loop to another, or he will arrive from a different direction. Recently he’s started to have this look of familiarity to me, even though before this he was a complete stranger to me.

I’ve optimised my morning routine and route to the intersection as much as possible, but Ben coming from different directions every loop means I have no way of preemptively stopping him. Just that he shows up on the south east corner looking frantic, checking his phone, he sees something, and walks across the street as the light changes. Honk boom splat and the day resets.

Actually now that I write that down it feels correct to me. I have no idea why I’m looping this one day over and over, maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe this is connected, maybe it isn’t. It doesn’t actually change anything if they are, because I still have no idea what caused this, or is saving Ben will actually do anything at all.

I’m not super proud of how I got his name to be honest. I tried to get Ben’s attention with the, “don’t I know you from somewhere?” line, but he politely excused himself from the conversation right into the path of an oncoming bus.

I was about to just run and call the cycle a bust, but I noticed that, the way the guys jacket fell, I could actually see his wallet in the breast pocket.

So… I pickpocketed a dying guy. TO SAVE HIS LIFE, still didn’t feel great. At least I didn’t get caught and end up in jail again.

Ben Morriston. He has a driver’s license and a student ID. Huh, he’s in med school. Ok doctor Ben. Nice to meet you. How do I keep you alive?

Day 21

I haven't made a log in a while because I haven't really made any progress, that is, until today. made an assumption about this that was absolutely screwing me over, but I figured out what it was and I've fixed the problem;

My mistake was being overly familiar with Ben. My first attempt at calling his name out worked to stop him, but once he asked me how I knew him he immediately sussed out that I didn't actually have an answer to that. That led him to getting really freaked out, he tried to run, he ran onto the street, and a car hit him again.

I realize now that I assumed Ben would be more receptive to someone he knew, which may be true, but I also assumed I had the ability to convince him I am someone he knows, which I don't.

So going forward I'm going to keep lying to an absolute minimum, not only because I'm bad at it, but it's unnecessary. “Hi, you look lost, can I help you?” I should also try to figure out where he's actually headed...

Day 27

Ben is going to the hospital! Not currently, I'll get to that, but that is where he is headed when I encounter him.

Ben is currently very much dead. Turns out traffic is not the only thing I need to worry about.

I had managed to both stop him from wandering into traffic and figure out his desired location, but unfortunately for both of us, we had hardly made half a block when a rogue AC unit fell out a window, filling an area of space previously occupied by poor Ben's head.

The loop before the AC unit, it was a tire that had rolled out of a mechanics shop that took him out. Before that, a falling hammer from a construction site.

The guy has fallen into the sewer because of improperly placed manhole covers, he's tripped on a rolling skateboard and broken his neck, he's been pushed into a pane of glass, and had a pane of glass fall on him. If we are both stuck in a loop he has the much worse deal. I've seen so much blood and death at this point I'm not even reacting anymore. But if I get it right even one time and he lives maybe it'll all be worth it.

Tomorrow I'm going to start wearing an ID badge I got from a conference years ago. The badge is expired but that doesn't matter, what matters is it's on a lanyard from St Joseph's hospital. The same hospital Ben is headed to.

What benefit? No one questions someone 1. With what looks like a hospital ID badge and 2. Calling them by their full legal name.

I'm not fucking around with this any more. Ben is getting in my car and I'll drive him myself to the hospital.

Day 29

Yesterday I got Ben to the hospital. He listened to me, got into the car, and I drove him there without a hitch.

He thanked me repeatedly and ran inside, and I followed him in just to make sure the whole building didn't explode or something.

Turns out Ben needed to get to the hospital because his wife was in labor. He made it just in time. Him, his wife, the baby, everyone was safe and sound.

I was in the waiting room, i didn't want to be in anyone's way but it didn't feel right leaving, so I was just sitting there when Ben ran into the hallway to get me.

Ben thanked me again, he hugged me and told me he was so happy I could be there with him. He looked at me and it was like I had known him his entire life. I told him truthfully that I was so happy I could help get where he was going, and that he should go be with his family. He insisted that he was, and asked if I wanted to meet his son.

It was an odd but beautiful moment, and I'm happy I was allowed to experience it. Afterwards, I went home to Lacey, and we went to bed.

The loop didn't end. I woke up with my alarm to find that everything was back as it was yesterday. That's fine with me. I'm going to go pick Ben up now, and I think after that I'll surprise Lacey with lunch at work. You, the thing they don't tell you about being stuck in a time loop is it's really not all that bad.

---

A newspaper obituary:

Joseph Duncan Morriston, Toronto, age 89, died peacefully at St Joseph's hospital, surrounded by his family and friends. Joe was always a kind soul who, after witnessing a catastrophic car accident, left a lucrative career on finance to become an EMT, where he saved countless lives and developed several procedures himself that are now considered best practices in care and ambulance driving.

Joe is survived by his son, Dr. Ben Morriston, and his grandson, Duncan Morrison, who was delivered at St Josephs just two days before Joe's passing.

Joe will interred at St James cemetery beside his wife, Lacey Morriston (1935-2023).

A public celebration of life will be held at the Etobicoke community centre, with anyone whose life was touched by Joe being welcome to come and share a story with the family.

Joe's family has kindly requested that, in lieu of flowers, those inclined may donate to the Alzheimer's Association of Canada.

---

UPDATE FOR OBITUARY POSTED YESTERDAY JOSEPH MORRISTON:

DUE TO AN OUTPOURING OF FEEDBACK BY THOSE JOE HAS HELPED, THE CELEBRATION OF LIFE HAS BEEN MOVED TO THE HARBORFRONT CENTRE, WHICH HAS BEEN KINDLY DONATED BY THE CITY, TO ACCOMMODATE THE LARGER CROWD EXPECTED.

The Thing They Don't Tell You About Being Stuck in a Time Loop

The first time round the time loop was honestly fine. Same with the second and the third. Honestly I didn't even realize i was in a time loop until day 7 or 8, and that was because the statistical chances of my boss spilling his coffee on himself, while in and of itself is not low, became exceedingly strained as the days went on.

But if it weren't for that, I probably would have never realised I was looping. Mock me all you like, I enjoy routine, I thrive with it, and so, yes, it may have taken me a little longer to realize my day was looping, but I would also argue that I am much less likely to succumb to some sort of mental break due to this situation. To some, I could imagine being stuck in a loop of one day would get boring, or even horrifying, I am not one of those people. Not only that, I was lucky enough to be stuck in a loop of a day in mid May, with decent weather, in my home city, with the woman I love. If it weren't for the fact that it's a work day, It would be perfect.

That and the man who keeps getting hit by cars.

The first time it happened I didn't notice. I feel terrible saying that but the first few days I was still going through things as though it was a normal day, and normally I take about 60 minutes from wakeup to leaving the house for work, which meant that by the time I would make it to the intersection where it happened, the car had been moved to the side of the road, and all I dealt with was a bit of traffic.

It wasn't until I started testing the parameters of the loop, breaking my routine, that I figured out what even caused the accident, but more on that later. For now, I have a plan to try and save this guy. I don't know why, but I feel like that's important. That he's important.

And I mean, what do I have to lose? Some time?

[anthonycrowley]

everyone remind me not to lend out my crowley copy again my best friend had it so long she gave it back to me as one of my christmas gifts

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Unfortunately for you, your big brother's friend sukuna can be surprisingly light on his feet for someone so large. It seems that startling the living hell out of you is his new favorite pasttime. And he's around all the time now. He shows up unannounced and lets himself in. When you ask Toji why he has a key, he just laughs and says, "He doesn't. He wants in. He gets in."

Okay? That's cryptic and annoying, but you'd rather feign indifference than ask questions. Why overcomplicate things?

Mostly, he just sneaks up behind you and shouts, "Hey, brat!" In his stupid, booming voice as he claps all four of his large hands down on your shoulders. You count it as a victory when you detect his smokey scent first and actually manage not to jump out of your skin. Although you still break out in goosebumps at his touch, he doesn't seem to notice, judging by the satisfying look of dissappointment on his face. Your satisfaction is short-lived, however.

The sound of the two men crashing through the front door in the wee hours of the next morning startles you awake. You flick the bedside lamp on just in time to see sukuna crash through your bedroom door. Of course, you scream and clutch the pink duvet to your bare chest. "Oops," he says, with a shit-eating grin. "Wrong room." Toji drags him out with some half-assed muttered apology about drinking too much. You're not so sure that's a pertinent excuse. The smug look he shoots you before the door slams shut seems pretty much par for the course, at this point.

Sadly, that was not the end of early morning encounters with the monster. Now he has you caged in against the counter, nearly breaking your back in an effort to lean away from him. Evidently, he had seen fit to creep up behind you and you between the kitchen counter and his mountain range of a body. And you wee only trying to steam milk for your latte. What the fuck is his problem, anyway? Can't a girl make her morning coffee in peace? Your protests remain lodged in your throat, however, along with your racing heart.

He's so large and so close you have no choice but to look at him, which, to your horror, still renders you temporarily speechless. Being so close to him reminds you a little of the first time you ever saw a tiger at the zoo. The animal was so unlike anything you had ever seen before, so deadly and beautiful, that you could hardly believe it was real. Could hardly believe that it was roaring and pacing close enough that you could reach out and sink your fingers into its thick coat if not for the bars. The bars kept you safe, then. What is keeping you safe, now?

It is unsettling, the way his upper set of eyes remain locked on yours while the lower set look down at the hand scalded by your spilt coffee. "What's the matter brat? Hurt yourself?" He mocks as you clutch the injured hand to your chest. You hardly notice that one of his hands has left the counter, but somehow you don't flinch when he lifts it to your cheek to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "Did I scare you?"

The gentle gesture alongside his mocking words is so disconcerting that you remain a quivering-lipped mute as seconds crawl by at a snails pace. You wonder if the action was subconscious on his part. Seems the only viable explanation.

You don't find your voice again until Toji's breaks whatever hypnosis the monster has you under. "Let's go," he says, and, just like that, Sukuna pulls away and you are finally able to pull air into your lungs again. "Gonna be gone for a couple of days-" Toji begins, addressing you.

"Please tell me you're taking it with you," you interject, stabbing an index finger in Sukuna's direction.

"Yeah," he says. And sukuna gives you one last smug, spider-eyed glare before he disappears through the door.

You're so relieved that it doesn't occur to you how quickly a couple of days can pass. Or that, when they do, your brother might not be the first to return. Relieved, not only to be free of Sukuna's bullying for a time, but also because what you feel is not truly fear. It's more like awe, if you really had to put a name to it. But you make a point not to think about it too much, or at all if you can help it.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›

@orikixx ; @scorpiosugar ; @just-lilita ; @shesabeeler

[meowdei]

content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader

It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.

“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”

“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.

It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.

“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”

Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”

You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”

A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.

So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.

Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).

Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.

Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.

He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”

“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.

Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).

“I’ll even pay,” you offer.

“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.

You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”

“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.

It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.

“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.

“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.

“No—”

“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”

“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”

“No—”

“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”

“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.

It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.

“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.

“Yay!” You squeal.

It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.

He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.

He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.

“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”

Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”

“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.

Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”

“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.

“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”

With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”

“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”

[jinxs-gf]

snack thief

the team x spider!reader

summary: someone is stealing your snacks and you’re going to figure out who.

content, warnings: kind of a crack fic, spider cusses a lot? not proofread

word count: 1.8k

a.n. Aunt May mentioned! who cheered?

It was peaceful in the confines of Mount Justice. So peaceful it was almost suspicious to the team. They barely get downtime nowadays, something they used to practically beg for. Now all they want is a break.

It's perfect and quiet and peaceful.

Until they hear their friend scream bloody murder.

Spider.

Everyone jumps up, alarmed and ready to fight.

You're in the kitchen holding an empty container, the refrigerator wide open, and looking more stressed out than they've ever seen you. But there was no threat?

The team is still worried but confused. There was no one else in the kitchen with you so...? Why were you screaming? And there was seemingly no spider on the container you were holding, the only creature that could scare you bad enough for you to freak out like this. (You denied this claim again and again, unfortunately they didn't believe you. How embarrassing was that? Spider had arachnophobia? How damaging to your reputation.)

You continue to stare at the container, and your friends have concluded their near heart attack at your cry for help was all for not.

Their shoulders all sag simultaneously, breaths of relief leaving their mouths.

Kaldur is the first to speak, "What has gotten into you, Spider? You scared us all." He does not sound happy.

And if you took the time to look at the rest of your teammates, the annoyance would be evident.

But no. You continued to stare at your stupid container.

"Hello!" - Artemis

"Earth to Spider!" - Robin

"We're not getting any younger over here." - Wally

Roy only sighs, shaking his head, Conner raising a brow beside him, amused for the most part.

M'gann just stands quietly, wondering if she should read your mind without your permission to figure out the problem or not.

"Which one of your imbeciles did this?" Your voice was eerily calm...it was disturbing.

They all shared the same sentiment. What?

You glare in their direction, eyeing each one of your supposed friends carefully.

"One of you is the cause of this," you hold up your empty container. "Someone ate my cookies. I've had the worst day of my life and the only thing that could help was having my precious cookies. Only I get here and they're gone!" Ah. They get it now.

"I'm going to find out which one of you is responsible. And it won't be pretty."

"Uhh why was it in the fridge anyways?"

"Shut it Robin. They’re leftovers. And you’re at the top of my suspect list. You and your little buddy there," you eye Wally.

He squirms in his spot.

You were grocery shopping for your aunt when you spotted them.

Spider-Person gummies.

You wince, the name Spider-Person did not roll off the tongue correctly. You prefer Spider like the team calls you. Or maybe Arachnid would be cool? Oh well, it's too late now. The name Spider-Person was plastered onto kid's snacks for Pete's sake! There was no coming back from that.

Whatever. You threw it in your basket and immediately opened the box when you got home. Showing off to Aunt May, she was very proud, just like you thought she’d be. Except for when—

"I always thought you'd be known for curing diseases or something, but children’s snacks? This'll do!"

"Hey!" She was joking of course (right?).

And later that day you brought it to the team's kitchen, wanting to show off to them. You didn't want them to eat it of course, it was going to be your post-mission snack. A little pick-me-up.

No one but Red Tornado was there, which was a little weird but it was a rare day off. You'll just come back when everyone is here.

You made sure to stick a post-it on the box of gummies, effectively claiming them yours that shall not be touched.

You hadn't left your snacks alone in the kitchen of Mount Justice since your cookies disappeared a mere week ago.

You still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.

You will. One of these days.

You leave and don't come back until the next day, everyone is there.

"Oh goodie! I have something to show you guys!"

Only you get to the kitchen cabinet, open the box, and...no.

Nonononono

The box of "Spider-Person Gummies" was completely empty.

The box that clearly had your name written with the words "DO NOT EAT!" on the post-it!

You scream like the first time.

"Who did it?!"

The team is a little slower this time around, not trusting your panicked screams after the first incident.

Robin face palms, "Come on spider, it's not that serious."

You gape at him, "Not that serious?! Are you crazy?!" You eye him suspiciously, "it was you, wasn't it?"

"What?! No! I'm just being reasonable here. You can always buy more,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing the bigger picture. Someone is eating your snacks without permission. Deliberately ignoring your name that was written in bold on the post-it stuck to the front. You try a different approach though.

"First of all, I don't exactly come from a background of money. I can't just waste valuable green for some fruit snacks! And second, it was the last box in that section. How do I know they'll be restocked by the time I get back? What if they were there for limited time?!" The thought terrifies you, "oh no."

The team watches you nearly have a breakdown over your gummies "...those snacks are usually less that 10 dollars, Spider."

"And that's too much!"

"You can't be that poor."

"Eh, you'd be surprised."

It’s a full two weeks of the snack thief’s attacks.

Your spidey senses go off at the two week mark and they lead you to the kitchen.

You gasp.

"You!"

Wally is caught mid slice into the chocolate cake you made for the team, he looks petrified at being caught.

His voice cracks, "what?"

"It's been you! I knew it was you!"

"What! No! You made this for the team, right? That's not fair to pin the blame on me when I have permission to eat this!"

Okay, he's got a point.

"Whatever. You're still at the top of my list."

You’re in stealth mode with the rest of the team, waiting for your cue to attack.

You communicate through the mind link to keep yourself from boredom, this is gonna take a while.

You decide to bring up the most recent snack attack.

‘I still need to figure out who this snack thief is. They took my leftover brownies this time! The ones May made for me. Do you know how upsetting it was to see the brownies made by my very precious, hardworking Aunt all gone?’

You hoped to weed the rat out through sympathy.

‘Oh...that was yours?’

‘M'gann!’

‘I'm sorry! I didn't know!’

Just then, Kaldur makes your cue to attack. And before you know it, you’re in battle. However, your mind is elsewhere.

The distraction earns you a kick to the face, your spidey senses were screaming but you couldn't be bothered to really care at the moment, too focused on the fact that M'gann admitted to eating your brownies.

She's the snack thief?! But she was at the bottom of your list...

You regret ignoring your senses immediately, that kick was more powerful that you thought it’d be. Definitely going to bruise later.

‘I'm not the snack thief! I just thought Red Tornado left them! Remember? He said he wanted to be more involved with us outside of missions? I swear I know better! You forgot a post-it with your name this time. I'm really sorry, I should've known.’

You sigh, she sounds too sincere for it to truly be her.

‘It's alright, I forgive you. This time. It was my bad anyways.’

There’s many instances of coincidences as your friends would call it.

Robin caught digging into your chips;

“But you said I could have some!”

“No not those ones! My other chips!”

“Wow, thanks for specifying that.”

Conner caught…eating your candy?!

Conner doesn’t even eat sweets like that, so what changed? Or was that all a ploy? Pretending to not be fond of sweets only to eat yours behind your back…

But his eyes pleaded forgiveness, truth. Damn him.

Roy, Kaldur, and Artemis also had their moments of suspicion.

So who was it?

You only had one more course of action. You beg May to let her borrow your phone.

“It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency that could last all day? Or more?” She lifts a brow, don’t let her intimidate you, Spider.

“Pleeeaaaase,” you bat your lashes at her.

She can’t resist you. The child she’s come to see as her own. You are hers, no one could tell her otherwise. She sighs, “Don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Thanks May!” You plant a kiss on her cheek, “love you!”

“Whatever kid,” trying not to show disappointment in herself for allowing you to get to her.

Set your phone up in the kitchen cabinet of Mount Justice with your snack. Hit FaceTime with Aunt May’s phone and accept on yours.

There’s no way you don’t catch your thief now.

~~

You wait a good 20 minutes before you’re already tired of your plan.

You groan in annoyance, can they hurry up and attempt to take your snack already?!

It takes another three hours before something happens.

Your spidey senses blare, making you jump from your place on the couch with Artemis and Roy. They look at you like you’re crazy, yeah you were getting used to that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the call.

Whoever is in the kitchen is toast. You look down at May’s phone.

“You!”

“Uh oh.”

“I knew it! I knew it I knew it I knew it! From the beginning! How could I be so stupid and not listen to my gut?!”

Wally states back at you through the phone screen, eyes wide.

“You lying son of a-”

“Listen, we can talk this out-”

“Put my cookies down! You know damn well my name is written on the box!”

He surrenders, placing the cookies back in its place.

The rest of your team came out to witness this very amusing and long awaited moment.

It was funny, the living room you were in was right next to the kitchen, meaning speaking through the phones was pretty useless. They won’t say anything, lest they catch your attention and get yelled at.

“I’m going to ruin you for what you did, Speedy Bitch.”

Roy hears his code name and it’s enough for him to scare. He holds his hands up, “whoa! What did I do?”

“Not you! Obviously not you!”

You get up from the couch, bolting to your “friend.”

Wally panics, “Someone call Superman! Spider’s gone crazy!” And he books it.

It’s okay. He may be the fastest man alive, but no one messes with a Spider’s food.

so who’s attending Wally’s funeral? definitely not spider.

this is based off a video I saw, someone’s sibling was on FaceTime w a phone in the cabinet to catch who was eating their snacks 💀 I just HAD to use it

[angelicblondie]

fwb!rafe x meanprincess!reader

you knew you werent allowed to be jealous - that wasnt fair, and it certainly wasnt part of rafe and yours agreement.

and you knew it wasnt rational - you didnt even know why you were jealous. it wasnt like you had feelings for rafe, he was you best friend. so the two of you had fun every now and then and hooked up, he was still only just your best friend. in fact. he was really just looking out for you, making sure that you were getting the pleasure you deserved, that no one but him could give you. it was a solid arrangement, and you wouldnt change it anyways.

so what if you wanted to hold on a little tighter after he pleased you? so what if you liked it when he stayed later to watch a movie? so what if you liked it when he bought you things? these were normal things that best friends did, or at least thats what rafe told you.

but you were mad right now, and all you wanted to do was leave this stupid party rafe dragged you to.

rafe had left you alone for just a few minutes with his friends, and you didn't mind at all, enjoying the company of the two boys quite a lot. top and kelce were like brothers to you after all these years, and you thought they were the funniest boys in the obx. you were having fun, but then you turned you head to the drinks table where rafe was, surround by a literal swarm of girls. and the worst part, was he looked like he was enjoying it. you huffed with a narrow of you brows and turned your attention away from the scene, not wanting rafe to catch you looking.

you mind ran wild. what was he doing? why was he enjoying all that attention when you gave him all of yours and then some? were you not good enough for him?

you decided to play it cool, continuing your conversation with the other boys. eventually rafe came back, sitting right next to you as he was before, and handing you a drink. feeling petty, you look at the drink and scrunch your nose up, then shake your head, turning back to top and kelce. rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes, and set your drink on the table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back against the couch, his arm resting on the cushion behind you.

you pretty much ignored rafe the whole rest of the night, and you could feel him growing frustrated beside you. rafe cleared his throat before speaking. "I've gotta take this one home, boys, curfew."

you narrow you eyes and open your mouth to oppose, but rafe sends you a withering stare and you decide against it, saying your goodbyes as rafe drags you out.

he huffs, bending down with his hands on your biceps, his expression hardened. "ok, what the fuck was that all about?"

you eyes narrow. "nothing."

he scoffs. "bull shit. why'r you actin like a brat?"

the annoyed pout on you face spoke for itself. "nothing, its just that if you wanna fuck other girls, thats fine, but i'd rather you tell me so I could get checked for whatever weird shit they're carrying around".

rafe face lights in realization and he drops his hands from your arms, running them down his face with an amused smile, shaking his head in subtle laugher.

you pout, spurred on by his sudden amusement. "what?" you snap.

he finishes his laughter, crossing his arms. "no, nothin, its just - I just get it now. i get your lil problem."

you cross your arms, mirroring him. "do you?" you ask sassily.

he chuckles, walking right in front of you, leaning down to be face to face. "sweetie, if you were feelin a lil territorial, just say that," he says, his voice quiet and cocky. his hands traveled to your waist, giving it a good squeeze.

you feel more enraged and you scoff, pushing him away (though he barely budges). "get the fuck over yourself, rafe, god!" you exclaim.

rafe grabs your wrist in a tight grip, the smile disappearing from his face. "hey, no no no. none'a that. was tryin t'be nice but guess thats out of the books, huh princess?" you pout at his condescending tone but don't speak, knowing it would only dig you in a deeper hole.

"y'know that I wasn't gunna fuck any of those girls. we were j'talkin," he explains, his voice coming across level, almost as if he was trying to dumb down his tone.

at his words, you roll your eyes, which causes rafe to tug harder on your wrists. "hey, stop," he scolds sternly. "m'not fuckin anyone else, hear me? so stop being such a little brat about it. god, makes me wonder why I fuckin put up with you."

his words trigger a pout, and you tug again at your wrist, trying to free them. "quit it, rafe, i hear you."

"nuh-uh, dont think y'hearin me," he responds, his features softening up the slightest, "how bout this, huh? i take you back to tannyhill, make y'feel real good, and then you know for sure that m'not fuckin with anyone else? how does that sound baby?"

you werent sure if it was the suggestion, or the way he called you baby that made you agree, but all you knew is that you ended the night with rafe, feeling much more confident that he wasnt, and wouldnt, fuck any other girl in the obx but you.

[riverintheunderworld]

Bath

↳ A Patient Casper x MC who struggles with accepting good things

"Stop squirming," Casper huffs, tugging at your hair. Its not firm enough to hurt, but it's firm enough to send a message. "You're making this very difficult."

"Agh! I'm not being difficult on purpose," you swiftly reply, turning your head back to look at him.

Droplets fly away from your damp hair, and you swear you weren't aiming for them to drop on his face!

You simply can't help yourself from chuckling as he grimaces, however.

"Sorry, sorry." You're not sorry at all, actually. Judging by the way he looks at you, a brow raised as he does his signature frown, you can tell that he knows. "It's just -- I can do this myself, y'know!"

"I know." He hums, softly guiding your head forward with his fingers pressed against your temple. "I'm not stupid."

Casper starts to take your shampoo, murmuring something about how there's too much silicon on it, or whatever, as he pours it on his hand.

"You really don't have to do this."

"I know. You keep doing that -- stating things that are obvious to me. It's very annoying." You'd probably be more offended if this happened in a different time, but honestly, you're just trying to focus on anything but the way Casper rubs at your scalp.

How does he make it feel so good?

Distantly, you wonder if you could make him do this for you everyday. Mornings would be a little less horrible, and you wouldn't come into work with a frown on your face like usual.

But no, you couldn't ask him of that. It'd be too much work, really.

He probably wouldn't want to, anyways.

"You're quiet," his voice is always nice to hear, but you can't help but tense up once he calls you out. "Nothing good comes out from you being quiet."

"Hey."

"I'm not wrong," he chuckles, voice turning a little softer as his hands continue to work. "You're thinking -- thinking so hard that it's honestly concerning. What's on your mind, sunshine?"

"Why should I tell you?" You sigh, sinking in deeper. The water rises to your chest. It's warm.

"Your thoughts are often too heavy to carry on your own," he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, and you swear you stop breathing for a second. "Let me carry some of the load."

"Uh.."

"Please?" Another kiss, and this time, it's against the back of your neck."Don't make me beg."

Hm.

Well, that's a thought for later.

But, you're not gonna keep him waiting. It takes you a few seconds to even think about the first word you wanna say, but you manage.

"I was just thinking about how nice this was. Showering is, like, the worst part of my mornings." You tilt your head against the tub, and you see him looking at you intently. For someone who loves their own voice, he seems to like listening to yours a lot. "But now you're here. Cleaning my body -- which I could've done myself."

He snickers at your pointed tone.

"You turned a part of my routine that I absolutely hate into.. something I can look forward to?" You mutter, words slowly growing quite. "Just by your presence."

"I'm just that great." Casper proclaims, clearly proud of himself.

You cup some of the bathwater in your hands, before chucking it backwards.

Casper hisses, like the cat he is.

"Sunshine. Don't be difficult." He grumbles from behind you. That manages to shut you up.

Casper aims the water to your head, before combing out the conditioner with his hands. He's a lot more gentle than you are when it comes to things like these.

"Do you want me to help with-"

"Nope! No. Thank you." You say as fast as you can. Having someone wash your hair for you is embarrassing enough - but your body?

Casper backs off, leaving some space between him and the tub. You turn your head to look at him.

His expression is soft.

"I wouldn't mind doing this for you, by the way." He hums, leaning down for the last time to place a kiss between your brows. "It's really no problem."

Your mouth forms a frown at the idea. It's nice, but... you can't accept that - even if you want to.

"I can't let you do that for me. I mean, you'd have to wake up early in the morning-"

"Which I already do."

"Well... I'm just going to be grouchy the entire time."

"And why would that stop me?" He hums. "It never stopped you, did it?"

You turn your head around, trying to come up with something to say as you look at the water trickling around your body.

"I can't push you to do anything you don't want to - but if this is also something you want, I'm asking you to think about it. As of now, I don't have a job. I spend most of my time here waiting for you and protecting your house from danger. If I could start my mornings taking care of you? I'd do anything."

Casper finally stands up, looming over you. He places a hand on your head, before finally walking out.

"I love you." He says, looking at you before he leaves.

"Me too."

"I'll make you breakfast while you shower." He smiles, closing the door. At least one thing is going right this morning.

A/N: I don't take baths so I'm not exactly sure why I wrote this ??

Anyways !! I thought it would be fun to do, like, a reverse of the bath scene !

[tension4mari]

I was wondering if you could do player 125 pls like anything my man’s has no ff pls if you can

The beginning is kinda slow!

~

⚡︎Paring- Min-su x Fem!reader

⚡︎Summary- You and Min-su have been in a relationship for 3 years, deciding that you'll do whatever it takes to get rid of all your debt you inter into the squid games with Min-su. You both meet a girl named "Semi" and decides to hang out with her group. Little did you know you wouldn't be so safe there.

Warnings- Angst & cursing... That's it:0

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"What's your name?" the girl spoke, eyes strict with curiosity "Park Min-su" he said looking at her with his brown colored eyes "well, why'd come here anyway" And before he could speak a guy with purple hair walked up to her "Senorita, excuse me" She turned with furrowed brows.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"I want you to join our team." the purple haired guy spoke smiling at her. Semi turned her head to the guys beside him finally looking back at the guy in the middle "Uh. Why should I?" soon she spoke one of the guys beside her spoke "Don't you know who this is? The rap god, Thanos." He spoke staring at up then beginning to rap.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑The guy on his right spoke out "Hey, wait a minute. We don't know what we're playing. Picking a woman is-" He couldn't get his words out before Thanos pointed his finger out at the girl "Thanos the Great will protect you. Don't worry"

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"Oh" she chuckles "Thanos, huh?" she plays with her lip a little. "So, you managed to collect all of the Infinity Stones?" She says looking him up and down "Of course" The boy said throwing his arm up and down "Ill destroy anybody who dares stand in my way of greatness!" He declares telling her to stick with him "Yeah, so about that" She looks at the three guys "I was already talking to someone else and-" "No problem" "Who is it" Semi blinks at the guys and steps to reveal Min-su.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑He looks up at them nervously "What's your name?" Thanos nodded at him "Uh, I'm Min-su. But I have someone with m-" Thanos cuts him off "What's up? Nice to meet you, my brother" "Welcome to the Thanos world" He goes to grab Thanos had, shaking it "Uh...oh" "You're cute, come on"

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑Just as him and his crew were about to walk away you come up and grab Min-su shoulders. "Hey! where ya going?" nervously laughing at him you say. The group already walked off and now it's just you too. "Oh. some guys invited me to his group-" "What." you say staring at him in disbelief "I thought you and I were going to stick together? Especially after that last game we played!" "Right... But I can't just leave their group now!" "Thats dirty" he stated. "Dirty? What's dirty is you leaving your girlfriend to fend for herself all alone! What the hell has gotten into you Min-su!" "Nothing has gotten into me- Look. Just find another team and well see each other later. Ok?" "Whatever" You scoffed turning on your heels not turning back to look at him

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑Lucky for you, you found a team just in time for game. He must of not known how easily you life could be taken from these stupid games! It made you feel like he didn't care what would've happened to you. "Tch, I don't need him. I can handle my own" you mumble under your breathe.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑Soon enough you saw a group of men and a girl sitting together. Deciding you have had enough of talking to yourself you walked up to interduce yourself to them?

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"Hey? excuse me. Do you guys think i can sit with you all?" You spoke softly not wanting to alarm them "Sure, why not! sit down. We Aren't any harm. 390 spoke.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑You ended up really bonding with them and getting to know their names. Soon enough it was time to put votes in, whether not to stay or leave. Both you and Min-su voted to leave after the first game. Now you were beside Min-su somehow as you see a guy look back at him approaching.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"You better not fuck this up. he said with folded arms. "huh?' " hmm." The guy fumbles with Min-su jacket "This." "Like we agreed. We do one more, and then get out. Right?" He stared at him "Uh huh" Min-su said nodding his head violently "What the fuck?" you said whispered.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑You scoot closer towards Min-su "Are you seriously going to let that jerk tell you want to do?" You ask Min-su "Um.. Don't worry about it." he says looking away from you with his head down "What do you mean 'don't worry about it' Min-su you promised that well get out of here alive! Together." You say hoping he'll not chose the right thing. "Min-su." He looks at you "Yeah?" "Please. For me, chose the right thing"

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"I-I can't..." he says amongst his voice. "How stupid are you?!" You whisper shout "I want to leave this place- i don't think i can stay anymore longer.." he looks at you for a moment before turing his head 'I cant."

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑Your turn to vote was about to happen but one of the guys Min-su were hanging out with called you over. You hesitantly walked over to him "Who are you? Do you and that guy know each other?" he said while pointing to your boyfriend

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"Um yea... He's, my boyfriend." you answered ""Holy shit?!" he said in shock "Who would've known he had that in him??" he said elbowing His friend Thanos

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑ "Hey.. Why'd say dumping him and getting with me?" he says with much confident "Tch.' you scoff "As if" You turn to Min-su hoping he would say something about the guy hitting on you. You raise your eyebrows staring at him ".."

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"ugh!" you grumble, before you could speak Nam-Gyu look at your jacket "Hm?' he comes closer to you grabbing your jacket and looking at the X on your chest "What's this?" he says Holding onto your jacket even harder. "Let go of me you werido!" you turn once again looking at Min-su hoping he'll at least say something

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑He just stares at you. Looking dumbfounded. Nam-Gyu looks at Min-su then back at you "Wow dude, you're not gonna stand up for your bitch?" he says laughing "Excuse me?" you say offend "Let me the hell go! or I'm going to beat your ass!" you say pushing him off of you

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑"Yeah? How are you going to do that?" he says getting all in your face. You managed to get him off of you. Making sure you stayed your distance from him entirely.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑Before you leave you look at Min-su "Whatever we had. Its over." you say leaving him alone for good. He stares at your retreating figure not daring to speak a word.

Hope you liked it 😿

[ravenfenty]

SWEET RELEASE | 18 +

FOOTBALL JOCK! RAFE CAMERON X NERD!FEM READER

WARNINGS:  fwb arrangement, before care? praise kink, cliches, dirty talk, foreplay skip, use of the word sir, missionary position, spitting, after care. Wrap it before you tap it folks. 

A/N: I know I went with the cliche, but who doesn’t love a little cliche sometimes, oh rafe and reader are college aged, so about 22. Oh and did I start watching outer banks, because of the rafe edits?, yes. Is this self indulgent?, yes. Held back a little, wasn't sure if I was ready to write about rough sex yet, working my way to get the courage to. Do you guys want this as a series?. In the meantime, do enjoy however. This man is so fine, it actually hurts!!!. 

You were so angry, your whole day had started off shit. Your car didn’t start this morning, so then you were late to your lectures, and shift trying to find alternative transport. Oh and the fact you were running on, 2 oat muesli bars and a sip of water, did not help. 

Plus your mum was frustrated that you weren't coming home for the holidays to take care of your siblings, like you didn't have a life of your own. 

There was no use in arguing with her, she’d somehow get her way like she always did, what you did not understand, your siblings were old enough to take care of themselves anyway.  You needed relief asap. 

You knew the perfect person to help you find that relief. You shoot Rafe a quick text.

You: is that offer still on?

Rafe: yeah its still on, your’s or mine

You: yours, my roommate’s fam are visiting.

Rafe: okay I’ll pick you up after work

You: thank you so much. 

Rafe: no problem sweetheart, see ya soon.

Rafe was very happy to see you’d accept his offer, he needed release. His father had called him, expressing disappointment in grades, once again. Threatening to block him from accessing the money in his trust fund. 

The pressure from the fact he hadn’t chosen the career his father wanted for him didn’t help. He considered his love for football stupid and childish, saying that his focus should be on business degree, and how that a real degree. 

Rafe was trying, he didn't know how else to prove it. Rafe had told his father that he was getting tutored and had a fixed a good study timetable, that word with training and football games. There has been a good improvement.  

He's really locked in, thanks to you. He considered you a life saver and a good friend. The more you spend time together, he’s started to have a soft spot for you. Loving the cute messages and memes, you send to him. Of course he’d send some back, along with silly selfies. That made you giggle. 

 He’d also appreciated that you weren't quick to judge and had actually taken the time to get to know the real him, the vulnerable side that he didn't show his own friends back home. 

He felt at ease around you.

Tonight he’d show you how much he appreciated you.

Your shift had finally ended, and boy were you hungry. You needed something large, either a nice burrito or burger would do. You played games on your phone as you waited outside for Rafe. The sound of Don Toliver blasting caught your attention, Rafe was pulling in with windows down, and Audi freshly washed. He looked good even after training, he had his hand out his window.

“Hey, sweetheart, let's get out of here”.

“Hey, Rafe”. He smiled. Dimples popping out. He looked so good today for some reason. 

You hopped in,  putting your seatbelt on. You felt a little bad and there you were smelling like grease messing up his super clean car. 

“Sorry I smell like grease”.

“That's okay, I kinda like it”.

“Whatever”.  You playfully shove him, loving the hard muscles underneath your hand. 

“You hungry, I know a good diner, felt like a cheat meal today”.

“Yes please, I’m so hungry, you have water?”.

“Yeah, check in the small compartment in front of you”. 

“Thanks”.

“Don't sweat it”.

The both of you had ordered a classic cheese burger, fries and a caramel milkshake for your meal and spicy chicken burger with fries and a vanilla coke for Rafe. You now were at his small house by the beach, you finished dinner there watching tv and chatting with him.

You’d gone to your house and grabbed a few books, your laptop and extra clothes and toiletries. Rafe had said you could sleepover, and would drive you to classes until you could get your car fixed. 

You like his home, it was clean smelt citrusy, and was simply decorated. The both of you were in the shower, and had been for ten minutes. You lathered vanilla and coconut body wash onto your skin, first your arms, followed by your boobs, Rafe did the same, watching you, eyes dilated and cheeks painted pink. You massaged your nipples, then moved your hand down south. A hand around your wrist stopped you. 

“Uh uh, that's my job”, 

Rafe, gently pushed you to the wall of the shower, both his hands planted by your side trapping you. 

“Baby, before we start, I want to go over the rules again. If it gets too much, you have a safe word. Use it when you need to and I’ll stop. Is that clear”.

“Yes Sir”.

“Good girl, go dry yourself, and I want to find you on the bed, legs spread”. Your cheeks heat at his words, you were so happy you’d had the conversation about what you liked in the bedroom, you both found that you both liked the same things. You don't know what you expected, but you were happy with what you were being given.  He moved backwards to give you space, spanking your ass as you got out. 

You do as he asks, now dry you laid on your back legs spread. Waiting in the silence. After what felt like forever, Rafe finally comes out of the bathroom. Also dry. He was hard, tip leaking with precum. 

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean”. You blurt out, for some reason you wanted to feel everything, no barrier between the two of you. 

“You sure? I can put on the condom, oh I’m also clean too”.

“No, I want to feel everything”.

Rafe smiled at that, happy to fulfill your wishes. Finally he joined you on the bed. Knees in between your spread thighs. He massaged them working his way to hook his hands under your knees, pushing your knees to meet your shoulders. 

Now you were actually spread wide, with this position you were guaranteed deep penetration. He moved his hips working his cock through your slit, spitting on the two of you for lubrication. Rafe did that for a few seconds, getting you worked up. You thrust your hips upward for more friction. Your eyes had been closed. Lost in the pleasure. But he wanted your eyes on him as he thrust in

“Eyes on me sweetheart”.

As you opened, you felt his tip stretching you.

“You look so good spread open for me”. He slowly works his length in, spitting on you some more. It's a lot, given his cock size and longer than what you’re used to. Finally his whole length is inside. Your pussy clenches around him.

“Relax sweetheart, doing good for me, gonna start thrusting now”.

Rafe starts to move, he's completely in control. Slow or fast, that's all his choice. You have no choice but to take what he gives you. 

His thrusts are deep but slow and he shifts his hips at a slight angle. Your eyes close again and he doesn't like that.

“eyes on me and keep them fucking open”. 

You open your eyes and find him watching your face and the bounce of your tits with each thrust. He picks up the pace and thrusts deeper. 

“Look at you, you look so good like this. Pussy filled with my cock. Could stay like this forever”.

You push at his chest to slow him down, given that it's too much. Rafe isn't happy so, he gathers your wrists with his hand and pins them above your bed. 

“You’re going to take what I give you”.

“I can’t”

“Yes you can baby, say it”.

“I can take it”.

“Good fucking girl”. You sex clenches, at his dirty words, you’d take what he gives just so that he could keep calling you his good girl. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you. 

Rafe moves slightly angling his cock, moving around to get to your g spot, the roll of your eyes, indicates he’s found it. He slows down his thrusts, measured and in tandem with his thumb rubbing gently at your clit. 

His cock twitches, and you can feel the familiar coil inside of you. You're chasing your climax as you move your hips to meet his thrusts. He presses hard on your clit. 

“Just like that, baby”. 

This action brings you closer to over the edge. Rafe lets go of your hands, and brings you closer, both of you chest to chest. He’s caressing your curls, and kissing your neck, as he thrusts a little more. You hold onto his back tightly,  then move to his ass pushing him deeper. You come, moaning into his chest, his climax shortly following yours. Warm cum, fills your sex. 

Rafe kisses your lips. He pulls back to look at you. Slipping his cock out, and laying on his back and bringing your head to his chest. You threw your leg over his cuddling into him more, loving his warmth. 

“Proud of you for taking me so well, princess”.  He kisses your forehead, and caressing you arm and back. 

“I loved it, felt so good, got my pussy throbbing talking about it”. You kiss his chest. Rafe’s heart warms at the gesture.

“Ok that's good, glad I did a good job”.

“Hey, you wanna take a shower with me?”.

“Sure, would love to, I have a question, is there something I can work on, for next time?”.

“I’ll let you know, next round”. Rafe sensed you were holding back, but he decided that when you were ready, you'd tell him. But the thought of a possible next time, Rafe was happy with.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Get Over It

Options for part two here let me know who you'd like to see the reader with

🖤✨

You tap your fingers against the desk irritation spiking in your body. A fierce pulsing knot of jealousy only grows as Emery giggles at one of Eddie's jokes. Fucking giggles and flips her hair all cute and shit, and has him under her spell.

Emery asked Eddie out two weeks ago and it's all you've heard about ever since. Emery is so cute, Emery is sweet, hey did I tell you what Emery said last night. He would talk and talk and each word was like some barb in your chest.

Emery waves at you beaming and you return it but there must be something in your expression because her face falls and Eddie looks annoyed.

Once the bell rings you feel a measure of relief that you can get some space, you have to be nicer to Emery. It wasn't her fault that Eddie liked her instead of you. You vow to do better.

Sighing you head out of class. You don't expect Eddie to catch up with you but he does. His big brown eyes are flashing with annoyance and he jerks his head so you follow him into an empty classroom.

The minute that the two of you are alone he rounds on you and looks seriously pissed off.

"What is your problem with Emery?" He hisses and you take a step back, compose yourself and shrug.

"I don't have a problem. She's nice" he raises his eyebrows and snorts, "Wanna try that again sweetheart?"

"I told you it's nothing" You pray he doesn't keep needling at you for more because you're sure you'll crack and all of your feelings will spill out.

"She's been nothing but nice to you, yet you've been nothing but a bitch. Gareth says it's because you have a crush on me but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard so whatever it is get over it alright?" He snaps and you blink back tears, nod silently and pick up your notebook.

"Right, okay. I'll get over it" you mumble and walk away from Eddie, feeling sick to your stomach and you leave a fuming Eddie in the classroom as you rush out, rush past Emery who looks stunned.

This isn't her fault. Of course, it isn't. This is your problem, you had to go and fall for your best friend and obviously, you had to get over it.

The idea of you having a crush on Eddie was the stupidest thing he ever heard? the words crush you and you can't help the growing chasm of pain that opens up inside you.

It was because Eddie could never see you as any more than a friend. That's why it was so stupid to him. At least you know that now. Honestly, you should have known that anyway, before Emery it was Chrissy, then Julia, then Addison. It's never been you.

It's the first time that week since you joined Hellfire a year ago that you don't go to a meeting. You avoid Eddie and Hellfire table as much as you can. Eddie won't miss you at the meetings either, especially if Emery is there so you make an excuse to Jeff to pass onto Eddie and head home instead.

It rains all the way and it's cathartic as the heavy downpour soaks your bones. Eddie's words ring in your head as you head inside your house.

Get over it.

[jetblack4realz]

dinner - yellowstone (+ 1923) boys

kayce, spencer, lee, ryan

what it's like prepping dinner with the yellowstone men

kayce dutton:

"you know this is going to end terribly, right?" he asked as he watched you from the entrance, leaning against the door frame.

"it'll be fine," you answered, shooting him a smile as you tossed the pasta noodles into the boiling water. "beth's issue is just with that dining room. she ain't got any problems with our dining room - especially since we'll be dining outside tonight."

"i just don't know why you want to host dinner with my family anyways," he said, sighing as he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. you squeezed one of his hands before returning to the zucchini.

"because i can't remember the last time we've had a good dinner, all of us, together. has tate ever had a successful family dinner with them?"

he hummed. "don't think i've ever had one."

"my point exactly. might as well have them over here at our place now that we've redone it and made it all nice, get them out of that huge house and away from that stupid table beth hates, and have a good dinner. your family loves each other, babe, they just cannot have a single good meal. we can try to change that."

"i'm sure dad is thankful you are," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the side of you head as he stood up. "now, do you need help with anything?"

"that chicken needs grilling and you know i ain't gonna do it," you said, laughing as you pointed to the plate of marinated chicken. you beamed at your husband. "thank you, kayce."

he grabbed you around your waist again, pulling you into him as he smiled down at you. he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "sure."

as he walked off, you watched him with a smile and quickly smacked his ass. "you're cute!"

he just laughed, shaking his head and walking out onto the back deck to start up the grill, plate of chicken in hand. "not as cute as you, baby!"

"you guys are gross." you turned to see tate watching you with a grimace and you laughed.

"we do our best. go get changed into something a bit nicer, we've got dinner in a few."

spencer dutton:

"what in the world are you wearing?"

you felt two hands move to grip your hips as a kiss was pressed to your shoulder. you laughed. "what does it look like, spencer? your shorts."

"why? my aunt and uncle will be here any moment," he mumbled, kissing your cheek next.

"i told them 6:30, it's only 6," you defended lamely after glancing at the grandfather clock cara had gifted you for your wedding.

"how about you change and i take over whatever it is you're cooking," he suggested, his last kiss landing on the side of your head.

"well, you've got to wear an apron then. we don't want you getting red sauce on your new pants," you said, turning in his arms and reaching back to untie your half apron. you leaned forward to tie it around his waist, smiling up at him as he laughed lightly. you finished, pulling back and crossing your arms across your chest, admiring your work. "you look cute."

"oh, do i?"

"really cute," you hummed, nodding and moving to press a quick kiss to his lips, "i'll be back. i'll put on that dotted blue dress you like."

"hey, hold on," he said, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into his chest as he smiled down at you. one hand rose to cup your jaw as he captured your lips once more, the kiss slow and sweet as your hands rose to rest on his chest. when he pulled back, he pecked your lips once more, and then was left smiling. "okay. you can do that now."

"don't let it burn," you said sternly, watching him turn back to the sauce that was on the gas stove.

"yes, ma'am."

lee dutton

"you really aren't gonna help me, are you?" you asked as you eyed him, just leaning against the kitchen counter with a stupid grin on his face.

he laughed, shaking his head. "no ma'am. unless you start something on the fire, i'm staying out of the cooking."

"you sure you won't even cut vegetables for me?" you asked with a hopeful smile.

"baby, it ain't my fault you volunteered to make us all dinner when gator is literally paid to do it," he said. "you cut those vegetables yourself."

"lee," you groaned, moving around the island to come to his side, hands instantly wrapping around his waist. "please."

he smiled down at you as he wound his arms around you as well. "no."

"come on!" you whined, leaning your head on his chest. "please."

"no. you got yourself into this, you can get yourself out of it."

"i didn't just volunteer me, i volunteered you too, lee jacob dutton."

"i did not agree to that."

"i'm your wife, you don't need to."

he laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "no thanks, baby."

you pulled back then, eying him for several moments before reaching a hand up to cup his cheek and bring his lips to yours. except you didn't completely, hovering over his mouth as a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. he pulled you closer to him by your hips, leaning in to just take your lips himself, but you pulled back, smile growing as you avoided his attempts.

you finally dragged your hand down his neck to his chest, pushing away from him and walking back to collect your washed vegetables and place them on the cutting board. he stared at you with his mouth fallen open in slight disbelief.

"hey, hey, hey," he said quickly as you began chopping the lettuce. he rounded the counter quickly, coming up behind you to take the knife from you. "i'll do that for you, don't worry."

you slid out of his way happily, hand on his arm as you turned to move back to the potatoes. "aw, thank you cowboy."

you pressed a kiss to his cheek before moving around him to get back to your cooking. he was quick though, grabbing your waist and pulling you back into him, pressing his lips to yours roughly. you held his face in one hand, the other on his bicep as you kissed him deeper.

once you broke away, both catching your breath, you smiled at him. "that's why i don't need your permission to volunteer for things."

ryan:

"hell yeah!" colby whooped as you walked in the bunkhouse, grocery bags in hand. ryan wasn't long behind you, both of y'all laughing at his best friend's reaction.

"you gonna cook us some dinner?" lloyd asked with a smile, taking your bags from you and setting them on the counter.

you offered him a gracious smile before glancing back at colby. "hell yeah i am. what do you boys want?"

"pasta!"

"burgers!"

"steak!"

"tacos!" teeter suggested, after spotting the tortillas peeking out of the bag.

"ooh, i like that idea," you said with a laugh, winking at teeter as she grinned at you. "tacos it is."

"want me browning meat?" ryan asked, moving around you to grab the ground beef. he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek as you turned to answer him, leaving you laughing instead.

"yes, thank you cowboy," you said.

"eww," colby whined.

"don't do that," teeter said, smacking him on the head. "you say that 'bout them an' you ain't gonna get anything from me."

"good," colby mumbled. you turned with raised brows and a laugh.

"there's no way you just said that!" you screeched. teeter whacked him again, lloyd laughing as he sat at the table across from him. "you know what, colby, you're cutting onions!"

"what? no!"

"you have to now, you can't just say that to my teeter girl and not have a punishment," you said, flinging an arm around the pink-haired woman and raising your brows at him. when he moved to protest you continued. "it's either that or i beat your ass."

"and so would i!" ryan chimed in.

"fine," colby groaned, standing and moving to grab a cutting board out.

you kissed teeter's cheek before bouncing off to fry the tortillas, grabbing the pan, canola oil, and corn tortillas and moving to ryan's side, flicking on the stove. as you poured the oil, ryan smiled down at you. he leaned into your side and tapped his boot to yours, catching your attention.

"i like it when you come around the bunkhouse," he told you quietly.

"i like it too," you hummed, smiling up at him. you leaned closer to him, whispering now. "but i like being able to take you home afterwards."

he laughed, a faint redness rising to his cheeks as he glanced away from you. "damn baby. how can i argue with that?"

"you can't," you chirped, laughing at his expression. "ain't you glad you put a ring on it when you did?"

he kissed you then, smiling into it. "damn right i am."

[littlelovelunette]

could you do one where reader feels bad about themselves, and starts to struggle with eating, and after weeks go by it’s a problem, they’re skipping meals and feeling sick a lot, and vi noticed and keeps an eye out and then confronts reader and helps them get better, maybe having meals together? maybe she confronts reader by making dinner one night and reader refuses to eat it or something

Pretty As The Sunrise (2)

Contains mentions of eating disorder

You were watching the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs, you had really gained weight this time.

Some of your tops didn't fit you even, that made you feel really sad. You remained there seated on the floor for a while admist clothes and pants that didn't fit you anymore.

You looked at the mirror, hand coming to cup your stomach as your lips formed a little pout, you hated looking like this.

You sighed and decided to wear a loose t shirt and some baggy pajamas, you didn't wanna see the imprint of your figure through your clothes that's how disgusting you felt.

It's been weeks you've been skipping out on lunch, having just a toast for breakfast and barely eating anything for dinner yet somehow you felt like you were the fattest whale to exist on the planet.

"Gosh, I pity Vi," you murmured, pulling your hair down to frame your face in an attempt of making it look smaller, maybe the weight gain wouldn't show then.

"Hey baby, what's with the mess?" Vi asked as she opened the door to the bedroom, brow raised at the clothes scattered around the floor.

"Oh nothing I just couldn't find something comfortable you wear," you lied through your teeth, it was only partially the truth.

"Baby have you been crying?" Vi asked closing the door behind herself and walking upto you, cupping your face in her hands. Vi tucked your hair behind your ear but you quickly pulled them back down to frame your face.

"I'm fine I just need a moment can you give me that?" You asked softly and Vi sighed before nodding, "I'm only a room away, call for me okay? Don't suffer alone whatever it is." Vi reluctantly walked out of the bedroom to give you some space.

"Eat, babe," Vi's voice was gentle whenever she tried to coerce you to eat but you didn't want to, sometimes smiling and telling her you weren't hungry and sometimes simply behaving like you were full.

You didn’t think she noticed.

The way you pushed food around on your plate, always claiming you “weren’t that hungry.” The way your clothes started fitting differently, a little looser. How you sighed when you looked in the mirror, eyes scanning yourself with something too sharp, too cruel.

Vi wasn’t the kind of person to push when you weren’t ready to talk, but she wasn’t stupid.

She saw you. And she wasn’t about to sit back and let you wither away.

So that’s how you ended up in your tiny kitchen, standing at the threshold in nothing but Vi’s old shirt, watching her cook.

It was an unexpected sight—Vi, of all people, focused, brow furrowed as she worked at the stove.

She wasn’t a chef, not by a long shot, but the woman could cook when she needed to. And right now, she was cooking for you and what's what mattered to her.

“Take a seat,” Vi said without turning around, her voice casual but firm.

You hesitated, rubbing your arm. “Vi, I’m not really—”

“—Hungry?” She shot you a glance over her shoulder, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Sit your ass down anyway.”

With a sigh, you did as you were told, perching at the small, worn-out table. The smell in the air was good—savory, rich, something warm that made your stomach twist with a hunger you’d been ignoring.

“What are you even making?” you asked trying to peer around and get a peek, watching as she plated up.

Vi turned, holding out a dish. “Noodles with grilled chicken. It’s good shit.”

You stared at the plate as she set it down in front of you.

Steaming noodles, coated in a thick, spicy sauce, mixed with crisped-up vegetables and tender slices of grilled chicken. It smelled amazing.

Vi took a seat across from you, arms crossed, gaze unwavering. “Eat, babe.”

You swallowed, fingers twitching on the table. “Vi—”

“Listen.” Vi's voice softened, but her eyes never left yours. “I know what you’re doing. I’ve seen it before—hell, I’ve done it before. You start thinking you’re not enough, that if you just shrink a little more, you’ll feel better. That it’ll fix whatever’s in your head.”

Your throat tightened. She saw right through you. There was no more hiding.

Vi leaned forward, resting her muscly forearms on the table. “But that’s not how it works, sweetheart. You deserve to eat. You deserve to be strong. You deserve to feel good in your own skin, not punish yourself.”

You exhaled shakily, looking down at your plate.

“Just try,” Vi murmured. “For me?”

Your fingers curled around the chopsticks. You picked up a bite, hesitating before finally tasting it.

It was good—spicy, rich, the kind of food that warmed you from the inside out. Your body reacted instantly, the hunger you’d been denying making itself known.

Vi grinned as you took another bite, then another. “That’s my girl.”

A warmth that had nothing to do with the food spread through you.

Maybe, just maybe, she was right.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

Concept: In The Burning Maze, I think it would have been cool if one of the crossword puzzles in the labyrinth had been a mathematical equation.

Specifically, a mathematical equation on mathematical logic, such as negations.

Why? Because Apollo is the god of mathematics and I think it would be funny if Grover and Meg were standing there, staring with horror at:

~(~(p^q))

"What is this nonsense?" Asks Meg, a literal sixth grader who has never before encountered college-level math.

"I...I don't know!" Responds Grover, anxiously wringing his hands. He also has never come across something like this before. "I never went to high school!"

"Is it code for something?"

"The little carrot there looks kinda like a Greek Delta- is Daedalus related somehow?"

"A carrot-what?"

"The carrot!" Grover points at the symbol between the 'p' and 'q'. "It looks like the Delta symbol!"

"Oooh. Okay."

The sentence below the odd thing reads;

Solve my riddle,

Or play second fiddle,

You can find me in education,

For I am the ________!

"...What does that mean?" Grover whimpers.

Meg looks stumped.

"...negation," Apollo's staring at the strange equation. "'Solve my riddle, or play second fiddle. You can find me in education, for I am the negation!'. That's the missing word in the rhyme."

They stare at him. "How do you know that?" Grover bewilderedly asks. "It makes no sense!"

"Math logic," Apollo simply says. "This particular one is...about first, second-year level in college, I'd say."

Grover closes his eyes, muttering; "No wonder I couldn't solve it." as Meg stares first at the equation, then at Apollo.

"What even is a negation?"

"That," Apollo points to the squiggly lines. "It cancels the truth values out, giving you the opposite of what's inside the parathesis."

"...What?"

Apollo huffs. "The 'p' and 'q' both represent something, like two parts of a sentence. The carrot can be upside-down or right-side-up, representing 'or' or 'and' in that sentence."

"Which way is up when?" Grover looked to be on the verge of tears as the realization math did not, in fact, end with numbers or numbers and letters.

"Uh..." Apollo made a 'V' with his hands. "If it's like this, it's 'or'. If it's like this," he made a tiny pyramid with his hands. "It's 'and'. Imagine a line through the center, like an 'A'. That's 'and'."

Grover rubbed at his eyes. "Too much," he whimpered. "Too much."

Apollo gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "In this case," he said. "It's saying 'and'. The negation, well, negates their values, so it becomes-" he pats his pants and looks in his pockets. "Anyone have a pen and paper...?"

Blank looks met his. "Okay, then...then just imagine a squiggly line in front of the 'p' and 'q'. That's what the first negation does. Then the second one negates that negation, taking the squiggly lines away."

Breathing in, he finished with; "So our mathematical answer would be, 'p and q', written with the carrot right-side-up- like the 'A'."

The tunnel was silent.

Then it was broken. "How do you know all that?" Meg demanded, looking extremely confused. "That makes no sense. I thought there were numbers."

"There are," Apollo patiently explained. "But this is a logic problem, and they don't do numbers."

"Never before have I been grateful to not to have to go to college," Grover rubbed at his temples. "Algebra was bad enough. Now this?"

"Hey!" Apollo looked slightly offended. "It's all quite fun, really, when you figure it out! Besides, we didn't even have to solve it!"

"Then why did you?" Meg asked.

Apollo stared at her. "Because you asked me too-!"

"Nope." She blew a raspberry. "None of us did."

He closed his eyes, as if praying for mercy.

"Anyway," Apollo gave both of them the stink-eye. "Math and music were quite intertwined back in the day, so the Muses and I are quite adept at it- Thalia's the geometry queen, and whatever you do, do not say 'Bet you can't solve this in a minute' to Urania. She will make you look stupid."

"Bet that's not hard."

"Oh, shut up."

insert cackle from Meg

"ANYWAY," Apollo gives her the stink-eye. "Ancient Greece was a breeding ground for mathematical minds- Pythagoras, for one, who was my son to boot! Even Hestia enjoys looking over Hephaestus's construction equations in her spare time."

The other two stared at him, as if shocked the gods would find math, of all things, fun.

Apollo awkwardly glanced away from them. He didn't know what their reactions would be if he told them of the many contributions he has made to the world of mathematics. For some reason, silly mortals didn't seem to appreciate the hard work put into them!

Sighing, he said; "Uh, Labyrinth, the answer is 'negation'. We got side-tracked there for a bit."

One hallway in front of them glowed with the answer. Without another word, they quickly speed-walked down the passage-way.

[nosyp]

Roommates With a Twist

Photocreds = @/charluiu

Warnings = friends w benefits, smut, sex before marriage, girl & boy bestfriends, fem! reader, pregnant reader, nicknames

Pairing = Michael Afton x fem! reader

Summary = You and Michael become roommates and end up in a friends with benefits situation.

Word count = 3.5k words

A/N = Been a while since I did an ACTUAL fic. Bffr. MINORS DON'T READ

Part 2

“What the fuck?”

Was the first thing to pop up in your mind once you received the text. 

Michael [2:34 AM]: hey u still awake?

You stared at your screen, squinting against the harsh glow in your dark room. Of course, he was texting you in the middle of the night. That was just how he functioned, like a nocturnal creature who barely knew of the existence of normal sleep schedules.

You debated ignoring him, but before you could, another text popped up.

Michael [2:35 AM]: can i come over?

Your eyebrows furrowed. Come over? The guy lived with you. Where exactly was he right now?

You [2:36 AM]: ?? tf are u talking about, you literally have a key.

It didn’t even take a full minute before your phone buzzed again.

Michael [2:36 AM]: door’s locked. too lazy to find my keys. open up.

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing your blanket off as you dragged yourself out of bed. Of course. This was just so him.

Grumbling under your breath, you stomped your way toward the front door, unlocking it with more force than necessary before pulling it open harshly. And there stood Michael. He looked disheveled, tired, and holding a suspicious-looking plastic bag in one hand.

“…You look like shit,” you deadpanned while looking him up and down.

Michael gave a half-hearted shrug, stepping inside as if he owned the place (which, technically, he did— but still). “Yeah. Long night,” he muttered. Then, holding up the plastic bag, he added, “Brought snacks.”

You squinted. “That looks like gas station sushi.”

Another shrug. “Live a little.”

You sighed, shutting the door behind him. Just another night of whatever weird, undefined thing the two of you had going on.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind it as much as you pretended to.

You rolled your eyes but followed him into the kitchen anyway, watching as he dropped the gas station sushi onto the counter like it was some kind of grand offering.

“You’re actually gonna eat that?” you asked, arms crossed.

Michael smirked, hands already peeling the plastic lid off. “What, scared?”

“No, just concerned for your life,” you shot back, leaning against the counter as he picked up a piece with his bare hands and popped it into his mouth without hesitation.

You watched in mild horror as he chewed. Slowly. Like he was trying to decide whether or not he’d just made a huge mistake.

Michael paused, brow furrowing.

“…How is it?” you asked.

He swallowed. “…Tastes like… regret.”

You snorted, shaking your head as he shoved the container toward you. “Your turn.”

“Absolutely not.”

“C’mon,” he smirked. “I suffer, you suffer. That’s how this works.”

You were about to retort when you realized just how close he was now, leaning in slightly, his smirk lazily plastered across his face. The air between you shifted, something unspoken crackling in the space.

This was the problem. The stupid, stupid problem.

The casual touches that lingered a second too long. The way his gaze would drop to your lips when he thought you weren’t looking. The nights where lines blurred, where you swore you’d keep things simple… only to end up tangled in his sheets, swearing it wouldn’t happen again.

Except it always did.

And now here you were, standing in your dimly lit kitchen at 2 AM, not looking at his lips, not thinking about how easy it would be to close the distance.

Michael, as always, looked entirely unbothered. Like this wasn’t messing with his head at all.

You huffed, snatching a piece of sushi just to break the tension. “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

Michael’s smirk widened. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

You rolled your eyes but popped the sushi into your mouth anyway, instantly regretting it.

“…Oh my fucking gosh.” You gagged. “That tastes like shit.”

Michael laughed, real and low, and something about it sent warmth curling in your chest.

Stupid. Stupid.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, pushing the container away.

Michael only grinned. “And yet, you keep me around.”

Yeah.

Yeah, that was the worst part.

—

How many days—no, weeks—had it been since you two started to rendezvous?

It wasn’t that long, though. You don’t remember it being that long.

You had lost track a loooong time ago.

Not that it mattered. Not that you let yourself think about it too hard.

It was just… a thing. A casual, stupid, reckless thing.

At least, that’s what you told yourself when Michael slipped into your bed some nights, arms lazy around your waist, his breath warm against your skin as he mumbled something sarcastic before dozing off like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And then, in the morning, it was back to normal. Jokes. Insults. Pretending like you didn’t know what the other looked like half-asleep and vulnerable.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t even really friends.

But you weren’t just roommates either.

Whatever it was, it was walking a tightrope. And every day, you wondered who would be the first to fall.

But you didn’t expect it to be you.

—

SLAM!

The door swung open with a sharp crack. “Hey, wake up. It’s like 2pm,” a familiar utah accent muttered.

“Ughh… what…?” you said, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to gain vision back. “How is it 2pm already…”

“It just is, get up.” he says firmly.

You groaned, rolling over to bury your face in your pillow. “Leave me alone.”

“Can’t.” Michael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking like he had all the time in the world. “You’re my responsibility now.”

You peeked at him with one tired eye. “Since when?”

Michael shrugged. “Since you let me in at 2 AM and enabled my terrible life choices.”

You snorted, throwing a pillow at him, which he easily dodged. “That’s on you.”

He smirked. “Yeah, but you still ate the sushi.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto your back. “So what do you want?”

Michael tilted his head, pretending to think. “I’m bored.”

You blinked. “...And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because you’re also bored.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

Michael raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What were you dreaming about?”

You hesitated. Shit.

Because, unfortunately, the last thing you remembered before waking up was his stupid face— smirking, close, warm. Something unspoken lingering between you two.

Michael grinned like he could tell. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You kicked off the covers with more force than necessary, grabbing the nearest thing on your nightstand (a random sock) and throwing it at him. This time, it hit him right in the chest.

Michael looked down at the sock, unimpressed. “Wow. Devastating.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you muttered, sitting up.

“And yet, you still haven’t kicked me out,” he pointed out, annoyingly smug.

You rolled your eyes. “Tempting.”

Michael just grinned, stepping closer. “C’mon. Get dressed. Let’s do something stupid.”

You raised a brow. “Define ‘stupid.’”

Michael smirked, eyes glinting with something dangerous. Oh no.

“Trust me,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”

You sighed, already regretting whatever was about to happen.

And yet—

You got up anyway.

You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed while Michael watched, arms still crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

“You better not be dragging me into some crime spree,” you muttered, stretching.

Michael scoffed. “Please. If I was committing a crime, you’d never know about it.”

“That’s… not comforting.”

His only response was a smirk before turning on his heel and heading toward the kitchen. You followed, still groggy, only to find him rummaging through the fridge like he owned the place (technically he did, but it was still annoying).

“Alright, so what’s this ‘something stupid’ you wanna do?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

Michael hummed, pulling out a carton of juice. “Ever heard of impulse decisions?”

You gave him a dry look. “Yeah, I live with you.”

He snorted, taking a swig straight from the carton like an animal. “Alright, smartass. Lemme rephrase then,” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stepped closer. Too close. “Ever made a really bad, impulsive decision?”

Your breath hitched. Because the way he said it, the way he was looking at you—lazy, knowing, like he already had the answer and it was making your stomach do something incredibly stupid.

“…Yeah,” you said, voice a little weaker than intended.

Michael tilted his head, amused. “Yeah?”

Your eyes flickered to his lips for half a second, and that’s all it took.

Michael noticed. Of course, he fucking noticed. And that smug little smirk of his deepened.

And then—

He moved.

Not hesitating, not overthinking but just closing the distance, backing you up against the counter like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Your breath caught as his hands found the edge of the counter on either side of you, caging you in. His face was right there, breath warm against your cheek.

“This,” he murmured, voice lower now, rougher, “would be a really bad impulse decision.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

Michael exhaled a quiet chuckle, eyes flicking between yours, searching for hesitation. He wouldn’t find any.

“Then,” he murmured, “why aren’t you stopping me?”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything…

But instead, you grabbed him by the front of his stupid wrinkled shirt and pulled him down hard.

The kiss was messy, heated, desperate. Like both of you had been waiting for an excuse to let this happen.

Michael made a noise deep in his throat, half-surprised, half-satisfied, before pressing closer, hands gripping the counter like he was holding himself back. Like if he touched you now, he wouldn’t stop. You were like a drug to him, addicting yet dangerous.

And fuck… that thought sent a rush of adrenaline straight through you.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging slightly. Michael groaned against your mouth, and just like that, whatever restraint he had snapped.

His hands finally found your waist, hot, firm, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the counter was digging into your back, but you didn’t care. 

Because Michael was everywhere.

Breathless. Smirking against your lips like he’d won something.

“God,” he muttered between kisses, “you really like making bad decisions, huh?”

You grinned, nipping at his lower lip just to shut him up. “Shut the fuck up, Michael.”

And then you yanked him back down.

Michael grinned against your lips, smug as ever, but that cocky attitude barely lasted a second before you pushed back, rolling your hips against him—

And just like that, his breath hitched.

“Shit—” he muttered, fingers tightening on your waist, grip demanding as he pressed closer, like he needed more, like he wasn’t sure where to touch first.

And fuck, that was the best part, watching him come undone just from you.

The counter was unforgiving against your back, but you barely noticed— not when Michael’s mouth dropped to your jaw, then lower, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.

He laughed, breath hot against your neck. “Knew you’d sound good.”

You barely had time to snap back before he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your knees go weak.

And Michael?

He noticed.

He hummed, like he’d just confirmed something for himself, one hand slipping lower, fingers teasing the hem of your shirt—

"Bedroom," you murmured, pulse racing.

Michael smirked, eyes dark with something dangerous.

"Thought you'd never ask."

—

The walk to your bedroom barely lasted ten steps before Michael pinned you against the door, kissing you roughly like he was trying to leave bruises, leaving marks on you to remind you who you belonged to.

And then the clothes.

Everywhere. 

Shirts and pants discarded all over the ground… and logic? Completely out the fucking window.

Michael swore under his breath when you yanked him closer, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

And fuck, the way he looked at you…

It was like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d been waiting for you.

And the second you pulled him down, the last of his patience snapped.

Michael groaned against your lips, hands gripping, tugging, pulling, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

And then he finally gave in.

And you were gone.

—

Plap, plap, plap

“Ughhh you feel so fucking good baby…” he moaned, voice filled with desperation. “Hah-! How’s this for a bad decision?”

“Mmm—! F-fuck you, Michael!” you managed to babble out, back arched. You gripped the sheets of the bed, nails threatening to pierce through the fabric.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Don’t hide your moans. Let me hear ‘em,” he pants out. His hands were gripped tightly on your hips as he thrusted into you. Beads of sweat trickling down both your foreheads, mixing together.

The air was tense, sexually tense. The room smelt like sex, like you’d just betrayed a part of yourself… but you loved it regardless. Michael had his way with you whether you’d like it or not. 

You felt yourself chasing the high, hips instinctively grinding against him without you knowing. You wanted more, more, it was never enough. 

“M-more! Michael…” you say as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in pleasure. It was tantalizing.

He moved his hand from your hips, dragging it up your back and onto the back of your head. He gripped the roots of your hair tightly, before pulling. It was rough— but not rough enough for you to hate it. In all honesty though, you could never hate sex with Michael at all.

“U-ugh! Fuck! M-michael!” you shrieked. “A-ah! I’m coming!”

“Good, just let it out baby,” he whispers into your ear, warm breath fanning against the side of your head.

Your cheeks flushed with an even deeper shade of red as his pace grew more erratic. It was obvious he was close too. His cock was throbbing, going in and out of you like a jackhammer. He hit all the right spots, as if massaging your inner walls.

And— almost on command— he releases inside you, coating your gummy walls with his white essence.

He didn’t stop though, he kept going faster and faster. The friction became much too unbearable for you, your gummy walls were starting to ache. 

“Awwh, c’mon… it’s your turn now,” he mutters, a mild Utah accent present in his voice.

“U-ughh!” you groan before finishing all over his member. 

He gradually slows down his pace, but still not pulling out. One of his arms was wrapped around your waist and as the other fondled with your chest. You were still on all fours with your back against his chest. 

Both of you stayed in that position, attempting to catch your breath… until…

“Up for round two?” the brunette pressed against you murmurs. 

—

And that’s how it happened, you remember it as clear as day. And — fuck— you hated him for what he did to you. Now you can’t go a day without thinking about him.

He was your roommate, so you still saw him everyday, but it just wasn’t the same. Each and every day that passed, you hoped it would happen again. But you wouldn’t know for certain, only time will tell.

—

BAM! Your body harshly hit the wall. His hands were interlocked with yours as he kissed you roughly. His lips almost trying to swallow yours whole. 

“Mmh—! Michael—! Calm down, I’m not— going anywhere! Mmh—!” you moan against his lips, sending vibrations to him.

“But I want you. Now.” he says commandingly. 

You manage to get your hands free and place it on his chest to keep him a safe distance from you. You thought about it for a while. Even if you really did like him, did he like you back? Was it worth it to lose your innocence to him?

You debate with yourself before asking, “Bedroom?”

And it happens. Again.

And it happens a couple more times until you lost count. Until one day, he proposed the idea of making the relationship a ‘friends with benefits’ one where you two only fucked occassionally, but you could still see other people if you wished to.

Well, one day, it got messy. 

You felt wrong. Off. Like something inside you was rotting, twisting itself into knots you couldn’t untangle. The disgust sat thick in your throat, clinging like bile.

It had been days, far too many days since the date you were expecting your period. But nothing came. Just an aching hollowness, a gnawing unease that curled around your ribs and whispered things you didn’t want to name.

Something was wrong.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know what.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at your reflection in the dark screen of your phone. Your fingers felt numb, cold despite the way your palms had been sweating all day.

The thought had been gnawing at you, sinking its teeth in deeper with every hour that passed. Every crampless, bloodless hour.

You needed to know.

Your body moved before your mind fully caught up. Grabbing your jacket. Stuffing cash into your pocket. Avoiding Michael’s gaze as you mumbled something about running an errand.

The drugstore was a blur. Fluorescent lights are too bright, the air too stale. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the box, shoving it under a pack of gum like some shameful secret. The cashier didn’t look twice.

But when you walked out into the cold night air, the weight of it pressed down on you. Heavy. Suffocating.

There was no running from it now.

The walk home felt longer than usual. Every step felt heavier, like your body already knew something your mind refused to accept.

The box burned in your pocket.

You barely noticed the way your hands shook when you unlocked the front door, stepping inside as quietly as possible. Michael was home. You could hear the low hum of the TV from the living room.

You couldn’t face him. Not right now.

Slipping past the doorway, you shut yourself in the bathroom, locking the door behind you. The air felt too thick, the walls too close.

Your fingers fumbled with the box, tearing it open with more force than necessary. The test stared up at you, small and unassuming, yet carrying the weight of your entire world.

It’s just a test.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. But nothing felt steady.

Sitting down, you forced yourself to go through the motions, every second stretching unbearably long. And then—

The waiting began.

The longest three minutes of your life.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Your throat felt tight. You couldn’t stop bouncing your leg, hands clenched so hard your nails dug into your palms.

It’s gonna be fine. It’s nothing. It’s—

A knock on the door.

You jolted.

Michael.

“Hey,” his voice was lazy, almost amused. “You good in there? You’ve been in there a while.”

Your mouth felt dry. “I’m fine.”

A pause.

Then, a shift in his tone—lower, suspicious. “You sure?”

Your eyes flickered down to the test. The answer was seconds away now.

And you weren’t sure of anything.

The world tilted.

Two pink lines.

Your stomach dropped. Your fingers trembled as you gripped the plastic stick, staring at it like it might change if you just looked hard enough.

It didn’t.

Positive.

Your breath hitched. The air in the bathroom felt suffocating, thick with something you couldn’t name.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

"Yo. You’re being weird," Michael’s voice came again, less amused, more concerned.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Open the door,” he said, tone shifting into something serious. “Now.”

You swallowed. The test felt like it was burning a hole through your palm.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t allowed to happen.

Michael knocked again, louder this time. “If you don’t open up, I’m picking the lock.”

Your pulse pounded. You forced yourself to move, limbs heavy and unsteady, reaching for the handle.

The door swung open.

Michael took one look at you, your pale face, wide eyes, the way you gripped something behind your back… and his expression darkened.

“What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

He frowned, eyes flicking past you to the bathroom counter. The ripped-open box. The instructions. The missing test.

His gaze snapped back to you.

“Show me.”

Your grip tightened around the test. For a second, you considered lying. Saying it was a mistake, that he was imagining things. That everything was fine.

But you knew Michael.

And Michael knew you.

So when you finally, slowly, brought your hand forward and let him see.

His face went blank.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

“…Fuck.”

[bomber-grl]

Flufftober 2024

Day 2: Black Cat

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne x Gn!Reader

Relationship between Bruce and another

As the air got chillier so did Damian’s insufferable attitude. I mean, he was already insufferable, you can only imagine the heights it’s reached nowadays.

You sighed and turned the corner. Walking to the Wayne manor was less that ideal but you wanted to do something to appease that attitude of his. (Hence, a surprise)

It’s like someone stuck a stick in his ass and left it to marinate, the idea wasn’t totally out of left field, he could’ve been too embarrassed to have brought it up. Maybe that’s why he’s been this way..

Plus the whole week he’s been whining on and on about black cats, like you get that they’re “bad luck” but they’re super cute!

Well your thoughts came to a close as you realize that you passed the gate and was now approaching the front door. You secured your scarf as a particularly harsh wind caused you to shiver, despite going to have to remove it soon enough.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel like you were forgetting something…..

Well, whatever. Problem for future you to deal with.

You lift your arm and knocked as much as you could without hurting your already frozen knuckles. You leaned in to hear footsteps from behind the door and quickly backed away as Alfred opened the door.

He greeted you politely despite your less than ideal guest behavior and let you in. Once you were stripped of your coat, scarf and whatever other “outside” clothes, you scurried on up to Damian’s room.

Sure you bumped into a few of the other residents along the staircase and hallway, perhaps you were enticed with a few snacks here and there, but you finally made it to his room

… and he’s not here.

Another chill ran through you despite the warmth of the inside. Which ofc only means one thing, the window was open.

You headed on over to his windowsill and decided that if you died then it was completely alright, technically it was still a surprise for Damian.

You quickly made your way to the roof of the manor (don’t try this at home) and despite your other half still hanging off the end of the roof, Damian’s figure quickly caught your attention.

He seemed seriously upset. Like actually.

“Hey Damian!” Your shout obviously startled him and caused him to look around before his eyes settled on your face.

“What the- you idiot!” He quickly got up from his seating position and yanked your two arms, effectively hauling your entire body onto the roof.

“Im speechless , how could you be so stupid?!” Despite being “speechless” Damian continued to yell at you for another 10 minutes.

Then the thought had occured to him, why were you up here anyway? “Why’re you here?” So blunt…

“Ok first off, rude” you got up and stood in front of him, “second of all I wanted to surprise you” you rest your arms on your hips, as a ‘gotcha, now you have to apologize’

Instead of graciously falling to his knees he just deadpans, “what surprise? You aren’t much of a gift” ok, tbh he kinda gagged you.

You were so offended, how dare he? Especially hen you went through all the trouble of getting him- oh wait, that’s what you were forgetting.

“Oh shit I bought you some Crumbl Cookie but I forgot it” your hand raced up to your head as Damian just stared at you.

“You do realize I hate those cookies?” Again, feeling judged.

“What? But you always buy them!”

“Uh yea, cuz I thought you liked them”

Now you were just standing there like idiots, then the unbelievable happened: Damian Wayne began to laugh.

“What- why are you laughing??” Your confusion only seem to have prompted Damian to laugh even more.

Finally he seemed to have calmed down and sat down on the edge of the roof that was threatening to kill you not so long ago. He pat the spot next to him.

Obviously, you obliged. Sure your “surprise” might have failed but something still nagged at the back of your mind.

“Soo uh,” you finally spoke up after a moment of silence “what’s your deal with black cats? Like why’ve you got a whole vendetta against them.”

There was a pause but then Damian spoke, well more like sighed then spoke. “It’s not actual black cats that I’m against, did you really think I was going on about an actual black cat and how it finished the rest of my snacks??”

There was disbelief in Damian’s tone but he was right, you totally believed it…

He sighed again, “well it was actually about Selina..” his eyes drifted off to the side.

“Wait.. Catwoman?? Why her?”

“Well she has this weird relationship with my dad, well not weird more like inconvenient.”

“How come?”

“Well she’s a criminal! Plus even then, and sure she’s good sometimes ,”colleagues”(very loose definition btw) shouldn’t date!” His brows furrowed, like it was a core belief of his.

Now it was your turn to deadpan at him “Damian, you do realize we could be considered colleagues and we’re still dating?”

Damian seemed in shock that you’d have the audacity to disagree and offend him in the same moment.

“Well that’s different”

“Hmmm not rlly”

“It is”

“It’s not”

“It is!”

“It’s really not…”

This whole deal with Damian had been bothering you lately but seeing as it was this teen phase he was going through, well it wasn’t that concerning.

“Hey..”

“What.” Damian snapped, still upset at you pointing out the obvious fact that overruled his argument in the first place.

“I’m cold, let’s go inside.”

Damian sighed and got up in one swift motion, then he held a hand out to you, and of course you took it.

Somehow you and Damian managed to successfully get back inside through his window despite the bickering and slips that happened along the way.

Damian stretched a bit and began walking towards his door, “let’s go eat something, I’m hungry.”

“Sure but why were you being all emo out there in the dark anyway?”

“Shut up and just eat what I give you”

——

A/n: I’m sorry if this is cringe 😭