#but give these two some time in the spotlight
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can you do another one shot of introverted reader and extroverted qb Rafe and he just follows her around and still crushes on her and then he like asks her out or something you can make this in your own way
finally part two!! ⟢ part one
as the self-defense unit wraps up, you and lana grab your things and head toward the locker rooms. the air between you is lighter now, the drills and awkward encounters behind you—for the moment, at least. lana nudges you with her shoulder, her mischievous grin already in place.
“did you see what happened to jason in the middle of class?” she asks, barely containing her laughter. “i mean, secondhand embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
you stifle a laugh, glancing over at her. “what did he think was going to happen? asking mia out in the middle of the drills? who even does that?”
lana throws her hands up dramatically. “exactly! like, dude, we’re learning how to escape a chokehold, and he’s over here trying to escape the friend zone. bad timing, jason. bad. timing.”
you snort, unable to hold back your amusement. “and then mia’s face? she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.”
“she didn’t even say anything! she just shook her head and walked away!” lana cackles, practically doubling over as she recalls the moment. “poor guy stood there for a solid ten seconds, looking like he’d just been hit by a bus.”
“it was funny,” you admit, “but also kind of sad. like, imagine building up all that courage just to get publicly rejected.”
lana shakes her head, still giggling. “i mean, yeah, i felt bad for him. for, like, half a second. but you have to admit, it was iconic. mia didn’t even blink.”
you laugh, the image replaying in your mind, but then lana’s smirk takes on a different edge. she gives you a sly look, and you immediately know you’re in trouble.
“speaking of moments,” she begins, dragging out the words, “what’s going on with you and rafe cameron?”
your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a groan. “oh my gosh, lana. nothing is going on.”
“nothing?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “girl, he was staring at you like you were the answer to all of life’s questions. and don’t even try to deny it—i saw it.”
you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “he wasn’t staring. he was just… focused on the drill.”
“focused on you,” she corrects, wagging a finger at you. “i mean, i can’t blame him. you two looked like the cover of some YA romance novel over there, all wrist grabs and lingering eye contact.”
“lana, oh my gosh, stop.” you shove her lightly, your face burning. “it’s not like that.”
“oh, but you wish it was?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.
“no!” you insist, laughing despite yourself. “you’re so annoying.”
lana grins triumphantly, but before she can press further, you narrow your eyes and shift the spotlight. “okay, let’s talk about you and topper, then.”
her smug expression falters. “what about me and topper?” she asks, feigning innocence.
you mimic her earlier teasing tone. “oh, nothing. just that you were blushing a lot while you two were partnered up. and don’t even try to deny it—i saw it.”
“i was not blushing,” she huffs, but her face betrays her, turning pink at the accusation.
“you so were!” you shoot back, laughing. “and don’t think i didn’t notice how he kept leaning in to talk to you, all ‘are you okay? is my grip too tight?’”
“okay, first of all, he was just being polite,” lana retorts, crossing her arms. “second of all, you’re deflecting.”
“am i, though?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow. “because it sounds to me like someone has a little crush.”
lana groans, throwing her head back dramatically. “fine! whatever! he’s cute, okay? but he’s also topper thornton, which means he’s probably, like, ninety percent annoying and ten percent tolerable.”
you smirk. “sounds like someone’s trying to justify their feelings.”
“and it sounds like someone’s avoiding the fact that rafe cameron was basically undressing them with his eyes,” she fires back.
the two of you dissolve into laughter, your playful banter echoing down the hallway. for all the awkwardness of the class, you can’t help but feel grateful for moments like this—light, ridiculous, and completely you.
it’s been a week since the self-defense class, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about rafe cameron since then. not that you’d admit it to lana.
she’d never let you hear the end of it. right now, though, you’re trying to focus on your spanish class, scribbling notes as señor martinez drones on about verb conjugations. lana is sitting to your left, doodling absentmindedly in her notebook, while rafe is on your right, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression that says he’d rather be anywhere else.
you try not to notice how close he’s sitting. or how his cologne lingers faintly in the air. definitely not noticing.
“señor cameron,” señor martinez suddenly says, breaking through the hum of your thoughts. you glance up to see the older man staring pointedly at rafe, his thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “por favor, conteste esta pregunta. ¿cómo se dice, ‘i like to play football’ en español?”
rafe blinks, his posture straightening slightly. you can tell from the way his brow furrows that he has no idea what the answer is. he shifts in his seat, his gaze darting toward you briefly before landing back on the teacher.
“uh…” he starts, clearly stalling. “yo… gusta… uh…”
you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to laugh at his obvious struggle. he looks genuinely panicked now, scratching the back of his neck like it’ll somehow help him come up with the right words.
without thinking, you lean slightly toward him and scribble on the edge of your notebook: me gusta jugar al fútbol.
sliding the notebook closer to him with your left hand, you tap the words lightly with your pen before sitting back, acting like nothing happened. rafe’s eyes dart to the paper, and then to you. he catches on quickly, his lips twitching into a small, grateful smile.
“me gusta jugar al fútbol,” he repeats, his pronunciation a little off but passable. he looks up at señor martinez, who nods approvingly.
“muy bien, señor cameron,” the teacher says before moving on to the next victim in his line of questioning.
rafe exhales quietly, and you feel his shoulder brush yours as he leans closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear. “thanks. i owe you one.”
you shrug, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “you’ll survive.”
“yeah, because of you,” he says, his tone teasing but sincere. you can feel his gaze lingering on you, and your cheeks warm involuntarily.
lana, who has been unusually quiet, suddenly clears her throat dramatically. “i see you two are getting along nicely,” she whispers, her voice dripping with mock innocence.
you nudge her under the desk with your foot, shooting her a warning look. “focus, lana.”
“oh, i am,” she replies with a grin, glancing pointedly between you and rafe.
you and lana walk out of spanish class, your bags slung over your shoulders as you weave through the bustling hallway. the faint smell of old textbooks and cleaning supplies lingers in the air, blending with the hum of chatter from other students.
“so,” lana says, adjusting the strap of her bag and glancing at you, “are we pretending that señor martinez’s lecture didn’t put the entire class to sleep?”
you snort. “you mean only you? i saw you zoning out halfway through.”
“hey, i was conserving my energy,” she defends, holding up her hands. “that conjugation nonsense was not giving what it needed to give.”
you laugh softly, shaking your head as the two of you make your way toward your lockers. the conversation shifts to weekend plans, lana animatedly describing some pop-up event she wants to drag you to, when someone passes by on your right.
it’s him.
“hey,” he says, his voice breaking through your conversation like a gentle ripple. he’s walking just slow enough to catch your attention without completely stopping. “thanks for earlier. you saved me with that spanish sentence.”
he flashes you a smile—not the usual cocky smirk you’ve seen him give other people, but something softer, genuine. the kind that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.
“oh, uh, no problem,” you manage to say, your voice steady despite the warmth creeping up your neck.
he gives a small nod, the corners of his mouth tugging upward just a little more, and then continues walking past you, blending into the crowd.
lana waits until he’s out of earshot before turning to you, her eyebrows raised and her grin positively devious. “okay. what was that?”
you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “he was just saying thank you.”
“mmm, sure,” she says, drawing out the words. “because guys like rafe cameron totally go out of their way to say thank you for help in class.”
“it’s called being polite,” you counter, though your voice wavers slightly, betraying your attempt at indifference.
“polite?” lana mimics, her voice dripping with mockery. “girl, he smiled at you like you just solved all his problems. that was not polite; that was something else.”
you shake your head, biting back a smile. “you’re ridiculous.”
“am i?” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “or am i just really good at spotting crush vibes when i see them?”
you groan, quickening your pace to escape her relentless teasing, but the fluttery feeling in your chest doesn’t go away.
a few days rolls by, and it’s time for PE again. the memory of last week’s self-defense unit still lingers in your mind, though you’ve done your best to push it aside. unfortunately, lana hasn’t let you live it down.
“back to the battlefield,” she says dramatically as you walk into the gym together, her water bottle swinging in her hand. “do you think coach davis will make us pair up the same way as last time?”
you glance at her, trying to gauge whether she’s genuinely curious or just looking for an opportunity to tease you again. “i don’t know,” you reply, keeping your tone casual. “probably. he seems like a ‘stick to the plan’ kind of guy.”
lana smirks, nudging you lightly. “good news for you, then.”
“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, feigning innocence as you open your water bottle and take a sip.
“oh, nothing,” she replies with a sly grin. “just that a certain quarterback might be looking forward to this more than you think.”
“ooh, look,” lana adds in a whisper, nudging you with her elbow as you make your way toward your spot. “there’s your favorite partner.”
you glance over instinctively and spot rafe standing with the rest of the football team. he’s tossing a basketball between his hands, chatting with topper and a couple of others, looking relaxed and completely at ease.
you try not to linger too long, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. his lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and you quickly look away, your heart doing an unintentional somersault.
“stop it,” you mutter to lana, who’s practically vibrating with excitement at your reaction.
“i’m not even doing anything,” she says innocently, though the smug look on her face says otherwise.
you roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, coach davis claps his hands together, gathering the class’s attention.
“alright, folks!” he booms. “we’re picking up where we left off last week. same pairs, same drills, new moves.”
lana shoots you a triumphant look, barely able to contain her laugh. “told you.”
“shut up,” you mutter under your breath, your cheeks already warming as you glance toward the corner of the gym. sure enough, there’s rafe, standing with the other football players, tossing a basketball between his hands and looking entirely unbothered by the world around him.
when your name is called, followed by rafe’s, you take a deep breath and start walking toward him, feeling Lana’s smug gaze on your back the entire way.
“guess it’s us again,” he says, stopping in front of you. his tone is casual, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“lucky me,” you reply, trying to sound neutral as you set your water bottle on the floor, though your voice comes out a little more sarcastic than you intended.
he chuckles, his hands resting lightly on his hips. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
you roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.
“ready for round two?” he asks, his tone teasing but warm. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe anticipation—but you don’t dwell on it for long.
“i’m ready if you are,” you reply, trying to match his confidence.
this week’s drills involve more complex moves—blocking, evading, and redirecting. rafe listens to coach davis’s explanation but keeps sneaking glances at you, like he’s more interested in your reaction than the actual instructions. you catch him once, and he quickly looks away, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
when it’s time to practice, rafe takes his position in front of you, his hands raised slightly. “alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
you narrow your eyes playfully. “don’t go easy on me.”
his grin widens. “wouldn’t dream of it.”
the first few attempts are clumsy, just like last week, but this time, there’s an unspoken ease between you. the tension feels lighter, replaced by a strange sort of rhythm. when you stumble on one of the blocks, rafe catches your arm instinctively, steadying you without a second thought.
“you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.
“yeah,” you reply quickly, brushing it off. “just lost my balance.”
“good thing i’m here, then,” he says, his grin returning. he’s teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his tone that makes your stomach flip.
as the drill continues, you notice how his confidence contrasts with the careful way he moves around you, never pushing too hard, always adjusting to your pace. it’s almost… considerate. by the end of the session, you’re both slightly out of breath, your cheeks flushed—not just from the exercise.
rafe is surprisingly focused, following coach’s instructions and helping you figure out the movements without making it awkward—well, mostly. he adjusts his stance a couple of times, his hands hovering near your arms to guide you, but he never oversteps, which you appreciate.
“alright, now try shifting your weight forward,” he says, watching as you attempt to push him off balance.
you give it your best shot, planting your feet and leaning into the motion, but he barely moves, his footing solid.
“okay, not bad,” he says, grinning. “but maybe try using a little more…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word.
“force?” you supply, raising an eyebrow.
“yeah, that.” he nods, his grin widening. “don’t be afraid to go for it.”
you try again, this time putting more effort into the movement. to your surprise, he actually stumbles back a step, his expression shifting to mock surprise.
“whoa—okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “you’ve got some hidden strength there.”
you laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “yeah, sure. i’m terrifying.”
“hey, i’m just saying,” he replies, his tone teasing. “remind me not to mess with you.”
lana, paired with topper a few feet away, catches the exchange and immediately starts making faces at you behind rafe’s back. you shoot her a glare, mouthing stop while trying not to laugh.
“what’s so funny?” rafe asks, glancing between you and lana.
“nothing,” you say quickly, straightening up and avoiding his gaze.
laa smirks, her voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “oh, it’s definitely something.”
you groan inwardly, already dreading whatever teasing lana has planned for later. for now, though, you focus on the drill, pretending not to notice the way rafe’s smile lingers just a little
the end of class rolls around, and as everyone starts clearing up and heading toward the locker rooms, rafe lingers near you, casually adjusting the strap of his gym bag. lana notices, of course, and shoots you a knowing look before wandering off toward the door with topper trailing behind her.
you sling your water bottle over your shoulder, about to follow, when rafe steps a little closer. “hey,” he says, his tone casual but with just a hint of hesitation.
“hi,” you reply, glancing up at him curiously.
“so, uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. “are you going to the game tonight?”
you blink, caught a little off guard. “the football game?”
“yeah,” he gives a short laugh, as if there’s any other game he could be talking about. “i mean, it’s kind of a big one. with a rival school and all that.”
you chew on your lip, considering. “ah, i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”
“oh, come on,” he says, a teasing edge creeping into his tone. “i’m playing tonight.”
“i know,” you say with a faint laugh. “you’re the captain.”
there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. “right. so… you’ll come?”
before you can answer, lana reappears, practically materializing out of thin air. “we’ll be there!” she announces brightly, cutting off whatever excuse you were about to come up with.
your head snaps toward her, eyes wide. “we will?”
“yeah,” lana says, completely unbothered by your subtle glare. “wouldn’t miss it.”
rafe’s grin widens, his gaze flickering between you and lana. “great. see you tonight, then.”
just as you’re about to protest—or at least question why lana is suddenly speaking for you—topper walks by, overhearing the last bit of the conversation. he stops, turning to lana with a raised eyebrow.
“you’re going to the game?” he asks, his tone curious but laced with something else, something like amusement.
lana tilts her head at him, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “why? you don’t want me there?”
topper stares at her for a second, then shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “no, i didn’t say that.”
“good,” lana replies breezily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “because we’ll be there.”
topper blinks, momentarily at a loss for words, before recovering with a lopsided grin. “cool. yeah. that’s… cool.”
you glance between them, unsure whether to roll your eyes or laugh. meanwhile, rafe is still standing next to you, watching the whole exchange unfold with an amused look on his face.
“see you tonight,” rafe says again, this time directing it more toward you. his voice is quieter, as if it’s just for you, and there’s something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.
“yeah,” you manage, your voice a little softer than you intended. “see you.”
rafe’s grin widens, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest tighten. “great. see you then.”
as he walks away with topper, lana nudges you with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“you’re welcome,” she says, grinning.
“oh my gosh, did you see the way he was looking at you? you’re so going to that game.”
“lana,” you groan, but she’s already steering you toward the door, topper trailing behind like a lost puppy.
“oh, and topper?” lana calls over her shoulder. “you’d better actually play well tonight if i’m showing up.”
topper laughs, running a hand through his hair. “don’t worry, i’ll make it worth your while.”
“you’re welcome, by the way,” she says, grinning.
“for what?” you ask, even though you already know where this is going.
“getting us prime seats to watch your boy play tonight,” she teases.
you groan, shaking your head. “he’s not my—”
“oh, save it,” she interrupts, laughing. “i’m just saying, this is gonna be very entertaining.”
you shoot lana a look, but she just grins, completely unfazed. “you realize your boy is going to be there as well.”
“ahhh, this is going to be so much fun,” she says, and for some reason, you can’t help but smile too.
you and lana are in her room, sorting through her closet to find something suitable for the football game. clothes are strewn across her bed, some tossed on the floor, and lana is holding up a navy sweater against herself in the mirror.
“what about this? casual but cute, right?” she asks, turning to you.
“it’s cute,” you say, trying not to laugh at the chaos around you. “but are we really dressing up for a football game?”
lana shoots you a look. “first of all, yes. second of all, you need to look extra cute. for a special reason.”
lana holds up a cropped sweater, frowning. “do i go with this? or the green one with the little buttons?”
“the green one,” you say without hesitation. “it makes your eyes pop.”
she nods thoughtfully, tossing the sweater onto a growing pile of rejected options. “okay, green it is. what about you? you can’t just show up in your usual jeans and hoodie. this is a game. there’s a whole vibe.”
before you can respond, lana’s younger sister amalia bursts into the room, a bundle of energy as always. she’s clutching a bowl of popcorn, her hair in a loose braid. at fifteen, she has that untamed curiosity that makes her impossible to ignore.
“what’s going on in here?” amalia asks, plopping down on the floor and grabbing one of lana’s discarded sneakers.
“getting ready for the game,” lana says, tossing the sweater onto the bed and grabbing a scarf.
amalia plops onto the corner of the bed, narrowly avoiding a pile of jeans. “so, like… are you going because you actually care about football, like, someone specific?”
“amalia!” you gasp, laughing, while lana groans.
“obviously, we’re going for the game,” lana says, dragging out the last word like it’s painfully obvious.
“sure you are,” amalia says, smirking. she looks at you. “so, which is it? topper or rafe?”
both lana and you freeze mid-motion, slowly turning to look at her. “what?” you say in unison, your voices dripping with confusion and maybe a hint of panic.
“oh my god, it is true.” amalia’s eyes widen, her tone full of mock scandal. “i mean, i heard you talking on the phone,” she says nonchalantly, taking a bite of her granola bar.
lana’s face contorts into a mix of horror and disbelief. “you were eavesdropping?”
“no!” amalia says defensively, though her grin betrays her. “i just walked past your room, and i heard you say something about rafe. or was it topper? honestly, you were talking so fast, i couldn’t tell.”
“besides, we have thin walls. i can hear every conversation you have.”
you bury your face in your hands while lana groans loudly, tossing a sweatshirt at the younger sister. “you’re the absolute worst, you know that?”
she giggles, dodging the sweatshirt. “what? i’m just curious! so, which one is it? rafe or topper?”
“neither,” you say quickly, trying to sound as calm as possible. “we’re just going because… we have nothing better to do.”
amalia doesn’t look convinced, her eyes darting between the two of you like she’s trying to crack a code. “uh-huh. sure.”
you bury your face in your hands. “can we not do this right now?”
“oh, come on,” she says, grinning. “i have to live vicariously through you guys. my life is so boring.”
her older sister snickers. “you’re fifteen, amalia. you’re supposed to have a boring life.”
amalia rolls her eyes. “whatever. you’re lucky mom and dad aren’t here, or they’d totally make me go with you guys.”
lana points to the door, her tone firm. “okay, get out. now. before i tell mom you stole her granola bars again.”
amalia gasps dramatically, clutching the half-eaten bar to her chest. “you wouldn’t.”
with a huff, amalia stands and heads for the door, but not before throwing one last grin over her shoulder. “fine, but if you don’t tell me what happens tonight, i’m stealing your makeup.”
“go away, amalia!” lana yells, and the door slams shut behind her.
“you’re such a snitch,” could be heard from the other side of the door.
as the silence settles, you and lana exchange a look, and then burst into laughter.
“she’s impossible,” you say, shaking your head.
lana smirks, reaching for her eyeliner. “she’s also not wrong about you and rafe, though.”
you grab a pillow and throw it at her. “shut up!”
the stadium lights flood the field as you and lana make your way to the bleachers. the energy in the air is palpable, the crowd buzzing with excitement as the game is set to begin. the school colors are everywhere—navy and red banners, painted faces, and a sea of matching shirts.
lana’s decked out in navy, her outfit effortlessly stylish, while you’re in red, wearing your school hoodie with pride. she loops her arm through yours as you weave through the crowd.
“this is so chaotic,” lana says, laughing as you dodge a group of cheerleaders running toward the sidelines.
“you’re the one who wanted to come early,” you tease.
“early means we get good seats,” she replies, tugging you along.
as you near the edge of the bleachers, a familiar figure catches your eye. rafe is standing by the fence near the field, already in his uniform, looking every bit the golden boy quarterback he is. his helmet is tucked under one arm, and he’s talking to a teammate, but the moment he spots you, his face lights up.
he steps away, jogging over. “hey!”
“hi,” you reply, a little breathless from the crowd.
“i, uh, saved you and lana some seats,” he says, gesturing toward a spot near the middle of the bleachers, right in prime view of the field.
“oh, thanks!” you say, genuinely surprised and a little touched.
“of course,” he says casually, but there’s a flicker of something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.
meanwhile, lana has already found her focus—topper is lingering a few steps away, looking effortlessly cool in his jersey. she doesn’t waste any time sidling up to him, her voice light and playful as she says, “topper, is this your game face, or do you always look this serious?”
topper smirks, tilting his head at her. “you tell me. think it’s intimidating enough?”
“intimidating? not quite,” she teases, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
you glance at her, rolling your eyes slightly but smiling. she’s clearly in her element, and for a moment, you’re distracted by their banter.
“hey,” rafe says, drawing your attention back to him.
you look up at him, his expression softer now. “yeah?”
“so, i was thinking…” he starts, trailing off for just a second before giving you a teasing look.
you arch an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “really? you were thinking?”
his grin deepens, and he nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “yeah, shut up. i was thinking…” he pauses again, this time looking a little nervous, though he hides it well. “if i win this game tonight, would you… wanna go out with me?”
you blink, caught completely off guard. his words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t help the way your lips curve into a smile.
“seriously?” you ask, your voice soft but full of amusement.
“dead serious,” he replies, his eyes locked on yours, a mix of confidence and vulnerability in his expression.
your smile widens, warmth blooming in your chest. “well… i guess i’ll have to cheer extra loud, then.”
his grin stretches across his face, brighter than you’ve ever seen it. “i’ll hold you to that.”
before you can say anything else, lana suddenly appears at your side, her cheeks slightly pink from talking to topper. “come on, we need to grab those seats before someone else does.”
rafe nods, stepping back but keeping his eyes on you. “i’ll see you after the game?”
you nod, your heart still racing. “good luck, captain.”
“thanks,” he says, his voice warm, before jogging back toward his team.
as you and lana make your way to the bleachers, she nudges you with her elbow, her grin mischievous. “sooo… what was that about?”
you shrug, trying to play it cool, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.
“uh-huh,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “you’re so coming to every game from now on.”
you laugh, feeling a little giddy. maybe you just might.
the game has been intense, and the crowd is on edge. the scoreboard has been a back-and-forth battle, but now, as the clock winds down, rafe's team is trailing by just a few points. the stands are buzzing with nervous energy as the players huddle on the field.
you’re perched on the edge of your seat, your eyes glued to rafe, who is looking more focused than ever. he’s been carrying the weight of the game ever since their second best star player was taken out with an injury. it’s clear that he’s frustrated, his jaw clenched as he scans the field, but there’s something else in his eyes: determination.
topper stands beside him, clearly trying to keep up with the intensity, but it’s hard not to notice that rafe’s doing most of the work. he’s calling the plays, directing the team, and every move he makes looks calculated—almost like he’s pushing his limits, but you can see in the way he carries himself that he’s not going to give up.
the clock is ticking down, seconds slipping away like sand in an hourglass.
“come on, come on!” lana mutters beside you, her voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd. you glance at her, her eyes fixed on rafe and topper, and then at the field. the tension is so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.
rafe takes the ball, his eyes scanning for an opening. he’s got no choice now; it’s all on him. he fakes a pass to topper, sending the defenders rushing toward him, then in one swift motion, he dodges a tackle and charges down the field. the crowd rises to its feet, the energy growing with every step rafe takes.
you can’t help but hold your breath as you watch him break through the last line of defense, topper sprinting beside him, staying just close enough to act as backup. rafe’s legs move like they’re made of steel, his eyes locked on the end zone.
with seconds left on the clock, he passes the ball to topper, who’s just a few yards from the end zone. topper catches it and pivots, leaping into the air just as a defender tries to block him. time seems to slow as the ball arcs through the air and lands perfectly in topper’s hands. the crowd erupts as he crosses the goal line, securing the game-winning touchdown.
you can barely hear yourself think over the deafening roar of the crowd. you jump up with lana, both of you screaming and clapping in excitement. rafe’s face lights up as the team floods onto the field to congratulate topper, but he’s still scanning the crowd for someone.
you catch his eye, and for a split second, everything else fades away. his grin is wide, the exhaustion and tension melting off his face, replaced by sheer triumph.
“looks like you’ll be getting that date after all,” lana says, her voice full of teasing as she nudges you, but you barely hear her. all you can focus on is rafe’s smile, the way he’s looking at you from across the field.
you can feel your heart skip a beat as the final whistle blows. the game is over, and against all odds, rafe’s team pulled through.
lana cheers next to you, but you’re still staring at rafe, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. he winks at you, the energy of the win still buzzing in his movements.
it’s official: rafe cameron just won the game—and, if you’re being honest, you think he just might’ve won a little bit of your heart too, especially when he was looking right at you after winning the game.
MASTERLIST
CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚。⋆
@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @maybanksgirl69 ⟢ @hstbsl06 ⟢ @percysley
#lizzieswrites𝜗𝜚#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x you#drew starkey x you
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SECRET FOR ONE YEAR
Ollie Bearman X Russell!fem!reader
Summary: When Ollie and Y/n have been dating for almost one year, the only person who doesn't know yet is George. Y/n's older brother.
Words: 5.3K+
Warnings: Romance, secret dating, appearance of George and Carmen (I love Carmen🥹), conversations about sex, and women's conversations hahaha.
Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This story came to me when I was having insomnia, but I decided to write it the next day.
MASTERLIST
Ollie Bearman and Y/n Russell had a quiet romance, hidden from the view of the media and, more importantly, Y/n's brother, George.
From the beginning, the idea of a relationship between her and Ollie seemed complicated, considering the rivalry between him and George on the F1 tracks. The Mercedes driver was a kind, understanding and friendly man, and she knew he would treat Ollie well, but still the fear of telling her older brother lingered in her mind.
They held their meetings in discreet places and away from the eyes of paparazzi, avoiding any type of public exposure.
The Russell and Bearman families knew about this romance, even Carmen, George's girlfriend, and they helped keep up appearances, avoiding any gesture or word that could reveal anything about the relationship.
Poor George, he was oblivious to this. Thinking that Y/n was going to her best friends' house from college every time she caught a flight. But the truth was, she was going to spend a few days at Ollie's house in London. Poor George.
A year passed, and they kept their relationship a secret. There were also days when some fans were suspicious, but Y/n told her brother that it was just rumors, nothing much. The poor pilot believed it, because Y/n and Ollie had been close friends for years.
That's what he thought.
Ollie didn't pressure his girlfriend to tell the world or her brother, he understood Y/n's concerns and supported her with sweet and comforting words.
Sure, he wanted to shout from the rooftops that Y/n Russell was the love of his life. But he also enjoyed the peace they had away from the spotlight.
The day was cold and cloudy. Y/n was at her older brother's house, having girl time with Carmem. Y/n talked about how her relationship with Ollie was going, while the eldest gave advice and listened attentively to her younger sister-in-law.
The relationship between Y/n and Carmem has always been marked by a remarkable closeness. Ever since Carmem started dating George, Y/n felt comfortable opening up to her, even in the most difficult times. They laughed together, shared secrets and, most importantly, always knew how to give each other space when needed. It was a friendship built on mutual trust.
Y/n was lying on George and Carmem's big bed, with her feet covered in a sock and resting on the headboard, relaxing while her sister-in-law was sitting in the armchair, concentrating on painting her nails, with a skincare mask on her face, just like Y/n.
The two were enjoying a rare moment of tranquility, away from the stresses of everyday life and their boyfriends' Formula 1 events.
"You know... sometimes I feel like telling George about my relationship," she begins, and Carmen looks up, looking at her sister-in-law lying on the bed. "I feel sorry for Ollie, I keep the relationship a secret because of my brother and not because of the media, and I feel like he wants to show everyone that we're together. But... it seems like I won't let him, you know?"
Y/n turns to Carmen, looking at her with slightly teary eyes. Carmen tries not to laugh, even though the subject was serious, Y/n looked funny with that pink mask on her face.
"Look, honey. I understand the weight you carry." Carmen says. "You can talk more and I know Ollie will understand what you want right now. And when the time is right, you can tell George. I know he loves and protects you a lot as your big brother, but he wants to see you happy too, just like Ollie. I see the love the pilot has for you, and I know he's willing to do whatever you decide."
Y/n turns her head to her and smiles, sniffling a little. "Oh, what I would be without you, Carmen!"
Carmem smiles sweetly and goes back to painting her nails.
Y/n turned her gaze to the wall in front of her, while wiggling her toes absentmindedly, her hands were inside the pocket of the sweatshirt she was wearing.
Carmen sees how she thinks about something, and bites her lower lip. "Y/n, what are you thinking about now?" She asks teasingly.
The girl lets out a little laugh and looks at her sister-in-law. "Oh, I don't know how to tell you this...it's kind of...embarrassing...I guess." Y/n takes her hands out of her pocket and begins to peel off the nail polish, shyly.
Carmen frowns and looks curiously at the youngest. "Hey, you can trust me! You know!"
Y/n rolls a little in bed to face her sister-in-law, but doesn't realize she was right on the edge, almost falling. A sudden movement and she ends up on her back on the floor.
"It's just that Ollie and I..." She laughs awkwardly. "You see... we slept together for the first time last week..." She says quietly, but Carmen hears and smiles, her eyes widening a little.
"What? Like, in a way-" Carmen doesn't finish, because Y/n interrupts.
"NO!" She says loudly. "Well, yes. No, but...damn." She tries to explain herself and Carmen laughs. "I mean, we slept together in a real sleeping way. You know." Y/n explains. "But also, you know, we've slept together that other way..." She feels her cheeks grow hot, confessing this to someone.
No one knew, however, Y/n was embarrassed to tell her mother. Not that she would fight, but you see, she would be talking about sex with the woman who raised her.
"So? Can I ask how you felt?"
Y/n smiles embarrassedly. "The first time is weird, isn't it?! But I have to say it was good... he was good..." She searches for the right words, taking some time to think better. "It was kind... He respected the moment and everything" She turns around smiling.
Carmem smiles, still focused on her nails. "Ah, that was cute!"
Y/n rolls her eyes laughing, looking back at the wall.
"You know you can trust me. I can give you tips on how to-"
Y/n interrupts her, blushing from having spent too much time on that subject. "Thanks! That's weird coming from you, because you're dating my brother. But coming from a woman to a woman, I take the advice."
Carmem laughs softly. "Was it the first time for both of you?" She asks, we try to help Y/n with the question.
Before Y/n could respond, something interrupts.
"First time of what?" George says loudly, startling Y/n, making her turn around quickly and fall off the bed in fright. Her back makes a loud bang on the floor.
"Holy shit" she curses under her breath, placing her hands behind her back for falling on her sneakers. That would definitely leave a bruise later.
"Are you okay?" George asked worriedly as he watched his sister get up. Carmen across the room was holding back a laugh.
"I am." Y/n grimaces. "But it was your fault, you scared me!" She jokes, making George roll his eyes.
"Hey, it's not my fault if you were telling a secret against me and got scared by my arrival" He raises his hands laughing. Y/n exchanges a look with Carmen, who had a smile on her face.
"Funny you" Y/n sits on the bed. And George laughs.
••••••••••••••••••••••
Days passed, and the Monza Grand Prix finally arrived. The atmosphere was full of energy, with fans cheering and teams busy making final adjustments for free practice. Y/n took advantage of her break from university to watch the race up close. It was rare to be able to watch her boyfriend and her brother at the same time, but this dynamic had its price: secrecy.
In the Mercedes VIP lounge, Y/n was comfortably seated in one of the armchairs, her eyes fixed on her cell phone. She was wearing a casual but elegant Mercedes outfit, which went unnoticed among the luxury of the area.
To George, it seemed like his sister was just there to support him like she always did: wearing a T-shirt with their last name and a team cap. He would never suspect the real reason behind her presence.
Ollie Bearman.
As she was scrolling through her phone, she heard footsteps entering the room. Instinctively, she looked up and froze. There was Ollie, with that unmistakable smile that always made her heart beat faster.
"Hey, my love-" She could have sworn the nickname came out louder than they expected.
Y/n's eyes widened immediately, putting her finger to her lips and frantically gesturing with her hands for him to stop talking. Before she could react further, the side door of the room opened again, and George walked out of his private room with a friendly smile.
“Ah, Ollie!” George greeted, extending his hand to the Haas driver. Ollie, who had also been frozen for a moment, quickly composed his expression and shook George’s hand.
"Hey, George! How are you?" He replied, his voice slightly hesitant, but still friendly.
"Of course! What brings you to our room?" George asked, clearly curious but kind.
Y/n held her breath, trying to look distracted by her cell phone, while her eyes moved to follow the scene.
Thinking quickly, she looked up and replied, "Oh, I called you! I thought we could take a walk around the paddock before practice starts. You know, catch up."
George seemed pleased with the answer, as he knew how great friends they had been since the younger driver was in F2.
He nodded. "Good idea! It's a great day for a walk."
As Y/n stood up, Carmem entered the room with a calm smile. She walked towards the coffee machine, but when she saw Ollie and Y/n together, she gave her sister-in-law a knowing look, which she hid as much as possible. Carmem clearly knew what was happening, but she wouldn't say anything.
As Y/n walked past her brother to leave, holding her cell phone, George frowned slightly when he noticed something in her hand.
"Hey, I never noticed before. Nice ring, Y/n!" He commented, casually pointing to the discreet wedding band she wore on her finger.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Ollie froze in place, while Y/n felt her cheeks grow hot. Carmem almost choked on her coffee, but George, innocent as always, didn't understand anything wrong in the atmosphere.
"Oh, thank you!" Y/n said quickly, trying to sound natural. "Our mother gave it to me the other day. I thought it was pretty and decided to use it,"
"You have good taste," George replied with a smile, before turning to Carmen, who was trying to contain her laughter.
Y/n took advantage of the moment to pull Ollie by the arm and leave. They hurried across the paddock, trying not to attract curious glances. As soon as they found a more secluded corner, away from the hustle and bustle, Ollie grabbed her hand, gently pulling her closer.
Before she could say anything, he surprised her with a passionate kiss. Y/n smiled against his lips, feeling the warmth of his arms around her. When they pulled away, Ollie had a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"So it was your mother who gave you that beautiful ring?" He joked, chuckling softly.
Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but laugh. "It was the first thing that came to my mind, okay? And it worked, didn't it?"
Ollie caressed her face, his gaze full of affection. "You're amazing, you know that? Even when we're in danger of getting caught, you think quickly."
Y/n bit her lip, looking away for a moment. "I was thinking... I think it's time to tell G. I don't want to hide it from him anymore. He'll understand when I tell him, right?"
Ollie nodded, squeezing her hands lightly. "Of course he will!" He smiled. "I'll do whatever you decide, love. No matter what happens, we face it together. Always."
Those words made Y/n smile, her eyes shining with emotion. She hugged him tightly, feeling grateful to have him by her side. "Thank you for being so understanding. I don't know what I would do without you."
"You won't have to find out," he replied, kissing the top of her head with a smile.
They stayed there for a few more minutes, enjoying the moment away from the watchful eyes of the paddock and exchanging soft caresses and vows of love.
Time passed, and the paddock was buzzing with activity. Drivers were milling around, some focused on practice and others engaged in casual conversation. George, still sweaty from his practice session, came out of the Mercedes garage, surveying the surroundings. Soon, he spotted Ollie chatting animatedly with Leclerc, Piastri and Antonelli.
Ollie gestured as he laughed at something, his hand resting on an iron barrier next to the group. George, distracted, fixed his eyes on the Haas driver. It was then that she noticed something glowing on his finger.
A ring. He frowned, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu. The ring was surprisingly similar to the one he had seen on Y/n’s hand earlier.
"It can't be..." He muttered to himself. He shook his head, trying to push the thought away.
Maybe it was just a coincidence, he thought. But the idea lingered in his mind as he walked back to the VIP room.
Upon entering, he saw Y/n standing on the balcony, holding a cup of coffee while watching the movement on the dance floor. The afternoon light reflected on her hair, and George felt a wave of nostalgia at seeing her there so calmly. It was hard to believe that his little sister, who he always wanted to protect, was growing up.
"Are you enjoying your day, Y/n?" He asked casually.
"Yes, everything is so busy today," she replied, without taking her eyes off the track.
George walked past her, but couldn’t help but look at her hand again. The same ring. He frowned again, but didn’t comment.
Instead, he looked around, searching for Carmen. "Have you seen Carmen? I didn't find her in the Mercedes hospitality room?" He asked, crossing his arms.
Y/n finished her coffee, placing the empty cup on the nearby table. "No, I didn't see her. Maybe she's in the paddock or talking to someone," she said, already starting to walk towards the exit.
George tried to call Carmen, but the call didn't go through. "Damn, my phone's dead." He stopped and looked at Y/n. "Can I use your phone? I need to try to talk to her."
Y/n, who already had her hand on the door, turned around with a casual smile. "Sure, here." She took her cell phone out of her pants pocket and handed it to her brother without hesitation. "You can use it as you please." She said as she told him the phone's password.
George thanked her as Y/n left, oblivious to what he was going to do next. With his phone in hand, he unlocked it with the intention of going to the dialer, but the first thing he saw was the messages tab open. He was about to close it when something caught his eye. At the top of the contact list was the name.
'Mi amore❤️'
Reflexively, he stopped, frowning again. Mi amore? The heart emoji was hard to ignore. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the chat. What he saw stopped him cold.
The messages were clearly between Yin and Ollie. There were pictures of them in the messages he quickly passed along. Conversations full of affection, inside jokes, and even some passionate confessions.
George didn't need to read much to understand what was going on. Y/n and Ollie...? The penny started to drop. The ring. The smiles. The discreet behavior of both. Everything made sense now.
As George absorbed the shock, Y/n walked around the paddock casually. From afar, she saw Ollie leaning against one of the barriers, waiting for her.
He smiled as soon as he saw her, that warm smile that always made Y/n feel special. She quickened her steps, and when they got close to each other, Ollie opened his arms, as if he wanted to hug her, but stopped when he remembered the public setting.
"Hi, mi amore" he said quietly, a sparkle in his eyes.
"Hi," she replied with a shy smile, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them.
The two began walking together, towards the paddock cafeteria, trying to keep the conversation casual while enjoying the rare moment of being together.
Meanwhile, in the VIP room, George was still holding Y/n's cell phone, his eyes fixed on the screen, completely surprised and trying to decide what to do with that information.
He barely noticed when Carmen entered the VIP room, smiling happily. But as soon as she noticed her boyfriend's pale, dazed gaze fixed on Y/n's phone, her smile disappeared.
"George? What's wrong?" She asked, concern evident in her voice.
He shook his head slowly, as if he was still trying to organize his thoughts. "I... I need to find Y/n," he said, his voice a little hoarse.
Carmen immediately noticed the phone in his hand and her eyes widened. "George... is that your sister's phone?" He looked at the device and then at his girlfriend, hesitantly. "Oh my God..." She murmured when she saw the wallpaper and the accessories that indicated that it belonged to Y/n.
Carmen sighed deeply, placing her hand on her forehead. He had figured it out.
Without another word, George hurried off, nervously walking around the paddock looking for Y/n. He barely noticed the glances that some of the team members were throwing his way. All he wanted was answers.
As he walked, something caught his attention. Chatter and laughter came from behind one of the garages. He stopped, recognizing Y/n's soft chuckle. Following the sound, George walked around the structure, only to find the scene of Y/n and Ollie, their backs to him, sharing a kiss and laughing together.
"Y/n?" George called, his voice firm but filled with surprise and a hint of frustration.
The two instantly pulled away, Y/n reflexively pushing Ollie away. She stared at her brother with wide eyes, while Ollie seemed frozen, trying to think of something to say.
"You don't have to move away" George said, holding up Y/n's phone. "I already know."
Y/n felt her heart sink in her chest. Ollie looked at her, worried. George continued, "When I went to call Carmen, her contact list was open. I saw the messages."
Y/n and Ollie stood completely still, as if time had stopped. Finally, George took a deep breath and asked, "How long have you two been together?"
Hesitantly, Y/n exchanged a look with Ollie before replying quietly, "A year..."
George's eyes widened, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "A YEAR?! Why didn't you guys tell me?"
Y/n stepped forward, trying to explain herself. "George, I... I thought it would be awkward for you. You and Ollie are racing rivals. I didn't want it to affect your work or our relationship as brothers."
He dropped his arms, frustration giving way to quiet sadness. "Did you really think that would make me treat you differently? That I would put this above your happiness?"
Y/n felt a lump in her throat, but managed to shake her head. "I was afraid... of disappointing you."
George closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing those words. "What about the families? Do they know?" He asked, already imagining the answer.
Reluctantly, Y/n nodded. "Yes... everyone knew but you. I'm sorry, George. It was never our intention to exclude you."
He sighed, shaking his head as he processed everything. "I understand," he said finally. "I understand that you wanted to protect things. But... it hurts me to know that you felt you couldn't trust me. You're my sister, Y/n. I will always want the best for you."
Y/n, moved, gave a small smile. "Thank you for understanding." George hugs his sister.
The Mercedes driver stepped closer, his eyes softening. He looked at Ollie, extending his hand. "Congratulations on your relationship... really."
Ollie, surprised, shook George's hand. "Thank you, George. That means a lot."
But then George narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at him, his tone becoming more serious though there was a hint of teasing. "Now, listen carefully. Take good care of my sister, Ollie. Because if you don't, things are going to get ugly for you."
Ollie laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Don't worry. I'm taking good care of her."
Y/n smiled, feeling the weight she was carrying finally dissipate. George, seeing the scene, gave a genuine smile and added, "Just please don't give me nephews TOO SOON, okay?"
The comment made Y/n blush and Ollie laugh, completely breaking the tension. "No rush, George" Ollie replied, winking at Y/n.
George shook his head, laughing along. He handed his phone to his sister, patted Ollie on the back, and walked away, looking more at ease.
Once they were alone, Ollie turned to Y/n, an amused smile on his face. "I thought he was going to freak out, but he was pretty calm... for a protective older brother."
Y/n laughed, feeling relieved. "I thought so too. I think he trusted you more than I expected him to."
Ollie put an arm around her shoulders. "Well, at least now we don't have to hide anymore."
She nodded, looking at him fondly. "Yes. Finally."
#fanfiction#y/n#imagines#lovers#one shot#formula 1#formula one#fem reader#ollie bearman x reader#imagines ollie bearman#ollie bearman
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hey, baby
Can we get some thoughts/headcanons on Yoonchae and Eve's friendship/relationship.
I feel like Yoonchae would be the jealous one 'cause she's spoiled af (just like Dani) and Evelyn would be the protective one.
Yoonchae would be the one who strats a fight and Eve would be the type of person to end and win them.
I think they would gossip in korean so no one understands them.
Also, Yoonchae would be the one who always does her homework on time and Eve would be like: "What homework?"
–<3
BABY!! I'M SO EXCITED TO START THE SAGA OF THESE TWO, let's go...
I don't even know where to start to talk about these two, but I think the fact that Evie broke a guy's nose is a good start. In fact, that's how the two of them actually got closer. Evie had known Yoonchae before, but they weren't friends, they had a very formal relationship.
It was only when Eve defended Yoonchae from a bully at school, that the two really started to hit it off and then when you least expect it, BOOM, they're glued together 24/7.
After that day, Yoonchae didn't leave the Korean girl anymore, they became best friends first and foremost.
In the breaks, you'd see the two of them arm-in-arm through the halls of the school (More like Yoonchae hanging from Evie's arm), pacing back and forth, gossiping about everyone, but only in Korean so no one would understand them (not that anyone was willing to get into a fight with Evie over it).
If Yoonchae was already spoiled by the Kats and the Kats' girlfriends, she experienced another type of treatment at school. The girl simply became untouchable.
Of course, Yoonchae wasn't rude to anyone, always being friendly and polite to everyone. But the jokes of the idiot boys and invasive requests for photos and autographs went away as soon as Katseye's maknae settled into Evelyn's arms.
Everyone in that building knew who Evelyn Jane was, and only had two options when it came to the Korean girl, either you loved her, or you feared for your life.
Yoonchae saw both sides of the thing, it was nice to know that someone would protect her at all costs. Everyone at that school knew that Evie knew how to fight and as cruel as she was, Yoonchae loved the fact that people faltered just hearing her girlfriend's name.
But on the contrary, Yoonchae couldn't help but burn in her chest every time any of the girls in her class approached her to ask if Evie was single, or if Yoonchae could give them Eve's number.
To Yoonchip's relief, Evie didn't seem to care much for people other than her at that school. In fact, Yoonchae finally understood why the principal asked Evelyn to accompany her with her studies.
Evie was simply a machine, she got A's in all subjects, her lowest grade being an A-. The maknae could never understand how Evie was so willing to go to school.
Despite everything, Eve always reminded Yoonchae to put her feet on the ground, after all, the two had lives exposed in the spotlight, Yoonchae on stage and Evelyn on the catwalks.
But no matter how much Evelyn said, it was always the same dialogue.
"Did you do your biology homework? We have to deliver that today." Evie said, carefully reviewing the material in her hands.
"Homework? What homework?" Yoonchae asked, making the girl next to her sigh, slapping her hand on her forehead.
"Really, Yoonchae? I texted you last night."
"Hey, don't call me by my name!" Yoonchae said, pointing a finger at Evie, trying to punctuate her speech.
"Give me your notebook, you little gnome."
"Hey!"
#katseye imagines#katseye x reader#fam out thoughts 💭#evelyn famout#famout!evelyn thoughts 💭#<3 anon#jeong yoonchae x oc
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Yandere pairings
╰┈➤ General HC of yandere pairs that rated if they work or not. TW: Yandere content!!, some implied NSFW and also THIS IS FROM MY OLD BLOG I DID NOT COPY FROM ANYONE IF ANYTHING I SCOOBY-DOO MYSELF THIS IS FROM MY OLD BLOG I HAVE THE DRAFT IN MY DOC TO PROVE IT ( also a lot of bad grammar!! English is my first language but my ass function on two-braincells or less)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ that would work ࿐ྂ
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Ayato and Thoma
Compatibility: 9/10
The way you could look at this is good cop and bad cop, except you get bad cop first in the sense that Ayato will trap you into this arrangement, oh he's still nice but the sadism hidden beneath his smile will make itself known, and Thoma is the good cop, as in super nice and soft yandere who gives you closure. There is a big difference on how they handle you in your daily needs; as that's very important to them. We already know Thoma is very skilled in making meals, chores, anything of sort is taken care of by him. While Ayato makes sure to take care of any financial needs and trouble that follows you. With these generous acts, they lure you to only spend time with them unless Ayato has to do something, which then leads to you being under Thoma's care until he's done.
Now the true nature of Ayato as a bad cop shows up when you "act stupid" as he puts its, leaving the Kamisato estate and the eyes he put to follow you is barely a slim chance while escaping Inazuma? Impossible. As the commissioner Ayato doesn't hesitate to make sure that nobody is out there to help you with such plans, you're never leaving. Ayato is always smiling, but his condescending look and mocking smile makes you shrink in size when he's in a bad mood like this. Don't even think you can look at Thoma for help or ask him. His heart does hurt for you, truly it does, but his loyalty to the Kamisato clan is far greater, especially considering this is the safest way to keep you with him. There's a high chance he tells Ayato everything you say, including escape plans or anything that might raise concerns even if it leads to harsh punishments. So it's best to make due with what you can and smile with it.
The moment you step foot in Inazuma and catch Ayato's attention, his reputation as head of the Kamisato clan and of the Yashiro commission will put you in the spotlight. Your every word, move and even breathing will be monitored by everyone, friends or enemies of Ayato; it doesn't matter. Being his partner will make it so even walking down the streets you'll end up hearing whispers, being stared at by everyone. The pressure paired together with the fact you don't want to be in a relationship such as this will feel as if you're being crushed, but don't worry, Ayato and Thoma were only doing this because they wanted to show how terrible the outside world is, only a few public apperances at a distance are fine, from now on you prefer to be locked inside the Kamisato Residence right?
Who leads the punishments? Ayato of course. Dear archons Thoma doesn't have a mean bone in his body to ever think you did anything wrong, but Ayato is very different. You're his partner, and you'll, of course, be his spouse in the future, so he must make sure you know everything beforehand. There are certain lines you can cross and many more that you can't, especially concerning the people you choose to interact with. Remember, he can easily tell if you're faking your love for him. He has strict rules and you must follow them all, you'll end up in tears and bruises by the time he's done but luckily Thoma is there. He'll patch up any cuts and bruises, kissing away the tears, and gently hug you while explaining that Ayato is just looking out for you and wants what's best. Ayato might break you if he has to but Thoma is always there to pick up the pieces and soothe the pain away, after all that's what he loves doing best; taking care of you.
In the end you might end up living a very lavish and easy life if you follow Ayato's rules, you have nothing to really work for and nothing to do all day. You can have certain hobbies that Ayato approves of but at the end of it you'll practically be a pretty doll in the Kamisato estate. Ayato is a huge part of this power imbalance but Thoma's softness for you may help you through a lot of days if you behave well, he'll even try to lighten your punishments if he thinks of them as too much.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Wrio and Neuv
compatibility: 8/10
Since both yanderes have similar senses of mental and emotional skills level-wise they would have good communication in handling the idea of sharing you and making a proper schedule in doing so. They're both very busy and it ended up with you being locked in the Palais Mermonia in the Court of Fontaine for one month, mostly in Neuvillette's office or having a separate room right next door, while the other month you're in the Fortress of Meropide with Wriothesley, and it continues on repeat. Considering they're both very busy people, as the Iudex and Duke, so communication between them concerning you is done through letters or annual reports, In most cases when they do meet face to face it is to deliver you to the other when it their monthly turn.
Escape is not an option. Being shared by the chief of justice and duke of the fortress does not allow room for privacy or any sort of escape route. Not only are you under constant watch by the gards in both settings but by the yanderes themselves, whether be it Neuvillette's dragon-like powers or the cameras around the fortress. But even then you being out and about is rare as is as usually, you're with them in their office, Neuvillette may not be the first to incline a form of physical intimacy like having you on his lap during work but you will be seated on the couch or close by where he could see you, but with Wrio you will have to be straddled on his lap if he has a big amount of paperwork to go through. Both have similar ways of handling you so you never feel out of place despite the sudden change of what you see for the rest of the month.
In any case, considering their reputations you would have to be a special a special kind of stupid to even try going against the duke, referred to as his grace by all criminals residing in there because the only law in the fortress is his mere word, with enough experience as a boxer and a prison warden as well, let alone the literal Dragon Sovereign of Water with legit political power and such a great reputation that one word from him and you'd be shunned. The power imbalance is far too great to the point you're shaken, factor in anything but everything is stacked against you. But no worries because they're not cruel enough to torture you, only a few punishment will make you understand how you should behave!
Cutting straight to the facts, Wrio will always be the one who punishes you. Not saying Neuv is a saint, considering his power he can do a lot but between the two of them, Neuvillette is a lot more patient and lacks certain knowledge of how specifically you should or should not behave. Wrio does find certain bratty behaviors amusing but he runs quite a few strict rules which you should obey, whether you're in the Fortress or with Neuvillette, and if you cross them he might break this one month only agreement for a visit to make sure you know where you should stand
Overall this pair is not bad, if you behave you'll find life rather easy. Power imbalance is a matter where you should watch what you say and do but these two individuals only want you to love them, as your behavior towards others should only be nonchalant. Besides Neuvillette being patient and Wriothesley content with the arrangement, you can only hope you remain human. ⇢ ˗ˏˋ absolutely not ࿐ྂ **˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥** Kaeya and Diluc
Compatibility: 6/10
..first of all what makes you think siblings share things-
Their pettiness knows no bounds, ever since the reveal they both loved you Diluc is in a constant state of irritation because of Kaeya and Kaeya, while ignoring Diluc, acts like himself, if not for the rare moments of throwing snide remarks. We all know Diluc's strong opinions about how useless the knights of Favonius are, to him Kaeya has no right to protect you or even TRY to, because he'd fail. Kaeya has the poker face that any spy would be proud of, but when told to his face by Diluc that he can't properly keep you safe his mood would sour instantly. Kaeya knows his behavior towards you exceeds normal feelings but at least he MEETS UP with you and TALKS, he definitely brought up that Diluc being a stalker was way creepier, he can't keep hiding behind the “knight in shining Armour” title
But, while Diluc's pettiness is reserved for them two only, Kaeya openly expresses it to you instead. He's proud of the fact he is able to build a proper relationship with you, and he will use it to his advantage; subtly hinting how Diluc is no fun, how he can get VERY dangerous when he snaps. He'd poke fun at Diluc's preference for grape juice, calling it unromantic, if Diluc is around he's more touchy, giving long and tight hugs whenever he drops you at his brother's place. Seriously, Kaeya was planning to be nice and peaceful but Diluc pushed first and decided “Nooooo, lemme bitch about it and continue being on bad terms”. As if Kaeya would take that when it came to you.
Now while Diluc might have the biggest resting bitch face that Celestia needs to award, he's soft for you. He'd like to spoil you, be sweet, protect you. But unfortunately for him he has to save those moments when it's just you two, and it's difficult when Kaeya is there always annoying him and making him lose his temper. But he gets his revenge, sprinkling some elemental fertilizers around Mondstad's gates for the knights to have something to busy themselves with, and drown Kaeya in paperwork so he can't meet with you. He's slacked off enough and Jean isn't too appreciative of it. You'll end up seeing Diluc chuckling and even smiling to himself, explaining how business is going very smoothly.
While they had a rough past and end up in each other's nerves a lot, Diluc and Kaeya still consider themselves brothers deep down. It's better if they remain passive aggressive while having more eyes on you than just arguing and killing each other. It would be awful if Kaeya had to lose the other charming part of his face, and Diluc would rather die than have your pretty eyes see him in a different light.
**˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥** Wrio and Lyney
Compatibility: 1/10 Everything is not about you but at the same time it is, This pair is very very subtle about anything related to you but they're also at each other's throats verbally. They have no problem throwing hands behind your back but when you turn to look they act as if nothing happened; oh the wall looks nice, lemme count my cards again. In the past they MIGHT have come to an agreement but with what happened when Lyney and his siblinge investigated the Fortress, never. Wrio tried once, Lyney gave him a death stare and snark, and Wrio didn't bother trying again. Because of what happened Lyney considers Wrio too dangerous, it gets under his skin and he tries to make his visits in the Fortress more frequent to make sure you’re fine but it's always for a limited time because of Wrio. Whenever they meet up so you can be given to the other, rest assured that Lyney drops his smiling facade for a moment to throw at least one snide and irritated remarke at Wrio; who usually returns it. You're asked a hundred questions when you get at his place.
Questions are a LOT and they must be in detail- otherwise Lyney will assume you've been drugged to not remember anything. They range from how you're treated at the fortress, not just by the duke but by everyone, to what you ate, your activities- he even does full inspections to make sure not even a strand from your hair is missing. Now, Lyney is slightly impulsive and there were a lot of times when he asked those questions right in front of Wrio’s face, and of course Wriothesley answered those questions for you, saying there's no need for all this inspection which earned him an annoyed glare, a snap from Lyney to “Stay out of it, I'm checking up on my dove”. Even after taking you out Lyney just can't HELP but worry, you're finally getting some sun and good food, it must be so cramped in the fortress, are you SURE Wrio didn't do anything? Please answer honestly, Lyney will make sure to talk to him. Once you're back, Wrio isn't short of questions either. It's a dangerous world out there and Lyney is in THE dangerous organization of Teyvat, the magician didn’t take you anywhere near the fatui right? Even if you answered all the questions perfectly, after you're escorted back to your room, an argument immediately heats up between the two of them. They're at each other's throats, spewing threats of violence and might even get physical if something actually DID happen to you. This pair can’t even be considered a shared pair in all honestly, it's more like trying to verbally tug you closer to themselves completely, mostly because they don't wish to hurt you but their hatred for each other is too much. Lyney would always talk to you about it, saying that if you were just his you wouldn't have to live in suchca deadman land full of criminals. With him your whole life would be nothing but filled with fun tricks, magic and shows, full of color (and illusions). You'd be safe with his siblings and father would also protect you. Lyney always nitpicks when Wrio punishes you, sighing saying he'd never do something so crude when teaching you manners. Every day of your life would be like a dream, you'd be too happy to be upset, he loves you too much to punish you, it would be different if you were his… Just his. Wrio never expresses it verbally but he clearly minds it when Lyney gets like this. It's annoying and irritsting seeing he has to share you with such a delusional person who can't comprehend that the outside world is too dangerous. He could give an entire monologue of why you'd be much safer in the fortress, away from prying eyes and tainted hands of the filthy creatures that want to snatch you away. But he keeps to himself and drinks his tea, listening to Lyney's rambles gets so annoying, he’s glad you have him to properly care for you rather than you just being under the magician's watch. One thing is that they try to keep their issues between them, not wanting to put you in the middle of their crossfire. But with time patients are lost and the first to snap would be Lyney, he may lose his cool and try to deal with Wrio and dispose of him in some way, but Wrio always has backup plans, he'd hate to leave you alone under this reckless person. This pair is very messy but they always keep that mess away from your eyes.
#yandere x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere wriothesley#yandere lyney#yandere diluc#yandere ayato#yandere Thoma#yandere neuvillette#⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆ From the stars and moon themselves ⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆#ITS MY OLD WORK DONT YOU REPORT ME
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New York City
Ex!BSF/BF!Matt x Reader
To read more about this AU, click here !
Note: This is an original idea of mine. Please inbox or personal message me if you would like to use any of the characters, concepts, or whatever else as 'inspiration' of some sort !
Contents & Warnings: Use of y/n, pet names (babe, baby, honey, sweetheart, love, my love, etc.), fluff, angst, mentions of reader being stressed tf out, kissing, mentions of female and male arousal, smut, oral sex (both receiving) (69), p in v unprotected (no) (js soft fluffy sexy times ��), mentions of male ejaculate, aftercare, & most likely more !
Author's Note: If you got tagged or had any type of notification that this has already been posted, please disregard that. My Tumblr is being an idiot right now. If anything mentioned above seems like something you would not be interested in reading, makes you uncomfortable, or seems off-putting in any way at all, please do not proceed !
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You had been in LA for a while now. Posting about your life as an uprising social media influencer. Collaborating with other famous people. Hosting small get-togethers at your new apartment.
Your boyfriend, Matthew Sturniolo, had his own social media life. A joint YouTube channel with his triplet brothers Nick and Chris had gotten quite the popularity over the years.
The four of you were all from Boston. Having become new sensations at the same time as well as growing up together made all of you four come to the decision to move to California – a place where you had more opportunities, more freedom, and more light to shine your creativity and share it with the world – to live out your dreams of being in the spotlight.
Life was going fairly well. Until it wasn't. There were fans of yours as well as the triplets that were extremely supportive of it all. Your lifestyles, your personalities, and even your relationships and friendships. Yet there were those certain people, ones who claimed to be 'the biggest supporters and fans' who got to you.
Their mean comments and words affecting you more than you'd like to admit. You were stressed to say the least. Your friendships with people and your relationship with Matt being evidence of that. You needed a break.
You were at the Sturniolo Triplet's house, the five-minute drive to their place from your apartment coming in handy. You were lounged on their couch between Matt's legs. His hands on your shoulders massaging your tense muscles. You tried to relax; really, you did. But the weight of it all, everything, was too much. Your sighs of frustration and annoyance filled the air of their living room every so often.
Nick and Chris, who were on the other end of the couch, glanced in your direction with concern every time you let out a noise. Matt's hands had stilled, and instead, fell down to your waist, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder. He kissed your cheek softly, his sky-blue eyes seemingly dull as he stared at you.
"You okay, babe?" He'd asked, his voice tinged with hesitation. You had let out yet another sigh, shaking your head slightly. You leaned into his touch, the back of your head resting against his chest as you frowned. "Maybe you just need a break. Like a getaway. You and I, baby. Somewhere nice."
Chris immediately butted into the conversation, agreeing with his brother. "I agree. You two need to go someplace. Just the two of you. Maybe for a few days or something." He let out a yelp when he received a smack to the back of his head from Nick, the oldest triplet. "This isn't your conversation, dumbass!"
You let out a small laugh at the two of them, leaning more and more into Matt's soothing touch. "Maybe it could be a romantic getaway. A location known for love. Like New York City," you had suggested. Even though he had just been scolded, Chris nodded his head in agreement. Nick even seemed pleased with your answer despite his claim of it not being his business.
Matt's hold on your body tightened, his head nuzzling into your neck while leaving soft kisses along your skin. He muttered against you, "Sounds good to me, honey.”
So there you were, hand in hand with the love of your life, strolling through Central Park as you laughed about something random. The two of you were about to go back to your hotel, but Matt had stopped you. He removed his hand from your grasp, instead pulling you closer by your waist. His arms wrapping around you to hold you tightly. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, running your fingers through the back of his brown hair.
He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling away. He brought one of his hands from your hips to your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. He leaned down slightly, connecting your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. You quickly reciprocated it, feeling all of your emotions pouring from you. Matt pulled away, resting his forehead against yours while smiling brightly.
"Already feelin' better, sweetheart?" He whispered, his hand on your chin, moving to cup your cheek lightly with his thumb brushing against your skin. You simply nodded, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to relax and let go of all your pent-up emotions.
Back at the hotel, you slipped off your shoes, changing into a silk pajama set. Matt was right behind you, slipping out of all of his clothes save for his boxers. The two of you climbed into the hotel room's bed, snuggling underneath the covers with content smiles. Your legs tangled with his, resting your head on his chest while his hands comfortingly ran over your back.
The two of you were happy, relaxed, and ready to fall asleep in each other's arms. You felt something poking your thigh, the unmistakable and familiar hardness pressing against your skin. Your head lifted up to look at Matt, who was already staring at you. The want and need in his eyes caused your body to heat up. Specifically your lower half that was warm and slick with arousal.
Matt's gaze darkened with desire as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently along your thigh, igniting a spark of electricity that surged through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "Are you sure you want this? We can just cuddle if you're not feeling up to it."
You bit your lip, feeling a rush of anticipation. "I want this, Matt. I really do," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes sparkled with affection and hunger as he nodded, leaning in to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his hands roaming over your sides and pulling you closer. As the kiss deepened, the air around you thickened with longing.
Matt's hands slid beneath your silk top, exploring the soft curves of your body, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You sighed into his mouth, feeling completely swept away by the moment. His fingers deftly worked to take off your pajamas, underwear, and bra, revealing your bare skin to his touch.
He quickly undressed himself, laying down beside you naked and hard. He grabbed onto your hips, pulling you onto his thighs as your hands braced themselves against his shoulders. “I wanna taste you pretty, girl.” Matt whispered, his hold on your hips tightening when he felt you drop onto his skin.
“I want you to feel good too, Matt.” You countered, your eyes pleading with him silently. “We can both make each other feel good, at the same time,” he offered with a grin. You process his words, a smile slowly forming in your lips.
You shifted yourself, and with a firm grip on your hips, he pulled you around until you were straddling his shoulders. Your hands clutched his thighs, lowering your head to his cock. Right as you were about to take him in, you let out a gasp, feeling his tongue part your folds.
“Matt,” you whispered, your breath fanning against his hard-on. He simply hummed into you, his tongue moving along your slit with a practiced motion. You shakily moved your head down to take him in, bobbing your head in attempt to match the rhythm of Matt's assault to your core.
As you both find your rhythm, Matt's hands roam up your thighs to your stomach, his fingers splaying out possessively. He can feel you tensing as you try to coordinate the movements of your head and your hips.
"Fuck, you're doing so good baby," he breathes against your wetness, his cock twitching in your mouth at the vibrations of your moan. His tongue finds your clit, circling it with expert precision while one hand moves up to gently squeeze your breast.
You shudder pleasurably as Matt's tongue lavishes attention on your most sensitive spots. His fingers teasingly pinch and roll your nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. Meanwhile, you take him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around his impressive girth.
As you continue to bob your head and suck him off, Matt's free hand reaches up to grab your other breast, kneading it roughly as he plays with your nipples. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue thrusting inside you as he eats out your pussy like a starved man.
Matt suddenly pulls his mouth from your pussy, leaving you whimpering at the loss. "Fuck, baby– I need inside you. Properly. Not just your sweet mouth," he says, his voice husky with desire. "Get up here and let me fuck ya right.”
You lift yourself off Matt shakily, your legs weak from the pleasure he's given you with his tongue. You sit beside him at the top of the bed, mind and body still reeling from the activities that you both just took part in and what's to come.
After shakily lifting yourself up, limbs trembling from Matt's skilled oral attentions, you both settle beside each other atop the bed. The air crackles with remaining adrenaline and anticipatory desire. Matt's erect cock juts proudly between them, slick and ready.
"Come 'ere, gorgeous," Matt murmurs, gently pulling you down until you're lying beneath him. He positions himself between your soft, inviting thighs, his large hands caressing your hips. His eyes, filled with warmth and affection, meet yours as he guides the blunt head of his cock to your entrance.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers, slowly pushing forward until he sinks into your warmth. You gasp softly, your nails lightly dragging down his back as he fills you completely. He begins to move, setting a gentle pace, his hips rolling against yours with a sweet, intimate rhythm.
Matt's slow, deliberate thrusts stir pleasure deep inside you, his eyes locked with yours. One hand tangles in your hair while the other supports his weight, preventing himself from crushing you. Each stroke is tender, meaningful — he's making love to you, not just fucking.
The stress and worries of the day melt away instantly as Matt's loving body envelops you. Each tender thrust inside your warmth pushes away any lingering negative thoughts. You sink deeper into the mattress, utterly relaxed, as he loves you thoroughly with gentle, affectionate movements.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, savoring the intimate connection. Matt leans down, pressing soft kisses to your neck and collarbone, his love and affection pouring into each one. His pace quickens slightly, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust.
“Wanna fill you up with my come baby. Gonna let me?” Matt husks against the skin of your neck, his movements never faltering. “Yes, fuck– yes please,” you whine, as your head tilts back further into the pillows.
His hands move to grip the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer to him while he buries himself to the hilt. His warm, thick ropes of come shooting inside you, painting your walls white. Matt nuzzles his face into your shoulder, groaning as you both ride out your highs.
Matt's motions slow as he empties himself completely inside you. With a tender murmur, he gently pulls out, the both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. Immediately, he rolls to your side, gathering you into his strong embrace. "You okay, my love?" he asks softly, searching your face with caring eyes.
You nod, a small, satisfied smile on your lips as you snuggle into his chest. Matt softly moves some hair from your forehead, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. He knows the importance of aftercare, you both do.
“Thank you, Matt. I need that. Needed this. To just get away,” you whisper sleepily into him. “You're welcome. I know how much you did, sweet girl. I've got you,” Matt replies, the hand not on your face moving to rub your back soothingly.
“I love you,” your arms hold onto him tightly, not wanting to ever leave this moment. “I love you so much more, angel. More than you'll ever know. You're it f'me. Only person I'll ever need.”
#sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan#sofia is a sturniolo triplet fan#sofia is a sturniolo triplet fan that yapz#sofia is a sturniolo triplet fan recommendationz#sofia is a sturniolo triplet fan masterlist#sofia is a sturniolo triplet fan taglist#ex!bsf/bf!matt x reader#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#matthew bernard sturniolo#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo x you#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo fluff#matthew sturniolo angst#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo triplet lover#original au#nicolas sturniolo
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shondaland shoehorning a love triangle in s2 and forcing simone to share the protagonism in her season for no reason vs NC getting her own poster for the second year in a row....i’m gonna let you draw your own conclusions
#bridgerton#pitting two woc against each other in the process for (you guessed it!) no f--ing reason. other than snubbing simone and kate of course.#phoebe didn't have to share her screen time or promo with another woman competing for the duke's attention. penelope has been getting all#the spotlight for the past two seasons like she's the titular character or some shit.#but kate? nah why bother giving the only woc lead who just so happens to play the female protagonist of the most popular bridgerton book AND#season her due?
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infect me with your love
pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader
summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?
warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied
playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics
a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')
if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.
kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist
fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.
of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.
matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.
that is, until gojo satoru.
first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.
take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.
the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”
professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.
but then, the door creaks open behind you.
you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.
professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”
“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”
the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”
at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”
oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.
you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.
and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.
he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.
you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.
you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.
which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.
and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.
your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.
“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.
“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”
his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”
you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.
gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.
but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.
you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.
and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.
“…what can i get you?”
at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”
you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?
“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.
the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.
you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.
gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.
gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.
“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.
you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”
“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”
you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”
“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”
you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.
and yet, here you are.
“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”
he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.
pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”
you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”
as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.
after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.
gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”
“you said to surprise you.”
“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.
but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.
“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”
your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?
you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.
you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.
you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”
gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.
“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”
his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.
for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.
you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”
there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.
“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.
you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.
gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.
“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”
and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.
something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.
you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.
…
“you know, i didn’t get your name.”
gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.
you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”
you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.
gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”
you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”
grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.
it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.
he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.
"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.
“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”
gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.
“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.
when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”
“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.
fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”
“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.
but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”
ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.
“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”
you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”
you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.
you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.
“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”
you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”
he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”
your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”
but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”
“i really can’t—”
“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”
before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.
“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”
the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.
you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.
gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”
“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”
you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”
“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.
you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.
…
fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.
as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—
“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.
you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”
your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”
he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”
your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—
and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”
your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.
“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”
“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”
the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”
and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.
“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”
a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”
the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.
“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.
“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”
the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”
“as you wish.”
with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.
you’ve seen him before.
okay, pause.
you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.
so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.
but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.
alright, pause over. back to now.
“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”
without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.
the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.
“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.
the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.
“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”
the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.
spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”
with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”
before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.
spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.
“nice hit, by the wa—”
“it’s you!” you exclaim.
“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.
you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.
he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”
you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”
he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.
before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.
“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.
“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.
but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”
and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.
back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.
but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.
just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.
the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.
…
“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.
when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.
“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”
“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.
you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”
she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”
you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.
utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”
“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.
inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.
“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.
“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”
nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”
his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”
he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.
he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.
but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.
your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.
as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.
“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”
professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”
you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.
determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”
nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”
utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”
“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.
“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”
as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.
what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.
you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.
“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.
gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.
“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.
the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.
“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”
as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.
“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”
you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.
…
“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.
utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.
“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”
“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.
“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”
your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”
“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”
“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”
“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”
“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”
you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”
she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.
you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.
“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”
before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”
the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.
“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.
utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.
“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.
but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.
“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”
they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.
“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”
utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.
standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.
“let me get that for you.”
you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.
gojo.
he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.
“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”
you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”
his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”
“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.
“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”
that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”
you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”
“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.
“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”
you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”
“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”
you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”
he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”
and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”
“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.
"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.
it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."
maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"
he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.
“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”
satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”
but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”
he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?
you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”
“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.
taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.
then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?
you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.
“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.
…
the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.
it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.
“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”
satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.
suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”
“shut up.”
but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.
satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.
“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”
they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.
and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.
that day at starbucks, though.
satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.
and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.
you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.
what was it again?
“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”
the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.
the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.
“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.
“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“no.”
suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”
satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”
“how is it complicated?”
“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”
suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”
“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”
suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”
“well, when you put it like that—”
“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”
satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.
“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”
“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.
“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”
satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.
because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.
but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.
…
amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.
you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.
setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.
“rough night?”
you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.
“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.
“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.
he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”
you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”
“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”
you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”
“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.
you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”
“from?”
“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”
“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”
“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”
his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”
you pout. “what if i call the police?”
“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”
you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”
“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”
“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”
then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”
you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.
“you should do that more,” he said.
“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.
“laugh.”
the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.
“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”
“is that right?”
“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.
“take my mask off.”
the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.
your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.
“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.
you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.
with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.
“gojo?”
the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.
he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”
“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”
“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.
you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.
gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”
you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.
you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.
you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”
“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.
the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”
he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”
the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.
and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.
something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”
“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”
“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”
you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”
“you trust me, don’t you?”
and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.
“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.
he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”
you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”
before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.
you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”
“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.
when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.
“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.
“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.
when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”
…
the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.
“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.
“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?
“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”
you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”
gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”
you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”
he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”
“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.
“and yet, you’re still here.”
his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.
“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.
“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”
without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.
but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.
the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.
gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”
your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”
“this.”
before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.
when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”
you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.
gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”
when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”
somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.
“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.
gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.
“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.
he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”
you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”
“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”
before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.
“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”
your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.
and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.
…
when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.
it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.
you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.
he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.
you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.
but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.
satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.
you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.
“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.
he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”
“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”
satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”
acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”
you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”
“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.
“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.
his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.
you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”
he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”
you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”
there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.
“do what?”
“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”
satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”
you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”
he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”
you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.
his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.
the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.
“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.
your breath catches. “satoru…”
“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.
“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.
he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
you nod, and then his lips are on yours.
the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.
his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.
that’s when he freezes.
he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.
your heart drops into your chest.
“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.
“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”
you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”
“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.
you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.
“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”
“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”
the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”
he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.
“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”
he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.
the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.
…
the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.
you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.
“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.
you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”
utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”
“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”
utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”
from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.
your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”
“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”
utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”
you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”
“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.
“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.
nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”
you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”
utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”
“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”
nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”
utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”
you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”
“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”
nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”
their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”
“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.
…
the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.
then it comes again, a little louder this time.
you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.
satoru.
he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.
you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.
“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”
“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”
“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”
“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.
“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.
“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”
for once, you thank the gods that he listens.
you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.
when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.
“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.
his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.
“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”
the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”
you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”
his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”
“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”
“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”
his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.
and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”
“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”
he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”
you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”
he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.
…
a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.
he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.
he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.
you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.
nestled right against his morning wood.
good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.
oh, say can you see—
to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.
“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.
but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.
and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.
“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”
you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”
he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”
“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”
oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.
you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.
“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.
you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.
satoru just tied you up using his webs.
you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.
“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”
it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.
“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”
then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.
and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.
“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.
“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”
you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”
“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”
“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”
a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.
he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”
you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.
wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.
“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”
at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.
for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”
you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”
and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”
if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“
“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.
“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.
satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”
you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”
at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”
at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.
satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.
you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?
still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.
“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”
instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.
kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist
a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up
plspls pls comment and reblog!!!
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#aashi writes#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru
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there’s been a couple nights where you and arranged!gojo have had to host little dinners at the estate to show face and let people know you two are still alive.
it’s before the big confession, when the two of you were becoming closer, so it was just pretend niceness hiding the tension for a couple hours.
you tried to talk to the people around the large dining room table, sitting near gojo as you listened in on the conversation, but it was better to just be a part of it rather than the center of the spotlight. gojo had become increasingly aware of the long looks people gave your way, the hushed talks behind the women’s hands. you didn’t notice, maybe you’d been jaded to it, but he did, and he was becoming more tense under their stares.
he noticed how you’d try to jump in and say something, but was instantly cut off by somebody else. gojo had told you before the dinner started that the two of you should hold hands, but you hadn’t let go of his, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of you either. he’d give you an encouraging squeeze, one which you gave him a little smile to, but still clammed up, sitting back in your seat.
"want me to tell them to shut up?" he whispered to you, dropping his head near your ear so that nobody else could hear.
"no it's okay," you say with a laugh, waving it off, "i was just going to ask what cashmere is," you say, in relation to a previous story one of the girls was telling about cashmere moth, and how her entire closet was chewed to bits because of the creatures.
"it's a type of fabric," he explains gently, his eyes searching yours, "very soft," he adds with a little smile and yours grows wider.
"i'd like to see it," you comment, leaning a little bit closer to him.
"i'll have your closets full of cashemere by the morning if you'd like," he says, but you know deep down it could be a promise if you simply said yes.
but you giggle, shaking your head.
"no," you're looking up at him in that way that makes his tongue feel heavy, "the moths, they must be huge," you murmur and he snorts, squeezing your hand a little bit tighter in retaliation.
to be honest, gojo hated these dinners. these people he grew up with were dull and annoying, their conversations full of lame gossip and cheap jokes, and he’d much prefer your lively stories with just you, but they were a necessary evil.
when the servants had cleared the meal away and had begun setting up for dessert, he could feel the stare of one of the girls, anya, and the way her eyes squinted when he caught her looking. he saw the way she sneakily tipped her head back, chin pointing to the opening near some of the stone columns, and excused herself a couple seconds later, looking over her shoulder at him before she disappeared.
gojo knew anya. he’d fooled around with her a couple of times long before the two of you got married, but he found her a bit shallow and dim, nothing he found interesting. he looked over at you to see if you had seen her, but you were looking at your plate, moving some grains of uneaten rice around with your fork.
curiosity got the better of him, wondering what it was she wanted, and so he stood up, his chair scraping behind him as you let go of his hand, you, along with everybody else, looking at him as he excused himself to the washroom.
he walked briskly past the table, leaving through one of the openings of the stone columns, looking around until he say anya at the end of the hall, waiting for him.
“what?” he bit out, hushed, looking behind him to make sure that nobody had followed him out.
anya smiled, her teeth glimmering as he neared her, standing a safe distance away as she pouted slightly.
gojo winced. he forgot how her smile up close was unnerving, the way it wasn’t as soft or full of emotion like yours. her eyes, a deep hazel, glimmered as she took a step closer, her fingers reaching for his collar.
“i missed you,” she whispered, lips glossy as she peered up at him, her lashes batting against her cheeks as he felt his mother dry up, feeling a sudden air of nausea overtake him as he swatted her hand away.
he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“is that all you wanted to tell me?” he hissed out, knowing how stupid he sounded seeing how he had followed her out, surely expecting this.
“what?” anya tilts her head, “thought you’d like to hear it.”
gojo rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest.
“i thought you had something important to say,” he shrugs, looking away, focusing on a crack, getting ready to leave until she laughs, shaking her head.
nobody said he was the brightest soldier in all the land. he’s not above some actually good gossip, but he had a feeling this ain’t about to be that.
“you’ve always loved gossip,” her eyes glimmer as she takes another tentative step closer, “is that why you married the center of it?”
his eyes narrow slightly, but she just sees him listening to her.
“come on,” anya snorts, her hand coming up to his face until she stops at his cold gaze, pulling her hand away, “we all know it’s not rank or looks that made you marry her.”
gojo feels his arms tighten, a vein bulging in his neck as he swallows thickly. he doesn’t say anything, wants to see how she continues, wants to see what everybody else thinks without saying it.
"i mean, your mother keeps saying it was reciprocal," she rolls her eyes, laughing mirthlessly, "but i know that's a lie. you look miserable whenever you're around her."
gojo feels his eyes twitch, his ring shining in the slivers of moonlight through the large, overarching windows.
"did you call me here to talk ill of my wife?" gojo bites out, but she can't sense his tone, giggling as she shoves him, his body not moving.
"drop the theatrics 'toru," he feels bile in his mouth at her sweetened words, "it's just me," she says, biting her lips as indiscreetly as she can, eyes raking over his toned body as she looks back up to his face, "but regardless, no, i had something else i wanted to tell you."
she sighs, her voice a little higher as if he wouldn't notice.
"i'm staying at the hostelry in the town near here for a couple of nights," she bats her eyes again, and suddenly gojo wonders if he had been insanely ill when he had slept with her those months ago because now he feels sick just looking at her, "if you wanted...i'm there for you."
he raises his white brow slightly.
"gods anya," he breaths deeply through his nose, his eyes darkened, "you have audacity if nothing else."
she smiles brightly, taking it as a compliment.
"i know," she winks, "i looked around the area, and nobody of import comes near there. i know you need it as bad as i do," her voice drops a little, eyes falling slightly to the ground, "people are talking. i know how lonely you must feel."
his nose wrinkles slightly in confusion.
"what are you talking about?"
anya looks at him briefly before looking away, shrugging.
"everybody knows you two don't share a room," she explains, "and how she's not even showing signs of pregnancy. is she frigid in bed? you know, some people are saying she's infertile."
gojo straightens up, a new look taking over his face that makes her voice die down.
"what? who's saying that? who's talking?" he presses, and she feels her mouth dry up, suddenly picking up on the fact that he doesn't seem to be at all interested in the deal she's trying to make.
he feels a sudden wave of mixed emotions washing over him.
are the maids taking? gods, that makes him feel even worse. it surely couldn't be yours, they care for you too much. but it must've been somebody who knows your situation, somebody who sees the way you live on different sides of the estate. gojo feels a sinking pit in his stomach. these rumors that are growing because of his own selfish actions, rumors at your own expense, ones you have no control over, by people you've been trying to befriend for ages.
he knows people look at you whenever you enter a room, hears their awfully concealed whispers. and despite the fact that you try to hide the hurt on your face, he sees the way you avade their glances, hide into yourself to act like it doesn't bother you.
are these whispers now because of him?
"i don't know," she mutters, annoyed, "everyone. you barely look at her. did your parents pay you to marry her? she must've been-"
"stop it." gojo warns, and she shuts her mouth, eyes shimmering with shock.
she looks like she's about to say something but stops, looking over his looming body at something.
"gojo? is that you?" another voice calls out, and he turns around, all the anger melting off of his face when he sees it's you, standing near the pillars as you try to find him.
you smile when you see him, still not seeing anya who's hidden behind him, and wave for him to come back.
"they're about to serve dessert," you say, trying to be as quiet as you can, "oh, are you with someone? sorry, i didn't mean to interrupt..." you trail off, your smile falling when anya shuffles around, making sure you see her behind him, your eyes widening.
gojo feels his world slipping beneath him as your shoulder drops, looking at him and then at anya, a somber look taking over your features. you look for another second, not knowing what to do. gojo feels like a fish, gaping silently at you, never looking back at anya, but you excuse yourself, going back to the dining hall without saying another word.
gojo stares aimlessly at the wall in front of him, not sparing his energy to look at the girl peering up at his face.
"get out," he murmurs, his voice low with timber.
"w-what?" she stammers, brows furrowing in confusion.
"get out before i call the guards," he snaps, looking at her from the side of his eyes, "fucking now anya, leave."
she looks up at him, swallowing thickly, but gets the memo that he's being serious. she scammers away, sniffling dramatically as she disappears through another hallway.
he drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples.
his eyes fall to his ring, the one that seems to be growing cold on his finger.
he feels his heart burn in his chest, every step feeling like he had stones tied to his feet as he makes his way back to the hall, hearing the edited clammer of the people welcoming him back, but there was only one person he cared about.
and you weren't looking at him.
in fact, you didn't speak to him that entire night. nor that following week.
gojo has almost bled to death before and has had arrows pierce his back and exit through his chest, but he'd rather experience that ten times again than feel the agonizing silence of the woman he's starting to love.
(second part)
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x reader angst#gojo drabble#jjk x reader#jjk drabble#jjk x reader angst#satoru x reader#satoru x you#arranged!gojo
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I think the eight alarms thing is usually a maladaptation. You've trained your brain to ignore the eight alarms because you kept avoiding the training of willpower following the first alarm would require. I think some sleep therapy might help?
Hey so first of all fuck you, thanks.
Second: I love it when you read literature on sleep disorders, especially if it's on sleep disorders among folks with ADHD, and you see time and time again "when allowed to sleep on their preferred schedule subjects maintained healthy, normal, restorative sleep cycles" and "effects were not lasting without ongoing intervention; resetting the sleep schedule is a permanent effort."
Like, if I sleep *great* from 6am to 2pm and I wake up feeling rested and alert with no special help but I need to turn off the lights in my house and shut down all electronics at 8pm and beam a spotlight into my face starting at 5am to wake up at seven and feel exhausted all day, I think perhaps it is not actually my sleep cycle that is wrong it is perhaps society that is wrong.
BELIEVE ME, when I find the job that pays well and has decent insurance that lets me exist as a cheerful nighttime ghoul I am jumping on that with both feet. But until then I literally feel better getting six hours of sleep and occasionally sleeping so hard that i can't hear my alarms because of chronic sleep deprivation than I do turning off all the lights in my house and ceasing all activity two and a half hours after I get off of work.
Also: the eight alarms aren't all there to wake me up, it's just that sometimes I *also* sleep through the ones that are supposed to remind me to go sit at my desk and start work. One of the first three usually gets me up, but on a day when I sleep through all three of those I will be sleeping through all eight of them and usually a phone call and someone trying to shake me awake to.
ANYWAY after being treated with melatonin and light therapy and staring listlessly at the ceiling in the dark bored out of my skull with racing thoughts for sleep disorders that I didn't have for like twenty years the single most effective intervention that allowed me to get more sleep as someone with both ADHD and DSPD was to start hanging out and being active in places where it would be easy to fall asleep if the sleep caught me there instead of turning my bedroom into a dark, silent shrine of snoozing. Giving myself permission to fall asleep late instead of laying awake chewing myself up with guilt for not being asleep helped too.
Actually here's some tips for the sleepy bitches in the crowd:
1 - If you're laying down and not falling asleep in half an hour, you're not actually sleepy; read something or get up and do something because you're more likely to get sleepy faster that way than you are staring at the clock going "if I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and forty five minutes of rest when I have to go to work; If I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and twenty minutes of sleep when I have to get up, etc. etc."
2 - Allow yourself to be ambushed by sleep. Fall asleep on your cozy couch. Fall asleep in the comfy chair. Let yourself sleep where you fall asleep instead of dragging yourself to where you're 'supposed' to sleep if doing so will wake you up.
3 - The mythbusters thing. If you just lay down and close your eyes and pretend to rest you will feel more rested when you get up than when you laid down. Laying down to rest is better than nothing, it literally causes cognitive improvements similar to sleep in tests, and knowing that can help take off some of the pressure of not being able to fall asleep and can thus help you fall asleep.
4 - It's okay to "hang out" in the area where you're going to sleep. Read in bed. Play games on your cellphone in bed. If you want to go to sleep put on comfy clothes and bring a chill activity and hang out in your bed to do it so that all you have to do when you start getting sleepy is close your eyes.
5 - It's better to get some sleep than no sleep. Sometimes you look at the clock and it's six AM and whoops, fuck it. Okay, time for bed, don't stress that you're only going to get a few hours, a few hours is better than nothing. Lay down to pretend to rest at least and you'll probably feel okay.
6 - This one sounds silly and might not work for a bunch of people for a bunch of reasons but apparently there's some research suggesting that "well-rested" is a state of mind? I've had a reasonable amount of success with just telling myself "Yeah, I actually feel pretty good," and pushing through the day on a couple of hours of sleep. I don't *recommend* that and you should try to get as much sleep as possible, but yeah the next time you're low on sleep see what happens if you just try to decide to not be tired. It sounded like bullshit to me when I first heard it but I've found some success with it.
7 - This shit is cumulative. If you're doing a couple nights a week on low sleep that's not ideal but you're probably going to be pretty functional and you can work on it. If you overbook and overextend yourself for too long - I'm looking at you college students and new parents - it's going to add up. Try as much as possible to at least keep your sleep deficit nights spread out. (This message brought to you by writing 60k words of fiction in october and completely frying my brain because i wasn't getting enough sleep).
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Have You Ever Tried This One? | m.s.
Summary: The triplets attend singer!reader's concert and Matt gets catches her eye from the crowd.
Part 2 Here!!
Warnings: insinuating sexual acts, talks of sex positions
Word Count: 640 words
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Divider by: @anitalenia
A/N: This is inspired by this post by @delilahsturniolo . Thank you for letting me use your work as inspiration! Also thank you to @chestersturniolo for helping me find her piece. I do not give consent for my work to be reposted, rewritten, or shared on this platform or any other.
<3 - Billie
The lights in the arena darkened around the group standing at the barricade. Matt, Nick, Chris, and Chris' girlfriend cheered along with everyone else as you appeared in a spotlight on the stage. "Boston! It's so good to see you!" you exclaimed into the microphone causing the crowd to roar. Matt practically had hearts for eyes as you sauntered around the stage in small, sparkly outfits. Sure, he had heard your music and seen you in photos before, but there was something different about seeing you in front of him. Chris and Nick quickly took notice of Matt's in awe state and chuckled.
After a few numbers you had reached the interactive section of your concert. Oftentimes you chose a person in the crowd who was dancing the most or seemed to be having the best time. It was never actually based on your physical attraction to someone, until this time. You had been eyeing the three identical boys in the front row. One specifically caught your eye. You'd seen these boys online before and while you didn't know much about them, you knew which one you wanted. He seemed a bit more quiet than the other two and was staring at you like you were glowing. "Girls, girls, come here!" you spoke into the mic, gesturing for two of your dancers to come over. "Do you see that guy right there? Yes, the triplet but that one, with the pink t shirt," you pointed in Matt's direction. He froze as the camera panned to him for the crowd to see on the big screen. Everyone went wild causing Nick and Chris to bust out laughing. The lights throughout the arena flashed red and blue as a siren sound played throughout the stadium. You knelt down in front of him, "hey there, what's your name?" You cooed into the microphone, batting your eyelashes.
"M-Matthew!" he stammered nervously as Nick filmed the interaction.
"Oh Matthew, I'm afraid you're under arrest. You are just way too hot!" You giggled into the microphone, "Will you take these sweetie?" The security guard took the fuzzy pink handcuffs from your hand and held them over the barricade for Matt to grab. His blush was iminent as he took them with a smile and a nod. You stood back up, winking at him. "There are so many thoughts running through my head, Matthew. Dirty, dirty - oh! my clothes are falling off for you, Matthew!" You laughed stepping out of your dress revealing a shiny pink body suit. The intro of the song began and you danced and sang with your crew. "Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit. God bless your dad's genetics," You sang, gesturing to the triplets with a giggle. Every once in a while throughout the song you'd shoot Matt a look or a wink. "You make me wanna make you fall in love. Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah. Wanna try out some freaky positions? Hey Matthew, have you ever tried this one?" You sat on your knees with one arm in the air doing a lasso motion to represent cowgirl. Matt about fell over and Chris was a laughing mess next to him. His brothers could not believe what they were witnessing.
That song ended and the show continued. A few songs later, the triplets and Chris' girlfriend were approached by someone from your team. "Matt?" Your manager asked, "You've all been requested backstage after the show." She smiled handing them all passes and getting back to work.
"No way!" Chris' girlfriend jumped up and down.
"Dude, your charm got us connections!" Nick laughed patting Matt on the shoulder. Matt stood staring at the backstage passes in awe. He couldn't believe that you had noticed him in the first place but also to invite him backstage??
#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#matt stuniolo fanfic#Spotify
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₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ mini pac 。⋆。 ゚
˖ ݁random things about your next lover ౨ৎ ˚
this is a small light hearted pick a pile reading, made for fun. there's a good mix of random, quirky, and deep stuff in each pile. so yeah, pick one and take what resonates or take it as a sign if it makes sense to you. {this reading is written in a non-hetero centric way}
dividers by @cafekitsune & @jimzittos images found in @saizun 's blog.
pile one pile two pile three
pile four pile five pile six
.‧͙˚ *༓ scroll down for the readings ⋆ִ ‧͙⁺˚
.
masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ ko-fi page
⋆bookings for personal readings are open ཐིཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆.⋆༘˚⋆
They have way too many hobbies, and they’re all kinda niche but related to creativity.
Very playful with almost everything, quirky or bizarre sense of humor.
Always looking for new things to do, seeks enjoyment and/or entertainment.
Humble, they don’t like bragging or being too loud about whatever they achieve.
They are open minded because being judgemental goes against their logic.
Amazing at teamwork.
Deep down they are actually quite structured and disciplined, despite giving off the opposite impression.
Unexpectedly responsible in their own way.
Very curious, wants to know everything about you.
Is quick to smell bullshit. Impossible for them to be lied to.
˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐.⋆༘˚⋆
They love anything that has a darker, spooky, mysterious tone. But they are quite chill about it actually, they love scary things but they are not annoying about it.
Easily misunderstood and badly judged by others tho.
They try really hard to be good at communicating with others despite being kinda shy and almost awkward.
Always overthinking and over analyzing.
They are nerdy, but in a history or philosophy way. Probably unable to do math.
Amazing emotional intelligence, especially when it comes to dealing with difficult moments from their past.
Worried about the future: they are not too concerned about traditional success, but they are concerned about leaving some sort of impact in the world, no matter how small.
˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆.⋆༘˚⋆
Hardworking, dedicated, passionate… maybe a workaholic.
Actually quite handy and always willing to help or solve anything.
They love their routines, they swear by them.
If they love you, after you ask them “what's going on?” they won’t reply “nothing”, they will go on about an overly specific topic that they were reminded of by something random.
Charismatic, but in a pretty eccentric way.
Black cat looks, yellow cat personality.
They are attractive because they are truly confident in themselves, and maybe quite uninterested in looking exactly like the conventional beauty ideals.
Detail oriented, borderline obsessive.
They are always doing something, always on the go, always close to burn out… because the moment they chill they accidentally begin feeling unmotivated.
. ˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓.⋆༘˚⋆
Party animal but in a golden retriever way.
So friendly and nice it's almost scary. But in reality they really enjoy meeting people, hanging out, and chatting.
Also, quite altruistic and willing to help out anyone with anything, they don’t care who or why.
They have a lot of friends, and acquaintances, but they have a very small inner circle who they are extremely loyal to.
Very strong sense of hope for the future. They never lose the conviction that everything will eventually turn out just fine.
Their will is sometimes too strong, they don’t let anything go easily.
Either on the spotlight or in a leadership position most times. They don’t look for it, it just happens.
Sometimes overly protective, but they have quirky ways of showing that.
Not good at flirting, they're quite dorky about it, but somehow it works for them
˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆.⋆༘˚⋆
HOT as fuck. As in sensual and captivating.
Highly perceptive about the people around them, they like to wonder how the mind works.
They might look off standish, cold or uninterested, and yes, they might be most times but that doesn't make them bad people.
In reality they are trying to look cool while being shy and afraid of intimacy.
Highly intuitive.
Many times their expectations for themselves are insane, but their expectations for others are low.
Probably super into classic literature. Dante's Inferno specifically.
Quite romantic, but also kinda pretentious about it. Don't expect average gifs, expect something that is a reference to an obscure experimental new wave french film or something.
They don't joke about their spotify playlists.
. ˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒙.⋆༘˚⋆
Highly sensitive and creative but in a Lana del Rey kind of way.
They really have a sort of "old soul" vibe.
Too empathetic for their own good, but they are always working on it.
Staying at home is their favourite thing to do, specially if there's sweets involved.
Incredibly patient. They actually prefer slow-paced everything. Books, movies, shows, hobbies, everything.
Probably into crafty hobbies and podcasts.
They have a very low social battery, but they are always willing to put the effort if it is because of someone they appreciate.
Very proud of their roots and overall life journey.
Not very talkative, unless they have something they deem important and necessary to share.
masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ personal readings
✶ ko-fi page ✶
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ available for personal readings ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
#tarot blog#tarotblr#tarot reading#free tarot#tarot#pick a card reading#tarotscope#tarotonline#daily tarot#pick a card#special person#love tarot reading#pac tarot#fs pick a pile#tarot pick a pile#pick a pile tarot#pick a pile#tarot pac#pac reading#love pick a card#love pac#love tarot free#love tarot spread#tarot cards#free tarot readings#tarot community#tarot deck#tarot readings#tarotcommunity#tarot services
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lowkeyartist!sukuna hc’s
lokwyeartist!sukuna who goes live occasionally now, most are on the spot guitar covers but some that seem to be more popularised is when randomly feels like it. The most liked one is when he’s eating ice cream with his son, it’s just a shot of his face eating his cone while the top of his son’s head is all that can be seen. His son is probably one around this time and Sukuna entertains him and the live by interacting with his sons babbles, “is that right?” “really?” “you’re smart like your mama”
lowkeyartist!sukuna who dyes his hair black and doesn’t let his mass know by wearing caps in his videos after doing so for months so that he can enjoy dates and days out with his family without having to wear a mask and hat all the time. His followers find out and the questions food in, “why did you dye it? because i wanted to be normal with my family, being known comes at a big cost” “plus my sons got my hair colour and my wife always gushed over about it, so i figured to give her something to gush about towards me - brats stealing my spotlight from my own wife”
lowkeyartist!sukuna who always prioritises you and your sons identity. He never does shows internationally, saying he doesn’t like leaving his family. He always makes sure to cover you if he spots cameras pointing his way when you two are in public. And he always, always makes sure to reassure you of your importance in his life if a few comments or tweets etc. start getting to you (he definitely would make a post on his ig if that comments do start to overbear you a bit - something something, “my wife is deserving of my love, and I won’t stand aside to let a lot of you tear her down.”)
lowkeyartist!sukuna who wants his son to learn the drums. Theres a video he posted where he’s playing his electric guitar unplugged beside his son whose back is in front of the camera, his little drum in front of him while his dad tries to get him to hit on beat; you’re behind the camera cheering him on, also attempting to get him to hit on beat. Overall it’s just a cute video of your son bonding with his dad.
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Yandere! Circus
I've been wanting to draw some of my dolls for the longest time and this turned out to be my most detailed artwork so far :') And since I really love the circus, I thought I could turn this into an interactive story, too. Let me know what you think! Based on classic stock characters from Italian theatre, Commedia dell'arte. Content: gender neutral reader, horror, dark comedy, human and monster romance
You're finally here! Come on in, don't be afraid. Where is everyone else, you ask? Why, you're our only special guest, Darling (Y/N). This is all for you. Come, do not upset the Ringmaster. We will show you everything.
A night carnival? You've never heard of such a thing. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of you when you found the trampled poster on your way back home. The actual message almost escaped your attention; you'd been too focused on the thick, ornate border, and the colorful, swirling patterns intricately filling the page.
"Last night in town! 'Wizard of Ozz' Night Circus, a mesmerizing show that will keep you glued to your seat. We're still searching for our Columbina. Perhaps you could become part of our story?"
Might as well check it out. Which is why you're currently here, in the outskirts, trying to find a walkable path among the weeds. It's dark and you can barely see anything in front of you. They're not trying very hard to provide an inviting atmosphere, you think to yourself.
Eventually, you discern a glimmer of light in the distance. You have found the circus tents.
The campsite is quiet and still, causing you to hesitate in your decision. Is it truly open?
There's a faint murmur coming from the main entrance. A small, melancholic Pierrot - when did he show up? - awaits by the heavy curtain, pale hands stretched out.
"Your ticket, Columbina", he announces with decorum. "Me and Arlecchino will show you any tent you want to visit. We are here to entertain you."
He ponders for a moment, before adding:
"I'm sure you'll like him more. He's a very alluring fellow. Me, on the other hand...Oh, forget it", he mumbles through pouting lips, ushering you inside.
"Aha! There's the star of our night! Our Columbina!"
A tall man in a pompous, glittery costume bounces towards you and lowers himself with a theatrical bow, giving your fingers a quick kiss. You pull your hand away, visibly bothered by the odd gesture.
"You keep calling me that. I'm (Y/N)", you argue.
"Yes, yes, of course we know that. Do ya take us for fools?" the Harlequin asks, kicking one foot in the air. The jingle of the bells at the tip of his shoe echoes across the hall. "You have, however - you must understand, yes? - you've entered Ringmaster's Circus. From now on, you are the Columbina to our play."
You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.
"Just like that? Why me, and not someone else?" you scan the surroundings, pursing your lips. "Where are the others?"
"Others?"
Harlequin makes an exaggeratedly shocked face and tilts his head towards Pierrot.
"What are they saying? You're the only one here, Columbina darling. After tonight, we-"
Pierrot's hand lands firmly on his friend's lips.
"You always talk too much. Always, always! And yet, you're the favorite. Of course you are. Oh, what pity, what misfortune", the pale young man laments. "We're wasting precious time."
They both burst into a little dance; a rather silly one, you think with an amused smile. Then, they place themselves besides the entrance, each one standing at one end, back straight and chins raised.
"Go on, go ahead, Columbina darling. This is your carnival. Choose any tent you'd like."
Pulcinella's Tent
The stage is pitch black, save for one spotlight contouring a patch of ground. You can see a large, colorful ball, and two feet clumsily rolling their way atop of it.
You chuckle at the sight. This must be the clown.
"No one can compete with Pulcinella's juggling", Pierrot declares somewhat monotonously. "His acrobatic spectacle has left many guests speechless, acting with such dexterity that one must wonder: is this truly the work of two hands?"
Lights flicker, allowing you to catch glimpses of smaller balls being thrown around. Juggling so many balls while bouncing around is indeed impressive.
"Rest assured, this is the art of one single man. Although four eyes are better than two."
The shadows are abruptly swallowed by spotlights, and you squint your eyes, adjusting to the brightness. A two-headed man continues his performance, throwing you the occasional cheeky smile.
"Ah, that is..." you place a hand over your mouth.
"A bother, truly", the Pierrot remarks, sitting next to you. "They're complete opposites."
He observes as both Pulcinella's heads tilt in your direction, visibly entranced. He sighs deeply:
"You'll love them either way. They're funny and entertaining, unlike me...A pathetic miser. Oh, if only I had half their charm!" he bemoans with a soft sob.
"Hey! Don't sadden my beloved like that", Pulcinella barks, jumping off the ball and running towards your seating with a comically merry jingle to accompany him.
You cannot help but marvel at the man in front of you.
"Enough of this, I've had enough! You don't get to decide yet, Pulcinella", Pierrot exclaims in sudden panic. He claws your wrist tightly and pulls you after him. "It's time to see other tents."
Sandrone's Tent
You peek behind the heavy curtain and freeze. Are your eyes deceiving you? Someone is idly resting at the bottom of a large aquarium, showing no struggle despite being underwater. The mysterious man senses your presence and emerges to the surface.
"Would you look at that! I can't remember the last time I had a visitor."
He gestures for you to come closer.
"Are you the new guest? Our Columbina?"
"I don't know what you're talking about", you speak up with hesitation, eyes glued to the scaly tail that seems eerily genuine. "I think I'll be leaving now."
"Leaving? Didn't the Ringmaster already tell you?" The merman claps his hands, amused. "You're naïve, I like that a lot. Perhaps this time I'll be the one to have you."
He abruptly grabs your wrist, and you jolt at the feeling. His hands are ice-cold and moist.
"Let me have a look at you, won't you? I'll help you hide from the others if you're good and listen to me."
You feel a pair of hands sinking into your shoulders, and you're ripped away from the merman. Harlequin's voice rumbles deeply across the room.
"You're being a fox again, aren't you, Sandrone? Hands off our guest! You don't get to pick yet", he scolds in a low growl. "Ringmaster won't be happy about it."
"Go on then, tell on me! Ringmaster's good boy, eh?" the dark-skinned man smirks mockingly and slams his tail against the glass. "Put a collar on that one, Columbina. See how well he barks", he snarls, then slides back underwater and promptly vanishes.
Harlequin's grip on your shoulders becomes tighter for a brief moment. You can tell he's tense.
"Let's get you out of here. Don't listen to a word he says, Columbina darling. He lies, you see? No one trusts him. You should rely on me."
Pantalone's Tent
You gawk at the impressive height of this tent, head nearly spinning from tilting yourself all the way back. Ah, this must be the trapeze artist. Indeed, one of the two handles is dangling above you, and it occurs to you there's no safety net. A tall, lean man swiftly pounces across, reaching for the trapeze. His movements are slow, yet calculated, and you can't help but wonder if he might actually be flying instead.
Upon closer inspection, it appears he has no arms.
"Madness", you find yourself shouting. "Stop this nonsense!"
He gracefully wraps his legs around the bar, swinging back and forth with a confident smile.
"You doubt me, Pantalone himself?"
With another thrust, he lets himself go, spiraling down against your terrified protests. His heeled shoes clack against the hard tile. Lastly, he stretches out his bandaged stumps, as if signaling his successful landing.
You find yourself bowing to the grand gesture.
"Yes, yes, it's rather impressive, isn't it?" Pierrot follows behind you in his usual dull tone. "Pantalone is our master acrobat."
He lifts his gaze and notices that the man didn't bother waiting for a full introduction; he's already standing before you with a flirty grin.
"...and a charmer, I suppose. What, you're already doing your tricks?"
The sallow clown squeezes himself behind you two protectively.
"Shoo, shoo! Columbina is merely visiting."
He lightly pushes you away, towards the exit. You throw one final glance at the mysterious individual; he waves with his residual limb, and winks.
"You know where to find me, love."
Il Capitano's Tent
You feel a radiant heat coming from this tent. In the middle of the ring stands a grand cage. An animal of sorts? You keep your distance, observing from the benches.
A monstrous giant stumbles within your view with heavy steps. A thick, scaly tail rattles the bars of the cage, swinging itself with the precision of a bullwhip.
"Il Capitano himself!" the Harelquin announces theatrically, bending his arms in the direction of the blue beast. "The strongman, the fire-spitting artist, a most devilish creature captured and chained by our Ringmaster."
"Is this one mine?" the monstrous man pins you down with a predatory gaze.
"Perhaps", Harlequin spits out bitterly. "They decide, not you."
You squirm in your seat, suddenly much smaller under his intense stare. The charismatic guide's smile falters for a brief second, replaced by an envious grimace.
Il Capitano inhales deeply, expanding his torso and contracting his muscles. His fanged mouth then unhinges, releasing a great flame which spreads all the way to you. You're almost tempted to reach towards it, feeling the sting with your very fingers.
"Amazing", you mumble, still mesmerized by the spectacle.
This was no cheap trickery. Capitano is truly a one-of-a-kind artist. No human could replicate such a feat.
The beastly creature holds onto the bars of his cage, shoving his snout outside and grinning. Puffs of smoke escape between his teeth.
"Come down here and I can do even more, little one."
Harlequin gasps and gestures for you to stand up.
"Outrageous! How dare you-!"
He urges you to follow him outside. Enough monstrous sights for now.
"Shall we head towards the other tents, darling?"
Harlequin walks ahead, deep in contemplation. Pierrot scurries after him, whispering the remaining choices. Your shoulders are heavy, and you're quite tired from the eventful night.
You notice a little opening between the lavish curtain folds and decide to sneak away. They needn't know about your departure. You stumble around dark halls, following the cool breeze of the outside, until you're met with the starry sky.
Your path is blocked by two large poles, so you step to the right. Your body freezes in terror when they move with you. Slowly, you raise your head and follow the black shapes, and realize they're legs.
Far, far above ground, towering over the entire circus, you see two glowing eyes.
It's the Ringmaster.
"Bad, bad Columbina", he reproaches.
The voice is off, like an old, broken record reverberating against your eardrums. A cold shiver runs across your spine.
"I'm sorry", you blurt out in fear.
A long, bony hand appears before you, twitching with a loud pop. You wrap your hands around a finger, desperate to not anger this unholy creation.
"Let's take you to your caravan. We're leaving tomorrow."
Oh, God. What have you done?
Now, now, don't fret. There's nothing to be afraid of. Come, put that frown aside. Everyone loves you here. After all, you're their most precious Columbina. What's a Circus without its treasure?
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere headcanons#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere circus#yandere clown#harlequin#pierrot#clown#clowncore#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#doodle#procreate#my art#original character#monster x human#monster x reader#monster boyfriend#yandere monster
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part one
cw: onlyfans!simon, canon universe, cybersex, solo sex/masturbation, being simon's good girl while he has some downtime, parasocial relationship???
author's note: and let me say this once to be clear, if you don't know how to ask for a part two properly without giving some sort of positive feedback and instead demand it from me you will get a verbal spanking from me and i will embarrass you, i do not care
Your breath catches as you gawk at your phone, rereading the message. The sensation of anxiety pricks at you causing you to perspire under your pits and the temple of your forehead.
The thought of him—TacticalHeat—or Ghost or whatever the hell his name is waiting on the other side, possibly stroking himself at the notion of you joining him on a private call sends a rush of arousal up your spine.
Ping!
TacticalHeat: You still there, lovie?
Oh, fuck. You card your fingers through your hair and let out a heavy exhale. It's awful timing really. Like getting caught with your pants down...literally.
Fingers sticky with lube and your own arousal, you stretch your limbs to open the drawer of your nightstand and pull out a wet wipe to clean off your hands and get a gander at the state of your appearance. It's slightly disheveled, but honestly? In a super sexy bedhead kind of way.
You wipe the corners of your eyes to remove the accumulated smudged mascara from your gruesome work day and let a sharp expire through your nose. Well, if you were going to do this, you'd at least look hot doing it.
You: Yeah, I'm here.
TacticalHeat: So what do you think, lovie...you up for it?
"Fuck!" You exclaim to yourself, not realizing that your dumbass forgot to reply to his original message. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment, tracing circles in the air as you try to unscramble your mind.
You: Now works...what do you have in mind?
The three dots appear almost instantly like he's waiting for your response with the same fiery intensity that has you gripping at your phone.
TacticalHeat: I'll send you a link. I wanna see you, too.
Ghost has invited you to a Zoom meeting.
Your heart pounds rapidly against your ribcage, and you feel the heat sidling to your cheeks. You hadn't expected this to escalate so quickly, to be pushed into the spotlight. And yet, the idea of him watching you is thrilling.
With trembling fingers, you adjust the lighting in your room and the camera on your phone to ensure you're getting the best quality. One last look in the mirror to smooth out your hair, and make sure your top reveals a little cleavage before you tap on the link, muddying your phone screen with oils on your finger.
Twiddling with the tripod that sits by the edge of your bed as the link loads, you clip on your phone and sit back while you wait to get accepted. He wastes no time getting you out of the waiting room and you watch as the screen shifts, and suddenly, there he is. Simon's half-lidded gaze fixates on you, his familiar skull-mask in place, but this time it's different. He's relaxed, clad in a black loose-fitted henley that outlines his taut physique, and he's manspreading in light-wash denim jeans, hands exposed and you're already aching at the sight. It's an intimate setting and the atmosphere shifts when he gets a real gander at you. His gravelly voice sends a frisson up your spine:
"There's my good girl," he purrs, and just like that you're hooked.
There's a moment where your heart drops to your ass, and you let out a little shaky breath before giving him a shy smile. His gaze doesn't waver. It's intense and focused as he drinks in every detail of your appearance. You're half wondering what he thinks of you and half focused on the hoarseness in his voice when he calls you 'good girl'. How the blood rushes to your face and your trepidation tingles on your skin.
"Hi," You finally muster up and you swear his dark eyes light up, or maybe it's the delusion that spikes into your prefrontal cortex. "I'm a bit, um, surprised that you wanted to chat like this."
His mask warps in the corner of where you assume his lips are indicating a smirk. "I like a bit of spontaneity," he says, leaning closer to the camera. "Besides I wanted to see how you would handle this."
You avert your gaze for a moment, feeling hot all over again. He notes how you suck in your bottom and how your dilated eyes flicker all over the screen, a subtle sign that your adrenaline is pumping. He wishes he could hear your heart beating through the screen.
Your fingers delicately trace over your collarbone, "what do you wanna see?" your voice drops to a sultry whisper.
His eyes darken and he takes a slow breath as fixates on you, taking in all your subtle gestures and the silkiness in your dulcet tone.
"Show me how you've missed me," he rasps. "show me what you've been doing while you've waited for me."
Christ, you want to melt into your mattress. You knew it was a playful gesture to create a more intimate atmosphere between you two, even if it wasn't true.
The challenge in his tone exhilarates you with a hint of collywobbles that infest your tummy. With a quick glance at your full-size mirror mounted on your closet door, you begin to tug at the strap of your skimpy top, teasingly revealing enough of your skin to keep him riveted.
And it works.
As you continue, you can hear the jingling of his belt being unbuckled and the sound of his zipper going down.
Your blown eyes are entranced by how he frees himself from the waistband of his briefs and you’re driveling over how the muscles under the porcelain skin of his cock twitches. He tilts his head back, transfixed on how you’re exposing your pebbled bud to him.
“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, swallowing thickly as you squeeze your breasts between your fingers. “Every inch of you looks perfect, lovie.”
You practically fawn over his compliments. He’s praising you, watching you, getting off to you. And that feeling is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You feel liberated and exposed, knowing that he’s eagerly watching you as the lines blur. This feeling consumes you, consumes him, and soon you’re stripping off your panties and he doesn’t even bother to hide the groan that escapes his lips.
“Look at you, absolutely stunning. Every bit of you…” His tone changes when you part your silken, glistening folds. “Touch yourself for me, lovie.”
It’s a demanding tone. One that sends a frisson up your spinal column and you feel the need to please, but there’s another side of you that awakens. The kind that crawls out when you’re being railroaded by a domineering man.
“Say please,” You wave your wand around.
He softly snorts at your attempt at trying to tame him, but he humors you, “Please, lovie. I crave ya.”
And that’s enough to inflate your ego. Your fingers switch on the vibrator and you tease it over your clit, bucking your hips at your sensitive clit.
There’s a twitch in his eyes when they widen. Like the light in his head switched on. “So you’ve been playing with yourself, have you, pretty girl?” he coos, sitting up a bit more. Oh, you’ve really got his attention now.
Your heart flutters at the same rate that your pussy does when you realize he takes note of your current over aroused state. “Maybe,” you give him a coquettish grin.
As you take the initiative and push the boundaries with him, a rumbling growl emits from him. His gaze intensifies as they lock on yours with a mixture of surprise and approval. He loves a good brat.
“Is that so?” he susurrates, his tone oozes with amusement. He likes the way your pretty face glimmers with the excitement to satisfy him. “You wanna take control now, do you?”
He shifts in his seat. “Go on then, lovie.” he gestures to you, and oh how his dick creams at the sight of you shaking your legs on for, gasping at the vibrating sensation of your toy caressing your cunt. You’re really such a site for sore eyes.
“Such a pretty pussy,”he praises with a husky voice that makes your heart race. The saccharine moans that leave your lips as you spasms against the silicone while you instruct him to tug at himself.
He obliges because how can he not when you’re looking so fucking luscious on the other side of the camera as you winsomely order him to smear the opulent precum that oozes from his angry, swollen tip. A little sob leaves your lips when you see how compliant he is, and how his chest shudders at your words and creamy cries of delight.
“Just like that,” he encourages, pumping at himself and in an instant the tables turn, and you’re more than willing to let him take control. He pants at the sight of your parted, saliva-lacquered lips and lolled back eyes. “No one else gets to see you like this. Only me.”
And that sentence alone leaves you breathless. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles, through his own labored breaths. The raw emotions in his voice makes it clear how much he’s affected by you, “God, you’re everything I want and more.”
And that does it for you because your orgasm rips through you like a hurricane and you feel your spine involuntarily arch in pleasure, peaked breasts splayed out as your pussy rapidly pulsates on full display for him. They bounce at your ragged breaths and throes of passion and he’s quick to follow, elongating the pleasure of your peak. His velvety, opulent cum spurts out in plentiful, white cords as he bucks his hips and throws his head back. His guttural moans are like music to your ears and you’re quaking at the pure rapture.
There’s a long moment of silence as you both come down from your highs. A laugh leaves your lips, and a wry grin twitches at his features under his balaclava. You’re no longer dripping nerves. Your smile lights up the room, and his heart swells at the sight of your afterglow. Your confidence shines through and he’s still hard. Not a very common occurrence in the world of Ghost.
Your eyes flicker to his girthy cock and your grin spreads. His eyes follow yours and he chuckles and gently pumps himself, “not every day that happens.”
You cock a brow. “What the inviting me for a cybersex sesh, or the staying hard after cumming part?”
He barks out a hearty laugh, “Both I s’ppose.” he softly plashes. “Really got me goin’ there, lovie.”
And the nickname brings you back to life. Maybe you really were delirious because you can sense that his eyes display a different range of lingering emotions--persisting lust and a genuine admiration. You can’t help but to feel a little victorious as you watch him continue to stroke himself, even after the both of you reached your peak.
“Not everyday I meet someone who can keep up with me,” he rasps. He lets out a breath of satisfaction.
You tilt your head, a coy smile etches into your lips. “Guess I’m just full of surprises,” you reply softly. There’s that sensual confidence seeping into your tone and it shows on your body.
He chuckles. It’s low and alluring and it causes gooseberries to trail up your skin. “That you are, lovie,” he counters, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His voice makes you feel warm and gooey. “Could get used to this…to you.”
The implication hangs heavy in the air making his interest in you clear and undeniable. Your heart skips a beat as the heat between you simmers again. It’s no longer the deviancy alone that tips him off, it’s the fact that he’s brought out a different side of you.
“Maybe next time,” your voice is low and tempting as your eyes motion to his still-engorged length. “you’ll let me show you how much more I can handle.”
His smirk widens under his mask, and his hunger for you multiplies. “Count on it.” he replies with the promise of fulfilling that request.
You both share a yearning moment. The spark between you is electrifying and certainly obvious. You decide to make the first move as you sit up to hover your sticky thumb over the end call button, “Good night, Ghost.”
He chews at the end of his cheek and his eyes crinkle signaling that he was smiling wide. “Good night, lovie.”
There’s no doubt in your mind that this won’t be the last time you’ll see each other like this.
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Creator Spotlight: @mimimar
Hi! I’m Michelle (Mimimar), an illustrator born and raised in Venezuela, currently based in Italy. I enjoy making colorful illustrations that reflect the things I love: fairy tales, fantasy, tenderness and queer (especially sapphic) stories. Occasionally, I also make paper dolls, comics and animatics. I have a lot of interest in book illustration and I’m currently developing my own stories that I hope to share as an author-illustrator someday!
Check out our interview with Michelle below!
Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?
I always enjoyed drawing when I was a kid, but it only became a hobby that I did almost every day when I was around 11. At first I only used traditional mediums, but I decided to make a serious effort to learn how to draw digitally when I was 15, and once I got the hang of it I never stopped!
I didn’t go to art school so all of my learning was done through studying the tutorials and resources that other artists generously share on the internet and lots of practice / trial and error.
How do you want to evolve as a creator?
I want to do many things but what I want to do the most right now is work on books! I want to make art for other authors’ stories and also my own stories as an author-illustrator. I want to grow as a storyteller and create art and stories that will really resonate with people emotionally. I’m always striving to improve my skills as well.
I also really love dolls, so working on doll box art or as a doll designer is something I would love to do someday. I actually have been designing paper dolls on my Patreon for the past few months, it’s been a fun project that is still ongoing right now!
What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?
Probably using a lot of purple! It’s my favorite color so I find myself using it a lot. If I can find a way to sneak a little bit of purple into an illustration or a character design then I will.
Congratulations on finishing your Ivy Comic! Did the outcome turn out like how you expected or were there some unexpected bumps along the way?
Thank you! It’s a project that I worked on very slowly in between other art because I wanted to really take my time with every spread and make each of them a fully detailed illustration. I thumbnailed the full comic before starting but I kept changing the sketch for the final spread until the very end! Overall I’m really proud of the end result. I sprinkled a lot of hidden details in every page that I hope some of the readers will notice. For example: the meanings of the flowers in each page represent what the characters are feeling in that moment, and the colors of their wardrobe become gradually lighter as the story progresses to represent their emotions, as well as the changing of seasons.
We’ve noticed that you have created some amazing cover art for TGCF. Is there another series you would like to do something similar with?
That was another passion project that took some time to complete. Initially, I didn’t intend for them to be specifically covers, it was just a series of illustrations based on the 5 books/main arcs of TGCF. But since they were well-received and I had people telling me they wish they could use them as covers for their books, I decided to rework them into dust jackets for the english translation of TGCF!
I haven’t thought of any other specific series but I love doing cover art so maybe I’ll do something similar again in the future!
What’s your favorite part of your style? Why?
I’ve heard from other people that there’s a delicate quality to my art, this is something that I like a lot! I like pretty things, fairytales and vibrant colors. I think all of these things probably reflect in the art I make as well.
If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?
I hope that they remember how it made them feel. Feelings and colors are the two things I give priority to in my work. Most of the time I like depicting tenderness, softness and emotional intimacy. If that could reach the viewer and stay with them it would make me very happy.
I make a lot of art with queer (mainly sapphic) themes because they’re the kind of stories I personally like and want to see more of, so whenever people tell me that my art has helped them in their journey to discover and accept themselves, or that they see themselves and their partner in my art, it is always extremely meaningful to me. When art that I made to give myself comfort can provide comfort for others, no matter how small, it reminds me once again that despite any hardships art is genuinely worth pursuing.
Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?
So many artists! To name a few: I love @sakizo’s amazing eye for fashion and detail, @paneeps’ gorgeous style and striking colors, the sweetness of @bevsi’s art, @vickisigh’s pretty colors and concepts, @idledee’s warm and heartfelt art, @littlestpersimmon’s dreamy wonderful art, and @loish has been an inspiration for as long as I can remember.
Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Michelle! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @mimimar.
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Astrology observations - Part 5 (use whole signs)
🌶️ I've noticed that Saturn in 8th house people always end up having to give their hard earned Money to their in-laws, like they're never able to keep it and if not in-laws then they end up losing it in some other way.
🍵 Saturn in 10th house people usually have a very bad relationship with their fathers, I know so many people with this and it's true for all of them (tbf, their fathers deserve it, so I don't blame them). Whenever i visit them, their father will start fighting even when I'm present 🥲 like some parents atleast pretend to be on good terms in front of others, but theirs do not.
🌶️ On the other hand, moon in 9th house people are usually very close to their father. He may not always be emotionally present in their lives but they still have this desire to prove their worth to him. But most people I know, who have this, actually love their dad and frequently spend time with him. It's cute.
🍵Mars/Sun in the 1st house people are some of the most ambitious individuals. I noticed that many billionaires have this. It doesn't mean that they're good at what they do, it's more like, they'll step over anyone to get what they want, can be greedy as well. If a person has sun AND mars in 1st..... don't mess with them, because they will RUIN your life.
🌶️ Jupiter in 2nd house people suck at financial management, these people are so talented and will do a great job, get paid a hefty amount, and then just lose all that money, I actually don't even know how they manage to do it, but they just do 😭. If you have this, please give your salary to someone more responsible and only then will you be able to become rich.
🍵3rd lord in 12th house people ALWAYS do better in life when they leave their birth land. Nothing goes their way as long as they stay where they were born, but once they move abroad, it's like, their whole personality changes (in a good way), they also start feeling more comfortable in expressing their talents.
🌶️ Sun in 2nd house people are REALLY good singers, I don't know about the celebrities, but we have so many amazing singers in our university and all of them have sun in 2nd house, the type depends on the sign. But all of them have such a beautiful voice.
🍵 Saturn in 2nd house people are the ones who act like the elder sibling even when they're the youngest or the only child. Idk how to explain it, but they just have the "oldest child" energy. They're very responsible and I know people with this, whose parents did not treat them in a good way and yet they do not hold a grudge, they're like "it's okay, they were also having problems of their own, so I get it, I know they actually love me" and it's.....kind of sad. But also, very inspiring in a way. They're also very very responsible with money. They know how hard it is to earn before they even start working themselves.
🌶️ Mars in 3rd...these people....first of all, if you're reading this, please learn to talk slowly bro. These people always be talking like they gonna miss out some shit 😭, like bro calm down. Also, they wanna argue ALL THE TIME. I have a friend with this and and she makes ME cry with how long she's able to argue, they will make you agree with them before they leave you alone. So now whenever she says something that I don't agree with, I just go "yeah, you're actually right" cuz I'm NOT taking risks.
🍵 Mercury in 3rd house people can be amazing journalists and writers. They really have this ability to make you FEEL things through their writing, especially if it's in a water sign. Can be very passionate about certain social causes as well. I know two people with this and both of them have a secret twitter and Tumblr account and they refuse to tell us the username. So, they like to fight for things, from behind the scenes and avoid spotlight.
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