#but in the end he is just a nerd with a special interest

[umboocowju]

Beast peak's disciple Shen Yuan? Yeah 😌

[aroaceleovaldez]

Jason, Reyna, and Nico have one billion in-jokes about Mediterranean history between the bronze age to the renaissance that they find absolutely hilarious and no one else understands in the slightest. i know this in my heart to be true.

[pheonix-inside]

Y'know how Miles' universe has a different version of Coca-Cola?

Do you think it has a different version of Five Nights at Freddy's?

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Ghosted

Male Jock Yandere Ghost x Gender Neutral Nerd Ghost Reader

CW: Reader death, ghosts, spirit world, manipulative yandere, stalking, general yandere behavior, consensual sex

Word Count: 801

(Trying to get back into the habit of writing, this is the result, hope you like it! I consider a demented ghost as still being a monster and therefore still teratophilia.)

You had died in college. One moment, you were being your nerdy self, rummaging through your binder, and the next, you were on the ground. You didn't really remember much, all very fuzzy. Was it a stroke? A brain aneurysm? You had no idea.

Once you were brain dead, though, you stepped from your body and appeared on the ghostly plane. A fog filled realm that somewhat mirrored the world of the living. Though spirits could make alterations, there were spaces untouched by the activities of the still living. 

There were a lot of ghosts. Many of them wandered aimlessly or were stuck in a loop of denial, acting out behaviors as if they were still alive. Others lashed aggressively, unable to regain their grip on their sanity. 

You mostly kept to yourself. Like Jonesy taught you. He was a former jock about your age when he died in the late 80s. He still wore his letterman jacket. You weren't limited to the clothes you died in, but you figured it was a symbol of how he was still attached to his old life.

Jonesy had taught you a lot of things. He had pretty much been your mentor since you had died. He was there waiting when you passed. He said he had sensed someone might die as he was wandering the halls of the college, where he had also died years ago. 

Jonesy said he was stuck in a loop. Being alone had made him lose his mental stability. But when he sensed you were about to die, it snapped him out of it. He said you saved him, so he wanted to get to know you and help you navigate the land of the dead. 

Plus, being together would help prevent the two of you from getting mentally frail. 

It was a bit of a paradox. Jonesy taught you to avoid most spirits, but communication and relationships were essential to staying sane. 

"You just have to know the right types to befriend. Many of the people here have a darkness in them and can drag you down if you're not careful."

He also told you the other secret to remaining stable. 

"You have to keep busy, do stuff. Don't get too bored."

There was a surprising amount you could do as a ghost. You could go to stores and yoink whatever you wanted, eat whatever you wanted, play video games, there was even a ghost version of the internet! 

Getting infinite free popcorn at the movies was your favorite thing. Jonesy always did that lame pretend yawn thing that ended with his arm wrapped around you. It was nice, though. Made you feel safe. You had been touch starved in life.

The transition to him being your boyfriend was so seemless and natural that you barely noticed that it had happened. You had never stopped any of his advances. Cuddling you, holding you, and smooching your cheek.

You didn't even question it when chaste kisses led to him kissing you hungrily before carefully taking off your clothing, like he was removing the wrapping from something delicate. 

Soon you found yourself laying ass up on his bed with him pounding into you, drinking in all your lusty moans and unabashed calling of his name.

He gripped your hips firmly as he came deeply into you; the pleasure made you see stars. His girthy cock stretched you wonderfully. You felt so lucky and special that this jock spirit had taken an interest in you, a lowly nerd.

Jonesy felt lucky too. He hadn't been in a loop. For a year before your death, he had been haunting you, It was difficult to peek into the living world, but once he found you, he was addicted. 

He loved watching you read books, study, and watch anime. He especially loved watching you shower, fervently jerking hinself off as he did so. 

It wasn't enough though. He needed to have you with him! You had been so perfect for him. You were kindred souls in a way. You were always alone and starved for attention. You'd fall for his affections easily, and you wouldn't just crossover beyond the purgatory the two of you were now in, you were too depressed for that.

Influencing people who were still alive was nearly impossible, but decades of being alone had made Jonesy angry and bitter. He used those emotions as fuel and tried many times to trip you down the stairs or get you to stroll into traffic absentmindedly. Finally, the jock was successful in busting something in your head.

At long last, you were with him. As he held you tightly, after making love several more times, he knew he'd be able to keep you there forever and he'd never have to be alone again. 

[anakinstwinklebunny]

STALKER!NERD!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. Death, murderer, swearing, weird behavior, psycho behavior

Author's note: got inspired by amazing @xzaddyzanakinx, check her sutff out, it's wayyy better!!!

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who at the beginning seemed like a normal cute nerd

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who would write down every small detail he learned about you in his special notebook

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who would get nervous whenever the math class was about to begin (just because you're in it too). He doesn't have a problem with math, hell, he loves this subject but not as much as he loves you. His eyes would time to time move towards to where you're sitting, his cheeks heating up as he tries to pretend he's actually paying attention to what teacher says

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin whose one of the main wishes was to finally catch your attention. To make you notice him; his love for you, his unconditional commitment, his deep interest in everything you do - from your voice to your every small part on your body. It was something he wished and prayed for, to finally catch your gaze longer than one mere second

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who began fantasizing about you late at night to make himself fall asleep sometimes

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who, when you once struggled with your laptop in class, Anakin, the tech whiz, offered to help you out. He found it as a perfect opportunity to finally have his first real interaction with you. Although nervousness creeped all over his body, stopping right at his cheeks to make them rosy. His hands were gentle as they glided over the keyboard, but you had no idea that while he was fixing your issue, he was also installing a program that gives him remote access to your laptop. He smiled at you after, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, and you thanked him—unaware that he had just gained access to every aspect of your life.

Later that night, as you were working, you noticed your laptop screen flickering for a moment. Although you brushed it off, not realizing Anakin is on the other end, watching you through your webcam. His breath catched in his throat as he watched you. The heat he couldn't just ingore rising inside him whenever he imagined what it would be like to have you by his side..every.single.day

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who's always in the library, studying furiously or working on some coding project. Yet one day, you left a book behind on accident, and of course, he’s the one who finds it. Instead of returning it to you, Anakin uses it as an excuse to hold onto something of yours—your scent lingering on the pages (at least he thinks it lingers, that it's still there), your small scribbled notes on the margins. And the way his heartbeat quickened whenever he held something you did just second ago - it was so thrilling

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who after the laptop 'help', brought himself the courage to talk to you. At first, he made sure to make it time to time and a small talks - about lessons you've just had, sometimes he tried to gossip (for the first time) about teachers he actually liked (but knew you hated) in jokey way to make you smile and agree at what he's saying - so he did baby steps that hopefully would let him get closer.

He was always obssesing over these talks, always came up to you with flushed cheeks, trying to ignore your sceptical-looking friends. Although he cursed himself after every interaction with you just because he stuttered a lot, and he wanted to make the best impression on you as possible (but who would have known that you finded it cute)

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who gave himself time (but with his often excitement it was hard) to gain your trust, to 'know' you even better than what he knew already (so you wouldn't be suspicious about him knowing certain stuff)

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who was thrilled to help you with subjects you sucked at. Often staying just for you long hours in the library after lessons;

"Hi, Annie."

That soft, sugar-sweet voice pulled Anakin out of his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. He looked up, and there you were—his Aphrodite, his goddess—smiling at him, your eyes bright as you took a seat next to him, your math books gently landing on the library's wooden table.

Anakin froze for a moment, his mind swirling. How was it that you could always leave him feeling like this—flustered, vulnerable? His usual composure disappeared every time you came near. He was used to watching you from afar, secretly lingering in the shadows, but now as you were right next to him, close enough that he could smell your perfume, his mind went dizzy

He swallowed hard, trying to control the quickened beat of his heart. “Hi, y/n he said softly, forcing a gentle smile. “So, what do you need help with today?”

You sighed, flipping open your math book, brows furrowing in that adorable way you always did when you were concentrating. “sequences... I don’t get it.”

Anakin's heart lifted slightly at the request. This was his chance—his moment to shine before you. “Don’t worry, I'll help you"

"That’s so stupid," you muttered, grimacing at the another math problem in front of you. You've been doing this shit for what felt like hours and you could feel your brain slowly release more and more smoke

Anakin only chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “It’s not stupid. You’re just learning it. Trust me, math can save your life.”

The phrase almost made you vomit “That’s a bold statement.”

He grinned, watching your pencil scratch against the paper, marveling at how even something so mundane looked graceful in your hands. “Bold but true,” he teased. “If you were stranded on a deserted island without a signal, you'd need math to find your way back home.” he folded his hands between his legs, offering you this small smile

you huffed “I’d need a map, not math.”

“And how do you think they make maps?” he shot back with a smug smirk on his face. He was nothing like this shy, stuttering guy you knew just time ago. It was more endearing, in a way “Math. Without it, you wouldn’t have a map in the first place.”

You bit your lip in thought, a small furrow appearing on your brows as you glanced back at the task in front of you. The way your lips pouted slightly as you tried to focus made Anakin’s heart skip a beat. “Math is a haunting beast,” you sighed, writing the example down. “It doesn’t help you; it ruins you.”

Anakin chuckled again, shaking his head. “That’s just a matter of perspective.” His voice softened, dropping a little lower “You just haven’t seen it the right way. I can change that, you know.”

“Can you?” your tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

“If you let me, absolutely.” His eyes sparkled while watching you, drinking in every detail of your face. He had never been this close to you ever before. And oh God, he loved it so much. He could smell the faint scent of your vanilla perfumes, every inch of your skin seemed so touchable..so soft..so-- “But you’ve got to take it seriously. Otherwise, how can I help you?”

“I am taking it seriously, Anakin. You know I’m thankful for all the time and effort you put into this.”

The word time echoed in Anakin’s mind, sending a rush of emotion through him. Time—that precious thing he spent obsessing over you, watching your every move, memorizing every little detail about you.. If only you knew how deep his admiration went, how he lived for these moments alone with you..maybe you would understand that you deserve better than some jerk you've been dating. That you deserved someone who would want to know you, who would fall to his knees and beg to know you..who would do it all just for a small glimpse of your face in the sunglight

“Don’t mention it,” he murmured, his smirk returning. “I’m always happy to help you, y/n.”

He kept the conversation light and playful, teasing you just enough to make you smile, to keep your attention on him. Just as he always dreamed. He wanted this moment to last forever—to bask in your presence, in the warmth of your voice, in the sweetness of your laughter. He wanted you to feel how much he cared, even if he couldn’t tell you the whole truth yet

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who hated your boyfriend;

“Y/n!” Jack’s sharp voice sliced through Anakin’s thoughts like a knife. “Pack your things, we’re leaving. Now.” The coldness in Jack’s tone made Anakin’s blood boil. How could anyone speak to you like that? Anakin would never dream of using such a harsh tone with you. Never.

“But I’m doing math ri—"

“Don’t care,” Jack snapped, cutting you off. “Pack your damn things. We’re leaving.”

The cruelty in Jack’s voice made Anakin seethe. The way he talked to you—like you were nothing—made his hands curl into fists under the table. Red-hot anger coursed through him, almost blinding him. Jack had no right. No right to speak to youlike that, to treat you like you were disposable. His heart pounded in his chest, the familiar obsessive urge to protect you, to be the one who cherished you, rising uncontrollably. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt or disrespected by anyone, least of all by someone like Jack.

Jack caught Anakin’s stare, eyes narrowing with disdain. “What are you looking at, nerd?” His voice was full of arrogance and venom

Anakin’s eyes flashed with rage as he turned to meet Jack’s gaze, nails digging into his skin. He wanted to punch that smug look right off his face. Oh, how satisfying it would be to watch him fall. But Jack was taller, broader, physically stronger..yet..biology confirmed that people under different emotions are able to do impossible..so could it possibly mean..

“Jack, calm down,” you interjected softly, your voice shaking just a little as you tried to smooth things over without another cut skin and running blood. “Anakin was just helping me with math.”

Yet, Jack barely glanced at you, keeping his gaze locked on Anakin's face. Both of them looked as if they were about to throw their fists on themselves. Yet, Anakin wasn't the type of guy to hurt someone..right? “Whatever. If you’re not outside in five minutes, I’m leaving without you.”

Anakin’s blood ran cold as Jack stormed out of the library. The familiar feeling of being a failure, of possibly dissapointing you because he haven't done anything, didn't stand up and react at your boyfriend's behaviour corrupted his mind. What had he just done? He was supposted to protect you, and yet, here he was sitting like a failure. This tense, uncomfortable silence did not help him. Especially when your face flushed with embarrassment, your once-bright smile long gone. What had he just done? You looked down, fiddling nervously with your pencil before turning to Anakin.

“I’m so sorry about him,” you whispered “He’s just… having a bad day, I guess. Please don’t take it personally.”

Anakin wanted to scream. Bad day? That was your excuse? You were too kind, too forgiving. Jack didn’t deserve your apologies or your understanding. Anakin’s anger roared inside him like a beast, barely contained beneath his calm exterior. Jack wasn’t just having a bad day—he was a bully, plain and simple. And Anakin hated him for it. He wanted to protect you from this, from Jack’s cruel words and rough edges. Because you deserved to be treated like a queen, not like some accessory Jack could toss around whenever he felt like it.

So there was this question ringing in his ears again - what had he just done?

“It’s okay,” he replied softly, though his voice was tight with the effort it took to hold back his anger.

You offered him a nervous smile, the light that usually brightened your face now dimmed by Jack’s harshness. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t keep you any longer… but maybe we can catch up another time?”

Before Anakin could respond, you took his pen and started scribbling something in his notebook. Your soft hand moved gracefully over the page, your pretty handwriting was what captured his attention completely. He loved how even the smallest, most mundane actions were captivating when it came to you. Because for him, you could make something as simple as writing your name feel like magic.

When you finished, you handed the notebook back to him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “It’s my number,” you said, drawing a small smiley face beside it. “We can plan another time for tutoring.”

Your number. Your phone number. Anakin stared at the page in disbelief, his heart hammering in his chest. You had just given him a direct line to you. To you. His obsession surged, almost overwhelming him. He could barely keep his hands from trembling when he took in the sight on the paper. This was it—his way into your life.

“Sure. W-we can,” he said, trying to suppress the massive grin that threatened to take over his face. “Anytime.”

you smiled again, but it was smaller now, hesitant. Your eyes flickered toward the door, where Jack had disappeared moments earlier. “Thanks again, Anakin. I’m really sorry about Jack…i-I should get going before he leaves me stranded.”

Anakin watched you pack your things, his pulse quickening with each movement you made. God, you were so perfect, so sweet, even in the face of Jack’s cruelty. And you deserved better—better than Jack, better than anyone. He even knew he doeasn't deserve you, because for him, you were more than a human. His eyes each time saw you in angelic, heavenly way. As if God alone had sent you on earth to torment him for his sins, to make him suffer. You were so pure, and he so sinful.. so..dirty in all kind of sins. He didn't feel worthy enough to even be in your presence, yet he wanted it more than anything in the world

But if you'd give him only a chance, he'd be yours. Completely. Body and soul. Without exception

“I’ll see you later, Annie,” you mumbled softly, flashing him one last smile before heading towards the door.

The sound of his nickname on your lips made his whole body tingle. He barely registered you leaving, too caught up in the way you'd looked at him, the way you'd spoken to him. The way you had given him your number. It was like a dream come true. His obsession had reached a fever pitch—his heart ached for you - to have you, hold you, not let you go..

you were his, right?

at least had to be someday..

But then there was Jack. Jack, who, again, didn’t deserve you. Jack, who treated you like dirt, who took you for granted. Jack, who yelled at you , who made your smile disappear. Jack, who Anakin hated more than anyone in the world.

Anakin’s grip tightened around his notebook, his knuckles white with the pressure. He couldn’t let Jack get away with this. He couldn’t let Jack continue to be a part of your life. It was his place in your life he took, it was his destiny and fate to be someone more than just 'a nerd who helped you out'.

But again, he hadn't done anything to stop him from treating you like this. When he could, when he really had a chance to make a difference. He simply didn't

what had he just done?

Today was the day it had to change So he had decided. He would follow you, keep his distance, and watch - like he always does. He would make sure Jack never had the chance to hurt you ever again.

With his mind set, Anakin quickly packed his things, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Today Jack Scottland would meet God.

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who killed your boyfriend;

Anakin took a deep breath as he started his car, his hands trembling with barely controlled rage. Every thought, every emotion, was singular—focused on Jack. Jack had to go. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened, his breath coming out in shallow bursts. This was it. No turning back. Jack was the obstacle, the barrier between him and you. His mind wouldn’t let him rest until Jack was out of the picture—forever.

As he followed Jack’s car down the quiet road, he could feel his heartbeat quickening, pulsing in his ears. Jack, once more, didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. Anakin’s blood boiled as he replayed Jack’s words in his head—the way he had spoken to you in the most controlling, cruel, disgusting way possible. He couldn’t stand it any longer. If he didn’t do something now, he’d explode.

When Jack pulled into an empty pullout far from your house, Anakin’s pulse raced from adrenaline. This was it. His moment. Now or never.

Anakin slowed his car and parked a few meters behind, eyes locked on Jack’s vehicle. His hands still shook as he opened the trunk, pulling out his baseball bat. The weight of it felt right, felt powerful. This wasn’t a game anymore—this was war. War that he promised himself to win, to never loose, because his thropy is more than anything he could have in his life. it was you Adrenaline pumping through his blood system, perfectly mixing with the uncontrollable rage he’d been bottling up for too long.

Jack was sitting in his car, lazily scrolling through his phone, completely unaware. Anakin’s stomach twisted in disgust. He didn’t care, didn’t even realize how much of a monster he was. The sight of Jack sitting there, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just torn you apart with his words, made Anakin sick. He had to do this. He had to protect you.

Anakin approached, bat gripped tightly in his hand, tapping it lightly against the car window. The sharp sound snapped Jack’s attention.

“Get out,” Anakin hissed, his voice low and dangerous as if he was a completely diffrent person

Emotions, especially at a high intensity, impact our ability to make rational decisions - nature echoed amongst the pure hatred

“What?” Jack’s expression shifted from confusion to irritation as he slowly lowered the window.

“I said get the fuck out of the car.”

Jack sighed, clearly annoyed as he pushed open the car door, stepping out with a condescending sneer. “Listen, man, I don’t know what your prob—”

The moment Jack’s foot hit the ground, Anakin swung. The bat connected with a sickening crunch against Jack’s side, sending him sprawling to the ground with a grunt of pain. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he gasped for air, clutching his ribs. Yet, Anakin didn’t hesitate; he stepped closer, the fury burning brighter with each moment.

“You think you can treat her like that and just get away with it?” Anakin’s voice was harsh, gritted through clenched teeth as he stood over Jack, eyes wild with fury.

Jack groaned, rolling onto his back, blood dribbling from his lips."What the hell are you talking about?"

anakin's jaw clenched "pathetic excuse of a man"

Before Jack could add anything, Anakin brought the bat down hard, aiming for his head. Jack rolled out of the way just in time, the bat slamming into the dirt beside him. The impact sent a jolt through Anakin’s arms, but he didn’t stop. He swung again, but Jack was quicker this time, scrambling to his feet and grabbing hold of the bat, yanking it toward him.

For a brief moment, they struggled, locked in a vicious tug of war with the bat. Jack, stronger and bigger, managed to kick Anakin hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Anakin gasped, stumbling backward, but the rage inside him only intensified.

Jack seized the opportunity, landing a brutal punch to Anakin’s face, sending blood spraying from his nose. The taste of iron filled his mouth, but it didn’t matter. He barely felt the pain. All he could think about was Jack—the smug look on his face, the way he had spoken to you, belittled you.

Anakin roared, using the force of his rage to swing the bat hard against Jack’s face, smashing into his cheekbone with a sickening crack. Blood splattered across the side of the car as Jack crumpled to the ground, his face a mangled mess of blood and broken skin.

But Jack wasn’t done yet. He spat blood from his busted lips, managing a weak chuckle “So this is about her, huh? You’re fucking pathetic, man. You think beating me up will make her love you? You’re fucking psycho. She’ll hate you more than she ever hated me.”

Anakin’s vision blurred with anger, anger, nothing but anger, everything going red. He swung the bat again, this time aiming for Jack’s chest. Jack barely managed to roll out of the way, but not fast enough—Anakin’s bat clipped his shoulder with enough force to make the bones crack. Jack screamed, the sound piercing the night air, but Anakin didn’t care.

Jack lunged at Anakin, tackling him to the ground, fists flying. The two of them grappled in the dirt, blood mixing with sweat as they traded blows. Jack landed a solid punch to Anakin’s jaw, sending him reeling. Blood dripped from both their faces, coating their clothes in crimson colour.

"fucking--" another hit to anakin's face "psycho--" he panted, but before he could aim another hit, anakin grabbed his wrist, rolling them over

After mucch hits, anakin twisted his body, managing to grab the bat again, using it as leverage to slam Jack’s head to the ground. Blood slipped everywhere, yet it wasn't enough. With shaky legs, Anakin stood up and grabbed a handful of jack's hair only to smack his face into the side of his own car. The crack of Jack’s skull against the car's doors made Anakin feel an intense surge of power, almost a twisted satisfaction. Jack groaned, as if it was the only sound that could leave his already shattered face

yet it wasn't enough

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who, with great care, made sure to get rid off any tools of the crime - he was awfully smart for that. It was almost weird..how a man who was his parent's contentment, now just killed a guy for a girl he was obsessed about..

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who had a special folder for the videos from the camera on your laptop, special folder for your photos he was obsessing about even after such a long time, he still collected new things

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who was nervous (but tried to hide it) when police found Jack's body.

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who was for you when you grieved over the death of your toxic ex and months later, his wildest dreams came true - he was dating you. Was free to worship you, admire you.

He was addicted to you even more after the first date. Because this time, it was him who made you smile so much your cheeks hurt. It was him who made you laugh till your stomach hurt. It was the only type of pain he let himself give you

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who felt extremely free in your presence. All his fantasies, all his dreams came true. He almost felt like on a cloud nine - so perfect, so light, so happy (despite of what he had done);

“Gonna keep teasing me like this all the time?” he asked with a lazy grin, propped up on one elbow on the bed.

“I’m not teasing you,” you replied with playfulness “Just showing off my new dress.”

The dress, a deep shade of red, highlighted your curves and drew attention to your most elegant lines. It clung to your form in all the right places, making you look absolutely stunning.

His eyes wandered over you, taking in every detail. The way the dress accentuated your body left him breathless. You were beautiful in everything you wore, but this dress—this was something extraordinary. “So, you put this on just to make me feral? Because you’re definitely succeeding.” he chuckled, leaning up on his elbow.

“I just wanted to know if you like it,” your smirk deepening as you gracefully crawled onto his lap, like a cat curling up to its favorite spot.

“Oh, I definitely like it,” his voice filled with admiration and a hint of playfulness. “But it’s not just the color that’s catching my attention.” His eyes roamed over your curves with unabashed appreciation once more.

“Oh really?” you giggled, your laughter a sweet melody that seemed to enchant him further. Your smile was radiant, and the way you looked at him made his heart swell.

“Mhm,” he responded, his own smile widening as he pulled you closer. His eyes continued their admiring journey “You’re so, so gorgeous. Did you really think I wouldn’t like it?” his fingers gently grazing the hem of your dress.

“I hoped you’d drool all over it, to be honest” your smile playful and tender as you delicately removed his glasses and put them on yourself.

Anakin’s smile grew even wider. The sight of you wearing his glasses, combined with the way you sat on his lap, made him feel like the luckiest man alive. His joy was almost overwhelming. He could barely contain his excitement. “I’d drool over you in anything, you know that,” his voice filled with adoration and a hint of humor. His heart was soaring, knowing that this perfect moment, with you, was his reality. "Even in a potato sack"

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who had a deep need to observe you 24/7, at least in most of his free time. Because what if someone will hurt you? Or you'll hurt yourself and he'd not know, appear too late to help. So, he felt obligated to watch you

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who stole some of your panties when you weren't looking and kept them in his apartment, not daring himself to even think about putting them into a washing machine

Stalker!Nerd!Anakin who was horribly obsessed with leaving marks all over your body;

“You’re leaving me hickeys,” you whined, glancing at the mirror to see the fresh, juicy marks on your neck to collection

“Can’t help it,” he replied with a smirk, wrapping his arms around your waist to connect his lips with your (this time) exposed shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites. The hickeys were more than just marks—they were declarations of his love, signs that you were his and his alone. He wanted everyone to see that you belonged to him. And if people wouldn't see your marks, he wanted to make sure you would knew who you belong to. His lips moved to your ear, whispering the phrase that made you shiver “Though I’d say my favorite is still the one on your ass.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you flushed and headed back to the bed

He chuckled, settling beside you and immediately pulling you close. His arms wrapped around your frame and he nuzzled into your neck, planting more kisses, and adding to the huge collection of hickeys. “I think you should get it tattooed,” he suggested playfully, his lips brushing against your skin

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[deckedcards]

ᝰ . . . I THINK I’M LIKING HIM MORE, HE DOES THE THINGS I NEVER ASK FOR !

⌗ PAIRING: shuntarō chishiya x male! reader

⌗ SUMMARY: chishiya, the cold-hearted and reckless troublemaker of the school has seemingly had his eyes stuck on a certain nerdy boy that always carelessly walks around his area of the place.

⌗ THIS WORK INCLUDES . . . lowercase intended, third person pov, no borderlands au, high school au, fluff, tiny bit of angst, short fic, delinquent!chishiya, nerd!reader, reader kinda has a nonchalant personality, secret relationship, mentions of bullying, fighting, mentions of harassment, chishiya being protective over reader, unintentional slight yandere! chishiya, kinda obsessed chishiya, stalking, reader is the same height as chishiya, hopelessly in love chishiya, reader likes what he’s doing, i wrote chishiya to have the same appearance as nijirô’s character in tokyo revengers “kazutora hanemiya,” includes some inaccurate stuff about japanese schools, a little inspired by yandere simulator, fixed grammar and wording mistakes ❨ edited ❩

⌗ EXTRA NOTES: this came to me when i saw an edit of nijirô in the tokyo revengers movie soo shoutout to the person who made that i guess😀😀

━━━━ A CALMING school bell echoed loudly around the building, multiple students taking the things from their desks and rushing out of the doors desperate to go home. chishiya stood flat against one of the walls, ignoring the people taking cautious steps near him. the feared delinquent of the school is the reputation he’s made for himself here.

starting fights with random students that would ever accidentally brush against him in the hallways resulting in said students having their faces be beaten and disfigured to the point of no return. forcing people against their will to participate in fight clubs and make bets on their failures, making some of his friends do his dirty work whenever he wasn’t in the mood to handle something, never batting an eye whenever girls got harassed by his friends. the boy showed no remorse for his actions, his face always set into a poker expression as a tiny kitten smile grazed his lips. he only hung around a few people, the rest of his “gang” and a girl named hikari kuina, one of the gyarus at this school.

chishiya kept his head low as his bangs covered the top of his eyes, searching for a specific pair of shoes that would walk past him. his eyes shined as he found them, straightening his posture as he trailed behind the person he was waiting for, (name). this man was special to him, he felt a sense of priority in protecting him. (name) was a nerd, always getting good grades and getting scored at the top of his classes, he was the perfect punching bag for someone like chishiya. but thats not what he wanted from him, no. (name) was the only person that didn’t fear him at every waking moment, he didn’t care if chishiya or his friends were some big bad entity, he treated them like they were just regular students at this school because… they were!

and thats what chishiya favored about him. the boy served zero interest in getting involved with him, he didn’t care if he walked through the hallways of his unassigned part of the school, the part where all the delinquents would hangout. the part which was also coincidentally where a shortcut was made to cut through the rest of the school and get to classes faster.

chishiya sat with his legs crossed ontop of a heater box, he picked at his nails as his ears gathered up the sounds of two boys getting beaten by some of the people in his group. pleads were heard as he raised his hand to scratch at his scalp, dark hair getting twisted up as he thread his hands through it. the lunch bell rang, he saw students from across getting out of their classes and walking towards the cafeteria, all of them avoiding his hallway. him seeing some people hurriedly grab their friends as they made sudden mistakes of taking a few steps at the end of it.

this was a regular occurrence, him observing people as they sent him fearful stares and instinctively quivering in their shoes. this worsening, especially when he planted himself in different areas of the school. developing fears of any of the places that he’d be able to hide in. corners, closets, corridors, classrooms, the garden or swimming pool that were placed behind the school, anything. sudden gasps and whispers of different students filled his eardrums as he turned his neck to glance at what was happening, a figure was coming his way.

a boy with glasses and a resting bitch face trudged through like a model, his unbothered body language shined through him like a flashlight. chishiya examined him throughly, he was about the same height as him, white shirt unbuttoned slightly and exposing the tank top underneath it, his uniform blazer was held in his arms like a coat hanger as he adjusted the bag with multiple keychains on his shoulder. a lavender aroma hit his nostrils like a grenade, the scent calming down any type of tension that was set in his body.

chishiya watched as he stepped over the bodies of the boys on the floor, them and their bullies stared at him in confusion as he continued to walk away, not sparing any glances at anyone that hung around the rest of the corridor. chishiya quirked his eyebrow as one of his friends looked at him, looking for any signals in his face to go after the guy. he shook his head as he got down from where he was sitting sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants as his eyes glued onto figure before glancing away as he rounded a corner, leaving his imprint on everyone’s gaze.

ever since that encounter chishiya became more excited on the inside as he waited for the man’s presence to pass by him in the halls. he found out his name was (name) when he “decided” to attend one of the schools assemblies. of course, like always, (name) was there too as he walked up to the stage with someone that was apart of the staff announcing an award for him. chishiya observed him throughout everything, walking into school, going to class, eating lunch, passing through the building, looking at him through the windows of his classroom while he was sat near the wall and squatting down whenever (name) felt his cat-like eyes on him, even following him home to ensure his safety and just his safety (definitely not because he wants to know where the person he loves lives and watch over him incase something happened to him.)

“how long are you gonna keep following me for?”

chishiya stepped out of his dazed mind, blinking slowly as he saw (name) with his body turnt towards him hands on his bag and glasses rested ontop of his head, “follow?” chishiya repeated, pushing his lips out as he thought of a lie to say, “i’m just trying to go home like everyone else,” (name) raised one of his brows, did he think he was that stupid? acting like he didn’t know about the shadow that chishiya always left on the places he visited. the figure he always noticed standing outside of his window at night that had the same similarities of his silhouette. the way chishiya prevented his friends from causing harm to him, threatening them if they ever had thoughts of trying to do what they regularly did to other nerds in the school.

all the jealous stares that chishiya sent his way whenever (name) held the quivering hands of his friends as he guided them through the passageway, wishing that was him in their place and not them. he didn’t wanna admit it but chishiya’s actions made his heart flutter a bit, (name) wasn’t liked throughout the school, especially with how “perfect” his image was. people attempting to use his intelligence in ways to benefit themselves, sending scowls his direction and spouting insults at him accusing him of sleeping with his homeroom teachers and the principal to get where he was now.

his careless attitude kept all of this from straining his heart, continuing to do what he did best and enjoying all the praise adults sent his way. (name)’s always been advised in avoiding the delinquents or anyone that could tarnish his reputation and strain him from his academics, but how could he do that when chishiya was just so cute?

him and his sharp cat features, the dyed black and dirty white hair that suited his skin tone so well, his dark tattoo that covered the side of his neck and the tough exterior that prevented him from showing others what he was really feeling at times. (name) knew there was more to chishiya then how he made himself to be, a kinder and sweeter boy that cared more about the lives of others and his own ideals.

(name) hummed as he kicked an invisible rock away from his shoes, “that’s what you said yesterday,” he said stepping closer to chishiya as he spoke, “and the day before that and then the day before that one and the week before that,” (name) brought his hands up to hold the sides of chishiya’s face, seeing the way his lip corners curved upwards, “how long are we gonna have to keep this up for?”

the air shifted as the two sought comfort in each other’s eyes, chishiya leaning one of the sides of his face into (name)’s gentle warm palm, “until we get out of here,” he sorely replied watching as (name) exhaled through his nose and shifted his gaze to the floor beneath them, “it’s our last year here, only a few more months and we’re gone,” chishiya said bringing up his hand to cup one of (name)’s as he nodded.

(name) leaned forward to press a small kiss onto the man’s pink lips, redirecting his right hand to play with the dangling earring on chishiya’s earlobe. saddened expression making itself more visible the moment he spoke up, “just… don’t keep me locked in your heart until then..” he mumbled tearing away from his lover, trying to ignore the way chishiya frowned as his body spun away from him. only leaving chishiya to stand in the darkened light of the place, his face trying desperately to cling onto the feeling of where (name) had left his touch.

© @deckedcards 2025 all rights reserved ☆ i do NOT give permission to repost, translate, copy or share my work on other platforms.

[kawaiijohn]

Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

[auroralwriting]

your beauty never scared me

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

you’re scared no one will ever love and understand you, but spencer always has.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: a bit of unrequited love, comfort/angst/fluff, negative self thought, spencer is always a sweetheart, reader has a darker aesthetic

Maybe it was the fact that you came from a broken family from a young age. No, you didn't have a bad childhood, but it wasn't ideal for a young girl growing up.

It could have been the bad high school relationships, full of boys who didn't understand how to treat a young woman. Stuck at their stupid baseball games or waiting for them to finish their video game, sitting alone on their bed waiting for them to finish.

The most likely cause for your fear of love was simply the fear that no one would ever truly understand you, and therefore, never be able to love you right.

If you looked deeper, though, much further past the surface level, deep into the core, you would've realized that Spencer Reid had been there all along.

When you first joined the BAU, Spencer Reid was a typical little nerd, the glasses he wore even fulfilling the stereotype. His rambles about anything and everything were endearing, and lead you to begin your friendship with the man after he told you the history of your favorite movies.

"...its distinctive style with his signature blend of dark humor and whimsy. His imaginative vision, influenced by German Expressionism, is evident in the film’s surreal sets and exaggerated character designs. Burton’s decision to cast Michael Keaton as the chaotic title character and his encouragement of Keaton’s improvisation contributed to the film’s memorable, unpredictable energy. The innovative special effects and makeup, along with the creative set design by Bo Welch, further showcased Burton's unique approach."

By the end of his rant, Spencer had expected you to have been completely focused on anything else, but your eyes were trained on him, a small sparkle flickering in them.

"Spence, how do you know do much about Beetlejuice? You haven't even seen it before." you'd chuckled.

"I think Tim Burton is an interesting director. Maybe we could, uh, see it together sometime? If you want, of course." Spencer awkwardly fiddled with his fingers, the suggestion of the two of you hanging out outside of the work settle rattling his nerves.

You had given him a big smile, beneath your dark clothes and makeup was a heart of white and gold, a truly captivating soul. "I'd love to, Spencer! I own it, so you can come over whenever."

"Whenever sounds good," Spencer paused, thinking about what he had just said. "I mean, Thursday?"

"Thursday it is, boy genius." That name was usually reserved for making fun of Spencer, but the way you said it actually made his heart flutter.

Spencer would've never guessed that the girl, clad in dark clothing, the complete opposite of his own aesthetic, would be interested in hanging out with him. Then, it happened. And it happened again, and again, until you became friends.

Your friendship with the doctor grew. As you got closer, Spencer began to identify your fears and your tells. You played with your hair when you were nervous, bit the skin of your fingernails when you were anxious, tapped your foot or bounced your leg when you were impatient. He began to understand you on a deeper level.

It began to be the same for you. You knew his likes, dislikes, fears and worries. You understood his struggles with his mother and father, how sometimes this job didn't feel like enough until he made a true difference in someone's life.

Spencer Reid and you had connected in nearly a cosmic level, and that began to scare you.

It was two and a half years after Spencer had met you when he realized he had been falling in love with you for nearly a year. His small crush had grown exponentially. After Haley Hotchner's death, you'd taken in Jack for several days while Hotch planned the funeral and began to clean the house from the murders. Jack had taken to you quickly; he'd gone as far as to call you his favorite aunt.

Seeing the level of compassion and helpfulness you had displayed for Hotch made Spencer begin to realize that your friendship was beginning to move to the next level for him.

He began to think of you night and day, wondering what you were doing, how you were doing, what your plans were. He wanted to be with you, to feel your skin, linger in your existence. It wasn't until JJ had explained to him that that feeling he felt was love that he began to understand that you were in no place for him to admit his feelings.

Spencer never meant to profile anyone unless he was working, but he found it hard to not with you. He noticed your lack of dating, how even when you had the chance, you evaded it. He noticed your disdain to the notion of true love, or love at first sight, or even soulmates. It didn't take him long to piece together that it wasn't a hatred of love, no, it was a fear of it. However, he could never understand the why of the fear.

Now, you and Spencer had met five years ago. You'd both physically changed in looks over the time, but your friendship only remained and grew passionately stronger.

After the death of Emily, and finding out she didn't really die, Spencer had you as his rock. You grieved together, to the point that for three weeks, you lived with Spencer in his apartment. After you'd left, Spencer realized that he couldn't live without you anymore.

Spencer and you sat on his couch, the cold September month made you crave an early Halloween movie. So, Spencer put on his own copy of Beetlejuice he bought a few years back. The soft glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across the room, and the faint scent of popcorn lingered in the air. You could hear the distant hum of the city outside, blending with the soft rustling of the movie’s soundtrack.

"I like Adam and Barbara," Spencer hummed as he watched the screen. "They make a really good couple."

You nodded, "I guess they do,"

Spencer's brows furrowed at your words. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't know," You shrugged, sitting up and crossing your legs. "He's sort of controlling over her. It's just too much, she's a strong woman."

"You mean he's protective over her in the afterlife filled with dead people they didn't even knew existed?" Spencer raised a brow, turning to you. "I'm pretty sure that's relatively normal."

Turning your attention back to the screen, you replied, "I guess so,"

Spencer sighed, finally deciding to ask you the question he'd been avoiding for too many years now. "Why are you so scared of love?"

His question made you turn back to him, a confused look on your face. "What?"

"You're so pessimistic about it. You always avoid dating, talking about it, anything to even do with love." Spencer explained. "I'm just curious, why?"

"Because, there is no way love that strong exists." You concluded, folding your arms over your chest. "That's why it's all in the movies. It's fake for a reason."

Spencer nearly chuckled at your words, finding himself in disbelief. Sure, he didn't really believe in soulmates, but he definitely believed in love. "Sure love exists," Spencer said. "True love has to come from somewhere to be spoken about. It's why its so deeply rooted into art and literature. Plus, with the psychological evidence of--"

"Okay, okay," You put your hands up in mock surrender. "I believe you, Spence." You'd never cut off one of his rants before.

"This bothers you," Spencer noted, his arms mocking your previous stance as they folded over his chest. "Why does this bother you so much, what aren't you telling me?"

You let out a huff of air in reply, your defences kicking into full gear. "Why do you care so much?"

Spencer stuttered over his words, “Uh- because it clearly affects you! It’s not hard to notice your dislike of it, and I want to know.” Spencer defended. He could see it in your eyes, though. You were too good of a profiler to not know he was lying through his teeth.

“The real reason?” You sharply replied, hating that Spencer was lying.

“Because I’m in love with you,” Spencer’s voice was filled with desperation. “Here you are, constantly belittling the idea of love when that’s all I want to give to you, and I don’t understand why.”

His words cut you like a knife. You hadn’t expected him to say that, let alone feel it. It almost made you feel guilty. “No one has ever understood me, Spencer. I don’t want to settle for just anyone who will pretend for their whole life that they know me when deep down they will never be able to understand who I am, what I need.”

“You think I don’t?” Spencer challenged. He tried not to feel offended at your words, truly. Yet they hit him like a slap to the face. He felt like he understood you.

“Okay, prove it then.”

Spencer was ready for this, “Your least favorite cases involve those with divorced parents. Not because of the affect on their children, but the affect it takes on them. You hate to see when it hurts one of them, or both.” Spencer’s first claim was true, and it caught you off guard. “You hate anything with a pumpkin scent, however, you enjoy real pumpkins because of their look rather than their scent. You bite your lip, tap your foot, shake your leg, all when you feel negatively.”

“Anyone could profile that,” You weakly replied, feeling thrown off at Spencer’s careful acknowledgment of your little tells.

“Are you afraid of love because no one will ever understand you, or because you’re scared you’ll never find someone who will.” Spencer finished. He watched as your mouth opened and closed, the words not quite making it out. “I see you, I hear you. My favorite thing is when you tell me things about yourself, your day, your feelings. Any day without you is a bad day and any day with you is a good one.”

Spencer’s words left your heart beating faster in your chest as you began to realize this is what you were looking for all along, but your own fear that you would never find it blind sighted you to the truth. The truth that Spencer Walter Reid was in love with you.

Spencer often recalled his own struggles with relationships, remembering the long hours he spent studying while his peers socialized. With him being so much younger, he had no way to truly connect with them. The sense of isolation he felt growing up made him cherish the connections he built later in life, driving him to seek genuine understanding and affection. On the other hand, your own problems with family and bad relationships drove you to hold a near-resentful feeling to love. It made you feel like it was something you could never have. That was something Spencer was beginning to see from your perspective.

"Please," Spencer's voice was softer, more vulnerable as his eyes pleaded with you. "say something."

"I'm sorry," you breathed. For a moment, Spencer thought you were about to reject him, until he saw the glistening tears form in your eyes. "I-I should've known sooner."

Spencer nearly chuckled, "I didn't want to make it too obvious."

"Spencer?" you asked.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Why do you love me?"

Your question made his heart nearly crack at the raw fragility your tone held. All he wanted to do was to take you into his arms and sing you sweet nothings until you believed him, but right now that wasn't an option. "I love you because you're unapologetically you," Spencer's reply made you finally lock eyes with him. "You're so sweet and kind, you never try to hide the things you like and dislike. You're so bold and brave. You make me feel so alive, so wanted. Every moment with you is a reminder of how extraordinary it is to be around someone who radiates such genuine warmth and enthusiasm."

"You really love me?" Your voice felt meek in comparison to how your normal assertiveness and bravato sounded. Your heart felt three times bigger in your chest as a tear dared to slip down your cheek.

Before it could even leave your eye, Spencer brought his sleeve over his hand and soaked it up gently with the cuff. "I love you with every part of me."

"I think I want to love you, too." you admitted. It felt hard to say those words, to finally give into your darkest, most vulnerable desire of unwavering love.

"Even with your fears, you're beautiful." Spencer softly reached to graze your cheek. "This, your fears, nothing could ever scare me. I'll teach you to let me love you if I need to."

"That better be a promise," you slightly chuckled, holding your pinky out to the man.

Spencer smiled, locking his pinky with your own, "It's a promise."

As you held Spencer’s pinky in your own, a sense of peace settled over you. The weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by a tentative hope. "Maybe love isn’t as impossible for me as I thought," You whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. Spencer’s smile was both a promise and a comfort, signaling the beginning of a new chapter in your lives.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Matchmaker

Summary: JJ tries to set Spencer up with Henry's pediatrician.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x pediatrician fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: none!

Word count: 1.1k

a/n: gonna grab his cute little face and smooooochhhhhh

btw i will be posting on tuesday's and friday's because they won the poll but this is a bonus thursday post because i'm hungover and want spencer's love

main masterlist

“Hey, Spence!” JJ called out as she strolled into the bullpen, her bright smile making Spencer look up from the file he was reviewing.

“What’s up, JJ?” Spencer replied, adjusting his glasses and setting the file aside to give her his full attention.

“So, I was thinking…” JJ began, her tone light and playful, but before she could finish, Emily chimed in from across the room, a grin spreading across her face.

“Well, that’s never good,” Emily chuckled, earning an amused roll of the eyes from JJ.

“Love you too, Em,” JJ shot back, her voice dripping with mock sarcasm before she refocused on Spencer. “Anyway, as I was saying, I was thinking, you’d be a really good match for Henry’s pediatrician.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting the conversation to take this turn. “Ohhh, what’s she like? Super brainiac nerd?” Emily teased, wiggling her eyebrows at Spencer, who scoffed lightly.

“Rude,” Spencer shot back with a half-smile before turning back to JJ, his expression softening. “And uh, that’s nice of you, JJ… but I’m not really looking to be set up.”

JJ, undeterred, leaned against Spencer’s desk, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of determination and affection. “Oh, come on, just meet her. She’s the best! I know you guys will click.”

Spencer’s smile faded slightly as he considered her words, his brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, he sighed, his tone gentle but resolute. “Sorry, JJ. I’m not interested. It’s sweet of you to think about me, though.”

Spencer assumed that was the end of the conversation, especially since JJ didn’t bring up the mystery woman again in the days that followed. He thought he was in the clear, believing that JJ had respected his decision. Little did he know, JJ wasn’t one to give up so easily, especially when she believed she was doing something good for someone she cared about.

—

“Hey, babe,” you greeted Spencer when he answered the phone, your voice warm and light, immediately bringing a smile to his face.

“Hi,” he replied, and even through the phone, you could hear the smile in his voice, the simple greeting filling you with that familiar warmth.

You and Spencer had only been seeing each other for about six weeks, but those six weeks had been transformative—arguably the best of both of your adult lives. Every moment spent together seemed to be a little brighter, a little more meaningful, as if you had both found something truly special.

“What’s up?” you asked, settling into a comfortable spot on your couch, your curiosity piqued by the call.

“Well,” Spencer began, his voice carrying a note of hopeful anticipation, “I was going to see if you would want to hang out Friday night. We could watch that movie I was telling you about.”

A smile spread across your face, touched by his thoughtfulness, but a twinge of regret quickly followed. “Awe, Spence. I’d love to, but my friend actually invited me out that night. I’m sorry, honey.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for you to wonder if he might be disappointed. But then Spencer’s voice came back, just as warm and understanding as always. “Oh, it’s okay, maybe Saturday?”

Relief washed over you, your smile returning in full force. “I can do that! Put me in your calendar, genius.”

“Will do,” Spencer said, and you could almost picture the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I’ll see you Saturday then?”

“See you then, can’t wait,” you replied, your voice full of genuine excitement. The anticipation of spending more time with him was something you both shared, and as you ended the call, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar flutter in your chest, counting down the days until Saturday.

—

Seeing as Spencer didn’t have any plans for Friday night, it didn’t take much convincing for the team to drag him out for drinks at their usual bar. The large booth was already filled with the familiar hum of conversation and laughter as the team chatted amongst themselves, waiting for JJ to arrive. The atmosphere was relaxed, the kind that only comes from years of friendship and countless nights spent together unwinding after a long week.

When JJ finally walked in, the group greeted her with smiles and waves, but it didn’t take long for them to notice that she wasn’t alone. Following close behind her was another person, and as they got closer, Spencer’s eyes widened in disbelief. No way.

“Hey guys!” JJ greeted, her voice full of excitement. “This is my friend, Y/N! She’s Henry’s pediatrician, and she is absolutely amazing. Spencer, this is who I wanted you to meet.”

Spencer couldn’t even try to hold it in. The absurdity of the situation hit him all at once, and before he knew it, he was laughing—right in JJ’s face. It wasn’t just a chuckle, either; it was a full, genuine laugh, the kind that took him by surprise as much as it did the rest of the team.

“Reid, have some manners. What is wrong with you?” Derek’s voice cut through the laughter, laced with awkward confusion. He wasn’t used to seeing Spencer act this way, especially not when meeting someone new.

But before Spencer could even attempt to explain himself, you joined in, your own laughter bubbling up as you leaned down toward him, completely unbothered by the awkwardness. With a playful smile, you kissed Spencer on the lips, the simple, affectionate gesture leaving everyone at the table stunned. 

“Hi, baby,” you greeted him warmly, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Spencer, still grinning, managed to recover enough to return the greeting, “Hi.”

The rest of the team stared in shock, jaws practically on the floor, while JJ’s expression morphed from confusion to wide-eyed realization. “Wait… you two know each other?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise.

“Oh, we more than know each other,” you teased, taking a seat next to Spencer and intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m Spencer’s girlfriend.”

Derek’s eyes widened as he looked between the two of you. “And you didn’t tell us, pretty boy?”

Spencer shrugged, a bit sheepish but mostly amused by the whole situation. “It just… never came up.”

Emily finally broke the silence with a laugh. “Well, this is one way to find out!”

JJ groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before laughing along with the rest of the group. “I can’t believe I tried to set you up with someone you’re already dating!”

“It’s okay, JJ,” Spencer reassured her, still holding your hand. “At least you know that your matchmaking skills would have worked out.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[sstrwbrryccke]

— bullying him pt.4 | sub soobin

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

tags: loser!nerd!soobin x bully!mean!reader, gn reader, sadistic reader, masochistic soobin, dubcon, hate fingering, sadist x masochistic relationship, mutual pining, mild violence, hurt w comfort, mean dirty talk, reader's genitals are unclear and can be interpreted as either a cock or a strap, misunderstandings, public bathroom indecency, bdsm, happy ending!!!

the long await part 4 is here!! i tagged everyone who wanted a part 4 i hope you aren't too irritated by the tag >.< i did this very tired and sleep deprived so i hope it makes sense HAHAHA

tags: @yaegerphobic @strwbrryjaem @ke4s @sk104kx @bennybenten @queer-n-here @sleeping143 @browni-bin @skinnyzlegendz @roturo @zuzuhasablog

something changed after that date, you could feel it, soobin could feel it and the other classmates felt it too. it was the lingering touches, the maintained gazes during class. the way he dared to stare for just a second longer. you didn't want to admit it, and it was initially easy to ignore the problem. it's not like you weren't used to overlooking soobin. he was simply an accessory in your eyes, what's the use in admiring the shine of a singular gem on a sapphire bracelet?

though, perhaps your dismissiveness was your greatest achilles heel after all. in the end, an undeniable itch would creep up on the back of your neck. like a minuscule mosquito sting that would bloom into large red welts. it started irritating you to a degree. sure you were blatantly ignoring the man, but can a contradiction not be such opposing parallels?

because how dare he, even for a second, ignore you back?

maybe it was the small sigh of relief he let out when you passed by, or the way he kept his head down low when he exited the class. when did it start to bother you so much?

no way. he would come running back. he always did and he always will, you know it in your bones, he will come back he will. what's a victim without a bully? a nerd without a jock??? a locker without a dim-witted loser to push into????????

you will wait it out, wait for him to come out crawling and kneeling, grasping at your leg like a devout to their divine deity— prayers forcing their way frantically out of his mouth.

but seconds tick by, days even, and suddenly it's been two weeks already with no movement. all silent on the battlefront. is this what it's like for drinks to fizzle out at the bottle of a can? when a songbird no longer sings for the morning sun? and the stars no longer shine for the moon? and whatever next poetic quote that rhymes with moon?

damn, what a sad and pathetic way to conclude it. so this is the ending chapter of the depressing story of a mega fluke and his cool fling.

is what you would say if you were the cowardly choi soobin!!!

because you weren't a pussy, and you certainly weren't one to give up on your pride. so be it, if he wants you to come to him, you'll give it to him.

☆★☆

your glare bore holes into the hunched back of choi soobin. now see, normally you wouldn't even gift that loser a glance in his direction, too risky to pay him attention and blow the cover of your unconventional connection after all. but this was a special occasion, and you felt like your nerves were lit on fire, like a hormonal teenager going through puberty again. it was abnormal for everyone else too, many did not even know the unimportant side character soobin was even associated with you, arguably the most interesting (or maybe the right word is known) person in the classroom.

the metal keys weigh heavy in your uniform pants (retrieved from the staffroom after many great excuses to convince your teacher), waiting for the right moment to pounce. come on soobin, you dare him to move. fall right into the metal prongs.

"—dude, hey— HEY!" one of your friends, kiwoo, shook your shoulder, hard enough that you broke your gaze just for a second. you snap your head at him, giving him an irritated look that makes him retreat his hand.

"what's with you?" he says, suspicious, "you've been glaring at soobin ever since he entered the classroom. what? he gave you bad head or something?"

"not funny." you roll your eyes.

"is there something happening between the two of you? it doesn't feel like a simple errand boy situation anymore. you're not nonchalant and mysterious for ignoring the question by the way."

you groan, this really wasn't the time for it. what kind of excuse can you even give him? that the weird situationship you had with soobin backfired and now you're acting like an angsty possessive insecure spouse trying to get him back? tough shit.

"it's not even that deep, kiwoo. he just pissed me off this morning, that's all." you scoff out an excuse, hoping that's enough to deter your nosy friend. you look back at where soobin was seated— shit where did he go?!

"what did he do now?—" "not the time, he's gone, where did he go?" you look around, irritation seeping into your voice.

"chill, he probably just went to the b—"

you stand up, muttering another alibi before dashing out of the classroom. you catch a glimpse of his white shirt turning the corner, bingo, he's headed to the restroom! your heart thumps in your throat as you approach the bathroom, was the dominos actually falling into place? you can't believe your stupid plan was working.

once you reach the entrance, you silently take a breath, getting ready for the confrontation. you step in, closing the restroom door behind you with the keys, and you hear an all too familiar gasp as the lock sets into place.

"oh, you, the door,"

his stupid voice stutters out (you missed hearing it), shaky eyes meeting yours. he was sweating visibly, like this was a horror game and he just came face to face with the final boss.

"so—sorry wrong room!" he turns around like an npc reciting a practised line, only to be met with the tile wall, what a dumb bunny. when he pivots back around, you are already eye-to-eye with him. his voice hitches, a pathetic excuse for a squeal, and the world spins— you pin him into the wall right behind him. he would crumble onto the floor right there if it weren't for your hands holding his wrists up.

there was a moment of silence between you two, his eyes scattering around as if the gum on the floor was suddenly so much more interesting than the person in front. he bites his bottom lip in fear.

"oh stop it i told you before to not bite your chapped lips." the first words exchanged, a command that he obeys immediately like following your words was as natural as breathing. you forgot how satisfying it was to order him around.

"care to explain why you're avoiding me?" your tone sharp and cutting; as if you were physically pressing a knife up against his chest. he tries to talk. lip trembling, eyes closing, but all that comes out is a fearful whimper. you click your tongue in irritation, releasing one of his wrists— which limply drops to his side like a ragdoll. using your free hand you grab his face, forcing him to look at you.

"answer."

he tears up, sniffling as he tries not to sob. "m' sorry... i—i'm sorry for ignoring you."

you felt a pang in your heart, you can't tell if it was guilt or anger. "shit quit apologising and just answer my question. why were you avoiding me."

his shoulders were raised all the way up as if he was expecting you to smack him across the cheek, his whole body was wrecked with trembles and you're impressed he wasn't full-on sobbing yet. his face was red and holy shit no fucking way he was hard. what a strong sense of deja vu, wasn't this exactly how this whole mess started in the first place? you just stare at him for a minute, shaking and quivering with a bulge, no answer on his tongue.

"are you fucking for real? what'd i expect from a masochistic dog. of course, you're getting off from this." you grit your teeth, was he just using you for a quick jerk? that this was his kink this whole time and he only ever saw you as a fuck partner? did he ignore you simply so you would snap and give him exactly what he wants???

and for some reason, you felt betrayed, as if there was actually some relationship between you two. how hypocritical too, did you not also see soobin as sexual relief? wasn't he supposed to be an obedient mouth that opened for your dick? why was your fist clenching and veins pumping as if you caught your long-term partner cheating???

"maybe the only way to get shit through your thick skull is to fuck it out of you huh? bend you over in front of everyone with your ass out as you get fucking drilled by a big fat cock? is that what you want?" your words come out forced and throbbing red with anger.

"i—"

you clasp a rough hand over his throat, though you didn't actually squeeze, he shuts up immediately, eyes wide and fingers quivering. you almost rip his pants down, taking his underwear as well in one swift motion. he snivels pathetically, helplessly being led around as you savagely grasp his hair. you pull him to the sink, forcing him to bend over in front of the mirror. he desperately clutches the edges of the sink with a grunt, otherwise he might be toppled over by your rough handling. his body leaning down with his elbows bent onto the sink edge.

you grip his hair, painfully hard, his scalp must be killing him. you lift his head up until he's staring at his face in the reflection. it was like a brush with scarlet paint used his face as a canvas. his cheeks red and trembling. tears bulge on the edge of his eyes, threatening to slip out any second. his lips long-bitten and bleeding.

"keep staring at your slutty self. watch how pathetic and ugly you're gonna look when you get your organs fucked out. if you break your gaze even for a second i'll fucking kill you."

you cuss with every malevolence in your soul, for a second soobin thinks you might actually kill him. he holds in his breath as if one more sound from him will settle the hatred in your heart and murder him. you spit down onto his ass, watching as it dribbles down, you abruptly prod at his hole. not waiting like you would before. breaking through the rim and forcing your finger in like an intruder.

he loudly groans out in agony, body shuddering and wavering. you smack him over the head. "quit moving so much. shit, i wasted so many stupid gifts on you. and to think i was saving up the actual fucking for something more special. like we were actually a couple or something. but now you're gonna get your organs reorganised in a public bathroom. i guess that's suiting for a whore like you."

he grits his teeth in pain, trying to endure the pain and the humiliation for you. he stares at himself in the mirror in despair, brows furrowed and his vision blurry, his glasses were knocked off his nose from all the movement, but he keeps looking at himself just like you commanded. not trying to disobey you. why did he do that for you? it pissed you to new heights. why was he still acting like he was a goodie two shoes who didn't want to displease you?

you thrust the finger in and out with no care, barely being assisted by your makeshift lube to slide against his walls. his soft whimpers barely slipping out. you press another finger against his hole and this time he does stir, he jerks away. incoherent protests come out when he feels the second finger try to enter.

"break! a break! please give me uh a break b—before the second!" he begs, on the verge of breaking into full sobs.

"what makes you think you can bargain?"

he shivers at your harsh words, head hanging in shame. it was so pathetic, you feel a small semblance of pity, spitting more on his ass to assist the second. but you weren't merciful by any standard and promptly slid the two fingers in.

his shoulders shake, feeling full already with the two fingers. tears finally slip out in both overwhelming pain and pleasure. he hadn't touched himself ever since the last time you two met.

your ruthless fingers pump in and out of his ass like you were digging for his stomach, violently pressing against his prostate. it hurts like crazy. a primal and animalistic type of pain. but oh man, the electricity zipping through his body was hitting all the right places. it felt so wrong yet so right. like he belonged here pressed underneath your feet and hands. this felt like pleasure. his dick was tall and alert, pent up and ready to burst. his body begged for more while his mind was praying for mercy.

he thrashes around with each new thrust, being unable to control his body as a guttural wail forces its way out of his mouth. the slopping of skin slapping skin fills your ears. you grunt as you tighten your hold on his hair, trying to get him to stop moving. the more you ram your fingers into his prostate, the more frantic he becomes, one of his hands coming up to weakly pry at your hand holding his hair. you let go of your grip on his scalp to instead pull his body flush against your chest, hand snaking to the front and onto his throat. your fingers ceasing to stop with its insane momentum.

"please— no more— have me—mercy! i'm so sorry i'm so sorry i'm sorry—" he begs endlessly, sobbing and shaking his head, struggling against your hold.

you ignore his pleas, hand trailing down from his throat to his lower stomach, you can feel the movement of your fingers. suddenly, you push your palm down on his lower abdomen, right above his prostate. just as your two fingers press into the glands. he cries out, head blanking into sparks of light and stars. his cock spasming as he spurts out white stripes, shooting onto the mirror. his hands that were frantically prying at your wrists limps down.

your lips curl into a cruel smile, a sense of satisfaction raking over your body. you slid your two fingers out of his hole. a scoff comes out, naturally.

"hah. you came? i wasn't even trying to pleasure you, and you came like a little..."

your nasty words drift off as you look at him in the mirror. the room is now uncomfortably quiet, only the weeping and sobbing of soobin echoing in the restroom. he looks like a wreck, not in a sexy, sweaty way. but in a heart-hanging, guilt-tripping way. his face was painted with tears, snot and substance. eyes closed and afraid to look up at you. his body exhausted and leaning against you, he didn't even have the energy to quiver.

you did this to him, you absolutely ruined his pretty face and his sweet eyes. you actually deserve hell. what was wrong with you? how could you do this to someone so cute and precious? soobin deserved the world and so much more, he deserved everything good and nice and sweet and right on this earth. but what happened at that moment, how did you get here?

suddenly it was like your throat was constricted and swollen, lips dry with unsaid words. what do you say? apologise? promise to leave him alone forever?

"i..."

"i'm sorry..." he beats you to it with shaky words.

"holy shit no— no no, don't apologise." you quickly mumble, holding him up.

"i— i was scared, i didn't know how you would react. because i think, i think i'm insane, i don't know what's wrong with me. i'm scared you would be disgusted" his words tumble out breathlessly, you just stare silently in shock.

"i'm sorry— i don't get myself either, because everything about you drives me crazy and i can't be around you— i know i'm a masochistic dog but i just can't help it— no matter what you do to me makes me like you more, d—don't hate me please. i'm such a freak—" his words are barely coherent as he sobs.

"shh shhh shh it's okay, calm down soobin, calm down." you try to comfort him, beyond confused and shocked. he's crying so hard he's hiccuping and stammering. you help him lean on a wall and he slides down, you frantically kneel down to try and ground him.

"i— i don't want you to hate me— but your attention just feels so good to me— anything— any attention you give me it just shakes me to my core... i couldn't do it anymore—hic— i had to avoid you hick—" he hides his face in his hands. you try to understand his words, your head spiralling in turmoil. he what? he avoided you because you gave him too much attention? what kind of fucked up logic was that? this was starting to sound like those cliche misunderstanding tropes in romcoms. nevermind that, you had a sexually confused pile of fluff to comfort.

"soobin breathe, hey, come on." you say as softly as you can, like you were trying to approach an injured bunny in the wild. no matter, your heart pangs with guilt as he keeps crying. you pull him into a hug on your lap, wrapping your arms tight around his frame. this seems to make him cry more, but he leans into you, knees bundled tight against his chest as he savours the warmth. you two stay on the floor in this strong embrace. you coo sweet and reassuring words into his ear as you rock him back and forth, doing your best to console him. kissing each tear as it falls.

his sobs quiet down with each passing minute until there was only silence and mute sniffling. it was bizarre to cuddle on the restroom floor, but it was nice, and you have to admit that you do like soobin in your arms. not embracing him in sex, but in comfort and simply to make him feel good. this was crazy hypocritical to say, considering he was partly crying due to your assholery.

after a few more minutes of silence, you glance at soobin, still hidden away by his hands. "soob, come on, look at me." you coo into his ear, and he makes a small noise of acknowledgement. your hands gently pry at his hands and he lets you remove his shield from his face. he looks at you pitifully, eyes red and puffy from the crying, pouting. you kiss his cheek, you don't know why you did it, but it felt right to. "do you want to talk to me now?"

he nods, but hides his face in your shoulder.

"i... i'm crazy and a freak. you hurt me, you humiliate me, you cause me so much pain."

you grimace, stroking his hair. yeah, that sounds about right. if there was one thing consistent about your inconsistent personality, it was how much of an asshole you are. if soobin was your salvation, it was like the angels gave you a second chance at life. but you honestly wouldn't blame them if the ground caved beneath you right now and sent you straight to hell. was it bad to say you enjoyed all the sadistic acts? probably. you can't lie and say you regret being a sadist. but if it makes it better, you do regret the pain soobin is feeling right now.

"but... please don't hate me for this..."

"i won't hate you, soobin." you encourage him to keep talking, shushing his worries away.

"i like all of it, i like it so much it drives me crazy. i'm abnormal, i know. and i get it if you think i'm disgusting. but i'm so obsessed with you. i think about the things you do to me every night, i replay it in my head over and over again until i'm touching myself again. the more you hurt me, the more i like you... but... but you kept avoiding me, and i thought you knew how i felt and you were disgusted... and if that was the case... i didn't want to get hurt anymore..." he confesses fully, face buried deep in your neck and you feel your shirt slowly wet with his tears again.

it was silence, absolute, bewilderment from your side. the quiet seems to gnaw at soobin's heart, because he lifts his head up, gaze lowered as he stutters. "i— i get it if you're disgusted, my feelings are so strang—"

"soobin, you're a proper, proper masochist, wow." you breathe out. lifting his face up gently with two of your hands. wiping away his tears with your sleeve.

"oh..." he just mouths, mind seemingly blank. confused by how mundane your reaction was.

"wait, so how'd you feel about what we did just then? did you like it?"

"i... didn't like you being angry at me..."

"but what about the feeling? the fingering? the rough treatment?"

he blushes. "i liked the rough treatment." he pauses for a moment. "and you paying attention to me again."

the both of you fall quiet and he crumbles at the scrutiny. you knew soobin was masochistic and that he liked you. this was not new information. shit, you knew this from the beginning. so what changed? why did you freak out and go ballistic? why'd you corner him and demand him to tell you why he avoided you? why'd you force him to endure all that pain?

"i... i was so mean to you today... i... because you kept, looking away from me, and, ignoring my gaze and avoiding me. i thought..." the words fall into noiseless void. burning on the tip of your tongue.

"i thought you didn't like me anymore,"

you admit, shame and humiliation weighing down your heart. for a self-proclaimed smartass, you were sure stupid and dense to your own emotions. when did it start? when did you actually start caring about the loser? maybe the answer was simpler than that, you never felt the feelings creeping up to you, because, in truth, you've always been looking at him. maybe that's why you picked on him so easily, always eyeing for his reaction. shit, what a twisted way your heart works. but damn did you have a lifetime of sins to atone for.

soobin was blinking up at you blearily, clearly confused and oblivious to the conclusion in your head. you pick up his cracked glasses from the ground, gently inserting them behind his ears. (you'll buy him another pair later.)

"you don't hate me?" his voice was weak and hopeful. you scoff.

"you're too easy to bully and pick on. it's the complete opposite idiot. i just have a shitty way to show my feelings, and you're unfortunately the victim." it takes a moment for him to process your words, and his face morphs into a cute kind of shock, he is ecstatic, you can tell by the way his dimples deepen. you really didn't deserve this man or any of the feelings he has, for some reason, god was merciful and sent the perfect masochistic man to slot into your sadistic tendencies.

"but... isn't our relationship weird?" he frowns.

"we crossed that line the moment i fingered you dude." he chuckles at this, caught off guard. and you appreciate the clear ringing of his laughter without any more denial.

"honestly, you picked such a shitty person to crush on. i'm the worst, i like being mean to you. i like humiliating you, i like the feeling of having you grovel at my feet."

his face reddens with each word, hiding his face into your shoulder again. you lean into him, appreciating the silky softness of his hair.

"i don't deserve you. i'm an idiot, it took what? months of sexual tension and emotional buildup for me to realise i actually like you instead of hating you?" you ramble, he snorts.

"but i'll make it up to you, i promise." you can tell he was blushing by the heated tips of his ears. this was nice, him in your lap. he's still a loser, but he's your loser. (gross, you reconsider taking everything back with this one thought.)

"let's get out of here first. screw class, we're gonna graduate anyways, what are the teachers gonna do?"

"and i should wear some pants..." he comments.

"that too."

☆★☆

you do a final check over at soobin, ointment applied and bandaged up. he looks out of place in your fancy bedroom and it makes you snicker. once a loser, forever a loser.

"okay, that's it. does it hurt anywhere else?" you ask, setting down the ointment. he's only injured slightly, it was mostly his bitten lip and some bruises from the rough handling.

he nods and you instantly look at him with concern. "where? where and what hurts?"

he exaggeratedly points at his heart and you scoff, rolling your eyes, trying your hardest not to smile at his antics. "what does the big baby want?"

soobin is pensive and shy at first, he wasn't expecting you to take his dramatics seriously. but soon his lips curl into a cheeky grin. "...cuddles, and kisses." you blush at the idea, grimacing. you stand up and walk away from him towards the bed.

soobin panics at your reaction. "s—sorry! i was being stupid, you don't have to take it seriously, don't leave me!"

"shut up, do you want it or not?" you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. arms stretched out. he grins widely, hurrying up to jump into your arms. you two roll over into the bed as you stretch the blanket to cover your bodies. you admire soobin's joyful expression, stroking his hair.

don't get it wrong, you still think such blatant displays of affection were cringe, and soobin was still a loser. but maybe it was never that deep, and you could definitely see yourself get used to this.

you lean down, your lips connecting with his, he feels so plush and soft underneath you. he's still a masochistic dog definitely, and you still think he's a pervert, but he's also so precious and lovable, there was so many things you could list about him.

you two separate. he seems beyond pleased with himself, burying his face into your neck. "i feel like this is all a dream, and i'm going to wake up."

"don't insult me, dream me could never kiss this well." you roll your eyes. he snickers.

"yeah, you're right. no one else could make me feel this way except real you."

you feel yourself grin, really grin. not out of malice, a grin of genuine satisfaction and joy. you feel your eyelids drooping as soobin drifts to sleep in your arms. if you told younger you that this was how things would turn out with soobin, they probably would've cussed and flipped you out.

oh well. they will come to accept it eventually anyways. this wasn't so bad after all.

end.

☆★☆ BONUS SCENE

soobin drools, senses heightened. tied up, gagged, blindfolded and a vibrator pressing at his cock. he wasn't going to last much longer. you were cruel, so fucking cruel. and he had no idea where you even were. did you leave him? how long has it been? minutes? hours? did you leave the room?

he was snapped back to reality by a harsh slap on his thigh. he trembles and sobs, curling into himself. he feels a pressure at the back of his head before the gag loosened up, allowing him to breathe and talk.

"pl—please, can't, can't— gon cum, can't hold it in. mercy, please mercy." he cries out, voice broken. he sobs and thrashes around. hoping he can charm his way out of this. he was going to burst any moment and he was going to be punished harshly for disobeying you.

"colour?" you whisper by his ear, making him jump with a whimper.

"g—green." he sniffles.

"good boy." you coo, stroking his chest, circling around one of his nipples. he cries, nerves jerking all over the place. "beg for it."

"please..." he begins, swallowing down a sob.

"please fuck me... please give me permission to cum— i— i can't last any longer— hic!"

you interrupt him with a large intrusion in his ass, he almost mewls in both pleasure and pain. "a—ah! so big, feeeels good, uhhg feels so good. love you, love you."

you grin cruelly, thrusting into him hard and accurate. the pleasure he was in twists into panic as he realises you hadn't given him permission to cum yet. and if you kept going at this pace, he was surely going to cum before your permission.

"w—wait ple—ease let me cum! i've been good, i've been good! please let me cum, i've been so good for you!" he snivels, were you going to be nice or heartless today? the closer he reaches to his climax, the more he frets. grovelling down at you, begging relentlessly for permission. before long, he feels his limit.

"i'm going to oh god i'm going to! i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm so disobedient i'm going to disobey you! i feel it— hic—" he cries louder, and just before he climaxes, you press down on his lower stomach, whispering in his ear.

"come for me baby."

with that, his body violently convulses, and his back arches as his mouth opens in a silent scream. cum forces its way out of his painfully hard dick, a guttural groan digs its way out as he empties completely onto the bed.

after his ejaculation, he huffs heavily, whines mixed in with his wheezing. you let him ride out his orgasm, pulling out of him. you untie him and take off the blindfold. kissing him sweetly.

"you did so well, you were so cute soob." you cheekily grin. he smiles tiredly up at you. body sore and thoroughly ruined. he stretches his arms out and you take it as a signal to lift him up into your lap.

he settles into your embrace like it is the most natural thing in the world. giggling into your shoulder. "that was amazing, i love you so much."

"i gueesss i love you." you tease.

"hey!"

you chuckle, kissing his cheek. "just kidding, i love you." soobin whispers a quiet 'i know.'

you two enjoy each other's company for a second, only interrupted by soobin's growling stomach. "greedy." you jab at him with a grin and he pouts.

"i'll get you something to eat at the convenience store." you shake your head, getting up to leave but soobin tugs at your sleeve.

"i'm going to be lonely, take me with you!"

you roll your eyes at his dramatic antics, but oblige anyways.

☆★☆

at the convenience store, you buy a simple bread bun for soobin, your hands warming up in your pockets as he enjoys his snack. it was a cold winter, and you wanted to return back to your apartment as soon as possible.

"yo!"

a vaguely familiar voice calls out, you turn around to be met with a recognizable face, a gasp on your lips—

"holy shit, kiwoo! i haven't seen you since graduation." soobin vaguely identify the man as one of your old high school friends.

"it's been quite a few years, hasn't it," he chuckles, though confusion was evident in his eyes as he recognises soobin.

"soobin? what are you doing here?" he pauses, glancing between you, and then soobin, and then you. like the gears of a clock slowly turning.

"you guys are still friends?" he asks.

you and soobin exchange a look. "not really." you chuckle.

he tilts his head and you dutifully wrap an arm around soobin's waist. a cheeky grin on your face as you show off the glinting gem on your finger.

"he's my fiance, obviously."

★★★ end ★��★

an: i hope you guys enjoyed the fic and the ending!!! it took a lot of contemplating on how i was going to end this highly anticipated series... i do have a lot of inbox asks for alternative realities and spin-offs, so i will probably work on them next!!! also so sorry for disappearing for like multiple months... i had been so busy with life help!!!

anyways... reshares and comments are always appreciated! please do let me know how you felt about the fic....

[darlingdaisyfarm]

a small gift

tags: Stan x fem!reader x Ford, birthday, humour, fluff, just had to write this wholesome little fic for them because they deserve to be happy, singing, awkward Ford, sfw, inspired by Lana del Rey song

Stanley Pines leaned back in his old armchair, glancing at the calendar on the wall. His eyes landed on the circled date — June 15th, their birthday. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of his brother, hunched over his never-ending stack of research papers, buried in his makeshift lab. Typical Ford. Always with his nose deep in some crackpot science theory, instead of, you know, enjoying life.

"Yeah, no way I’m lettin’ him get away with that this year." Stan muttered to himself. This time, he thought, Ford’s gonna get outta his damn cave and actually have some fun for once.

Stanley strode towards the stairs, stopping at the basement door. He gave it a sharp, rhythmic knock. "Hey, Poindexter! You better not be down there doin’ more of your ‘save-the-universe’ mumbo jumbo! It’s our birthday, ya know!"

There was a brief pause before a muffled voice responded. "Yes, Stanley, I’m fully aware of the date. Just let me finish these calculations—"

"Calculations, schmalkulations! You been finishin’ calculations for forty years, Ford. Trust me, that last decimal point ain’t gonna make a difference to the end of the world or whatever. Now c’mon!" Stan rapped the door again, growing impatient. "I got somethin’ special planned for us tonight. And don’t even try pullin’ that ‘I’m busy’ crap on me this time!"

Ford’s face appeared at the door, peeking through his glasses, which were just a little too smudged from the constant tinkering. "Stanley, I’ve told you, I’m close to a major breakthrough with this—"

“Yeah, yeah, ‘major breakthrough,’ like I haven’t heard that one before." Stan cut him off, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. "Newsflash, nerd, we ain’t gettin’ any younger, and you’ve barely stepped foot outside since you got back from that other dimension. So, guess what? I’m takin’ ya out tonight!"

Ford frowned. "Out? To where exactly?"

Stan waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, you’ll see. Let’s just say it ain’t the library."

Ford looked at his brother with disbelief. "Stanley, I have absolutely no interest in your usual haunts, whatever dive bar or—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow your roll, Stanford! It’s our birthday! You’re actin’ like I’m draggin’ ya to a strip club or somethin’." Stanley chuckled, already imagining Ford’s awkward reaction if that was the plan. He slapped a hand on Ford’s shoulder. "Nah, I’m takin’ ya to a place with some class. . . and somethin' that'll remind ya why the real world’s worth livin' in, instead of buryin’ your head in books all the time."

Ford adjusted his glasses, still hesitant. "Stanley, I really don’t think—"

“Ah, save it! It's out of the question, buddy, tonight’s gonna be a birthday to remember! Trust me." he turned, heading towards the door, already sensing his twin following behind reluctantly. "And don’t forget, you owe me for all the times I’ve bailed your six-fingered butt outta danger! So, tonight, you’re gonna relax, have a drink, and maybe even talk to someone who ain’t made of equations or alien technology."

***

Stan grinned smugly as looked at Ford’s face. Neon signs flashed ahead, but this wasn’t one of those rough, rundown places Ford hated. It was something fancier. Classier, at least by Stan’s standards. From the open door came the low hum of jazz, mixed with the clink of glasses and soft chatter.

Stan slapped Ford on the back, ushering him forward. "Don’t make that face, Ford It’s nothin’ crazy, but it’s got live music, good drinks and a whole lotta people who don’t speak in alien gibberish. It’s a start, huh?"

Ford blinked, looking genuinely surprised for once. "This. . . isn’t what I expected."

"Yeah, I bet it ain’t!" Stan chuckled. "thought I was gonna take ya to some cabaret joint, didn’t ya?"

Ford didn’t respond, but his silence said enough.

“Look, Ford, I know you’re allergic to fun, but tonight’s our night. No weird science, no alternate dimensions. Just you, me, and a stiff drink. Let’s enjoy it while we can, alright?"

Ford hesitated, looking at the customers sitting at candlelit tables with soft jazz swirling around them. He slowly nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, but only because you’re my brother."

Stan clapped his hands together, beaming. "That’s the spirit! Now, come on, let’s get some drinks in us. You might even get lucky and find someone who actually understands all that nerdy crap you talk about."

Ford smirked, adjusting his coat. "I highly doubt that, Stanley."

Stan winked. "Well, let’s hope so, Sixer. Let’s hope so."

Stan and Ford made their way deeper, the soft jazz filled their ears. The place was packed, but not in an overwhelming way. Couples sat at small round tables, sipping drinks, while a few loners nursed their glasses at the bar, heads swaying to the music.

Stan led Ford to an empty table in the corner, claiming it like he’d been there a hundred times before. He slid into his seat with a satisfied grunt, slapping the table lightly with the palm of his hand. "Alright, Poindexter, sit your six-fingered butt down. I’ll go grab us a couple drinks."

Ford eyed people with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, still adjusting to the unfamiliar scene, a little anxiety crept into his head. "Stanley, I really don’t think this is—"

"Ah, none of that thinkin' stuff tonight, Ford. You’ve done enough of that for ten lifetimes." Stan got up, heading for the bar with a mischievous grin. "Just sit back and let me handle the drinks. Somethin’ a little more exciting than your usual black coffee or whatever sludge you drink."

Stanford couldn’t help but observe the people around him. They were just different. Lively. Engaged in conversation. Present. It was strange to him—an entire room full of people who weren’t obsessed with solving the mysteries of the universe. They were just living. He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair.

Stan returned a few minutes later, balancing two glasses of amber-colored liquid. He slid one across the table to Ford with a satisfied smirk. "There ya go. Whiskey. Nothin’ fancy, but it’ll do the trick."

Ford picked up the glass, inspecting it with confused face. "Stanley, you know I’m not much of a drinker—"

“Yeah, well, tonight you are." Stan raised his own glass in a toast. "To another year of not gettin’ ourselves killed, huh? And maybe to you actually takin' a break from savin’ the world for once."

Ford hesitated, then clinked his glass against Stan’s and finally smile appeared on his face. "Alright, to surviving another year."

They both took a sip, though Stanford immediately winced, the burn of the whiskey stronger than he’d expected. Stan, on the other hand, downed half of his glass in one go, letting out a contented sigh.

"Ahh, now that’s the good stuff, that's what I call life." Stan leaned back in his seat, eyeing his brother with a knowing smile. "So, how’s it feel to be out in the real world again, Poindexter? A little better than starin’ at equations all night, huh?"

Ford looked around again, enjoying the warm golden glow of the place. It was nice, he had to admit. The music, the atmosphere. . . it was different from his usual solitude. "It’s certainly a change of pace," he said, chuckling softly.

Stan smiled, shaking his head. "I swear, Ford, you could be sittin’ in a room full of clowns on fire and you’d still be playin’ it cool."

"I’ve seen stranger things, Stanley."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you have. But look around!" Stan waved a hand at the room. "All these people? They’re just livin’ life. No wormholes, no time anomalies. Just fun, just drinks and music. And trust me, you could use a little more of that."

Ford stared into his drink, swirling the liquid around before taking another small sip. "You’re probably right," he admitted, though his tone was still a little stiff. "It’s just difficult to switch off sometimes. My work, it��"

“Your work ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re always gonna have some world-endin’ thing to worry about. But that don’t mean you gotta shut yourself off from everything else." he leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "I mean, you spent thirty years away from here, Ford. I’m just tryin’ to make sure you don’t spend the next 30 stuck in your own head."

Ford was quiet for a moment, listening to his brother’s words. He knew his brother was right. As much as he valued his research, his wish to understand the universe, he had to admit—there was something refreshing about being out here. With real people. But much better, with his family. With Stan.

Stanley must have noticed the gears turning in Ford's head, because he suddenly slammed on the table, breaking the silence. "Alright, enough of this sappy crap! Let’s get you another drink and maybe we’ll even see if there’s a lady in here who’s crazy enough to listen to you talk about multiverses for more than five minutes."

Ford nearly choked on his whiskey. "Stanley, I’m not here to—"

"Ah, come on! It’s your birthday too, ya know. And don’t pretend you ain’t lonely down in that lab of yours. I saw the way you looked at those nachos. Pretty sad, Poindexter. And frankly, disappointing.”

Ford thought he was imagining it. “I didn’t—“

***

Their evening was going great. Stan entertained himself by cracking jokes at the expense of the room’s more eccentric patrons, while Ford watched, occasionally interjecting with his dry wit. They argued about everything from the proper way to run a business to the existence of life on other planets.

Stan leaned back in his seat, nursing his third glass of whiskey, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Y’know, I gotta admit, It’s good havin’ ya back."

Ford looked at his brother and a genuine warmth was reflected on his face."It’s good to be back, Stanley."

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything because they simply didn’t have to. The jazz band played on and the low murmur of the bar filled the silence between them.

Then, just as the moment threatened to get too sentimental, Stan ruined it in classic Stan style.

"Now, let’s see if we can’t find you a nice gal who can keep up with all that crazy stuff in your head."

Ford groaned, rubbing his temple. "Stanley. . .”

Just as Stan was about to say something to embarrass Ford once more, the lights in the room dimmed slightly, drawing everyone’s attention toward the small stage at the center of the club. A soft spotlight illuminated the area, casting a golden glow over a lone figure standing in front of a vintage microphone. There you were,breathtaking, wrapped in a dark red dress that shimmered in the light like velvet. The fabric hugged your form perfectly, falling to the floor in gentle waves that wrapped around your legs. A high slit revealed a teasing glimpse of your leg as you stood with one hand resting lightly on the microphone stand.

The dress was luxurious, dark crimson in color, like wine aged in the shade. It clung to you in all the right ways, that made you look like something out of a classic movie, a femme fatale come to life. There was something called old-Hollywood glamour about you.

You scanned the audience, searching for faces in the dimly lit room, but two figures near the front caught your attention. Mysterious twins, two men, were both staring straight at you. Their eyes widened, and in unison, as if connected by the same thought, they spoke under their breath.

“Wow.”

But Stan continued. "Well, I’ll be damned. Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day."

Your lips curved into a small smile as you began to sing, letting your voice fill the room and as you sang, their attention never wavered.

"I've seen the world, done it all, had my cake now,

Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel Air now,”

Stan couldn’t stop admiring, resting his arms on the table, his grin spreading wider with every passing second. “Well, look at this. Ain’t she somethin’,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He tipped his head slightly in your direction, his eyes trailing the line of your dress. “Charming girl, isn't she, Ford?”

Stanford sat frozen, his eyes never leaving you, completely entranced by the way you moved, by your voice, dress, face, by everything. He swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly in his seat, his mind racing but his body still, as if locked in place.

“You hearin’ that, Ford?" Stan nudged his brother without taking his eyes off you. "That voice. Like honey, huh? Bet she’s got every poor guy in here wrapped around her finger."

Ford finally said something. “She’s. . . remarkable.” he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Stan, of course, couldn’t let it go. “Remarkable?” he gave a short laugh. “C’mon, Poindexter. Don’t be shy. You can’t tell me you’re not feelin' that.”

You let the lyrics spill from your lips, your voice rising with the music. “Hot summer nights, mid-July, When you and I were forever wild,”

As you sang, your gaze drifted back to them, and you caught Ford, he stared at you dumbfounded, biting his lip. God, he was flushed, was it really that stuffy here? His fingers tapped lightly on the table. He was hooked and he didn’t even realize how obvious it was.

Stan, on the other hand, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Just look at that,” he said, shaking his head in admiration. “This girl’s got it, yeah? Ain’t often you see a performer like that. It’s the whole package - looks, voice, everything.”

But Ford’s compliments weren’t loud, weren’t teased out like Stan’s, but they were there, written all over his red face. The way his brow furrowed slightly, the way his lips parted just a bit when you hit a particularly emotional note, it was clear that he was just as captivated, if not more so, than Stan.

"I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will, Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?" as you hit that line, your gaze settled squarely on them, locking eyes with both brothers, one after the other.

“Now that’s a question, huh?” Stan said with a smirk, leaning closer to Ford. “You think she’s askin' us that? 'cause, uh, if so, I ain’t complainin'.”

Ford’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t.

You moved into the next verse.

"I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now, Channeling angels in the new age now,” you didn't just perform, you lived every note, every lyric.

“Look at ya, Poindexter. You're sittin' there like a deer in headlights. Ain't you ever seen a girl before?" he chuckled under his breath, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hell, you’ve seen aliens, damn demonic triangle! this should be easy for you.”

Ford tried to hide it, to look anywhere but at you, but useless, his gaze kept drifting back. He was still speechless, lost in your performance.

Then came the line that took both twins' breath away.

“Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man,”

Here, the crowd melted away. It's just you, the music and these two mysterious men. Your voice softened, and you sang with all your heart, with all your soul and love. You looked directly at them, first at Stan, whose grin widened even more, then at Ford, whose breath caught in his throat. You held both their gazes and you smiled at them. It was playful, teasing, what made both brothers mutter another “wow” at same time.

Stan almost spilled whiskey on himself.  “Well, darlin’, I sure as hell hope they’re lettin’ me in, ‘cause if you’re up there, I’m signin’ up early.”

But Ford still couldn’t find his voice. He tried, opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it again. You had him completely disarmed, and he didn’t know how to handle it. As you continued to sing, you knew their attention locked on you. Stan’s gaze was open, unashamed, drinking you in with every word, while Ford’s was more cautious, but no less intense. They were both falling and you could see it plain as day.

Ford glanced at Stan, then back at you, clearly wrestling with himself. He finally managed to speak, but his voice sounded shaky. “She. . . she has a beautiful voice.”

“A voice? Told ya, she got the whole damn package, Ford! Look at her!”

You smiled, even if you didn't hear what they were talking about as the song drew to a close. You hit the final note, letting it linger in the air, and when the applause came, it felt like a distant sound compared to the connection you’d felt with them, both of them.

The stage lights dimmed as you walked off, your dress sweeping behind you like a crimson river. The applause rang out across the room and you slipped behind the curtain, disappearing from view. Back at the table, Stan and Ford sat frozen, their eyes still locked on the now-empty stage.

Stan was the first to speak, his usual swagger returning full force. “Well, that was somethin’. Hell, she practically dedicated that song to me.” he smirked, tapping his fingers on the table in satisfaction. “She’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.”

Ford shot him a side glance, his expression annoyed a bit. “Stanley, she doesn’t even know you,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Calm down.”

“You jealous? ‘cause I’m pretty sure she was lookin' right at me when she sang that whole ‘Dear Lord’ line.”

Ford stiffened. “I’m not,” he replied quickly. “I’m just pointing out the facts.”

“Sure, sure. No need to get worked up, Ford.” Stan laughed, watching his brother’s obvious discomfort. “Looks like she’s got both of us good, huh? don’t you worry, Poindexter, I’ll let you have a shot. Maybe.”

Ford muttered something under his breath, avoiding Stan’s teasing gaze. He couldn’t shake the image of you, standing there in that dress, your charming voice echoing in his mind. It was magnetic. He wasn’t one to get distracted by things like this, but something about you had hit him hard. Harder than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Stan, meanwhile, was already planning his next move. He stood up, all cocky swagger again. “Alright, Ford, let’s go. We’re meetin' her.”

Ford blinked in shock. “Wait— what?”

“You heard me!” Stan’s grin was all confidence. “we’re gonna find her dressing room. Gotta congratulate the girl on a performance like that, right? Besides,” he added with a wink, “she might want a closer look at the Stanley Pines himself.”

Ford shook his head, already regretting this, but deep down, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see you again. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Nah. It’s genius.” Stan patted Ford on the back as they made their way toward the backstage area. “C’mon, Ford, live a little. Believe me, she’ll be all over us. And hey, if you get nervous, just let ol’ Stan handle it. I’m great with the ladies, y’know.”

Ford sighed, not bothering to respond. His heart was already racing in his chest, his mind replaying the song over and over.

And then they reached the dressing room.

Stan took a deep breath. “Alright, here we go. Follow my lead.”

He knocked on the door and then there was a moment of silence before it slowly creaked open. You stood in the doorway, your stage dress still clinging to your figure.

For a second, neither of them said anything. Stanley suddenly found himself at a loss for words, his usual cocky grin faltering. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mind scrambled for something to say, but all he could think about was how stunning you looked up close.

Ford, standing behind him, wasn’t much better too. His eyes met yours, which took his breath away. Every thought he had prepared vanished the moment he saw you again. Oh god.

You looked at them a bit confused, but tried to hide it with curious smile. “Can I help you?”

Stan blinked, finally snapping out of it. “Uh— yeah, we— uh, just wanted to say,“ he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “That was, umm, one hell of a performance!”

Ford nodded. “Yes, it was really beautiful.”

Stan gave him a quick glance, then forced a grin, trying to recover his usual confidence. “Yeah, what he said. You were amazin’. Best thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Ford shot him a glare, but said nothing, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by their obvious struggle to compose themselves. “Thank you,” you said softly, stepping aside to let them in. “I didn’t expect to have such enthusiastic admirers.”

Stan’s grin returned, a little more confident this time. “Well, y’know, when a girl sings like that, it’s hard not to be impressed.” he winked, but it was so obvious he wasn’t as sure of himself as usual.

The room felt smaller now, air not enough, the three of you standing in this intimate space and this damn silence isn’t making it any better. Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling strangely out of place for the first time in decades. Hell, they were both pushing sixty, damn sixty, and yet, standing here in front of you, they felt like awkward teenagers all over again.

Stan glanced at Ford, mentally asking for support, but his twin looked equally as lost.

For all the things they had seen and done over the years, monsters, mysteries, the paranormal, nothing had prepared them for you.

Surprisingly, Ford spoke up. “What we meant to say is—” he paused, realizing he was rambling, and cleared his throat again. “It’s rare to find someone with such talent. And, um, charisma.”

Stan nodded. “Ya know, we’re not exactly the youngest guys in the room, but damn, if you didn’t make us feel like a couple of teenagers again.” he chuckled awkwardly. “Never thought I’d be this tongue-tied at my age, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at their awkward flirts, it was clear they were both trying hard to impress you, even if they were struggling to find the right words. “You guys really don’t have to flatter me like that,” you said, feeling your cheeks turning a little bit red. “but I appreciate it.”

Stan looked at his brother and then at you. “See? Even Poindexter here’s smitten,” he teased. Ford flushed, shooting his brother a glare, but didn’t protest. If he was being honest, he couldn’t deny it. Being around you, he felt awkward and unsure.

You took a step closer, smiling gently as you regarded them both. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

After that, the room felt lighter now, like the tension had eased into something more comfortable. Stan and Ford, for all their differences, were in this moment, together, both stunned by you, equally out of their element, but somehow, that was okay. You had them both wrapped around your finger without even trying.

Then Stan leaned closer to you, whispering. “If anything, choose me, not this weirdo, he has a fetish for triangles.”

[miumura]

━━━ NERD JAKE . . .

| nerd!jake headcanons >< |

pairing nerd!jake x gn!reader genre fluff

warnings none? word count 0.8k+ ( 844 words )

💬 — NERD JAKE BRAINROT the voices have spoken to me and told me to write this. guys you don’t understand how much i live for nerd!jake works … like i don’t know but they are just probably a guilty pleasure of mines 🤓 so you knowww i also had to do something about it !! enjoy <3

NERD JAKE who apologized a million times after bumping into you in the hallway, hurried to pick up your books instead of his scattered papers.

NERD JAKE who became rather flustered when you crouched down to help him, picking up his papers with an apology and a small "thank you” when he gave back the textbooks you dropped.

NERD JAKE who often takes a few glances at your work, purposefully lets you see his so you can correct your answers or ask him for help with anything specific.

NERD JAKE who easily tenses up when your arms touch, breathing sharply as you peek over his shoulder to compare his work with yours, his face turning a shade of pink as he tries to maintain his focus.

NERD JAKE who wears the biggest grin on his face while talking about topics he finds interesting, often uses hand movements to emphasize his words.

NERD JAKE who immediately turns off his phone after sending you a text message, gets overwhelmed with thoughts of whether he came off weirdly or said the wrong things, already considering unsending it.

NERD JAKE who always answers your text messages within the same minute, smiles to himself as you both talk about random things, often leading to late-night conversations.

NERD JAKE who offers to tutor you in the classes you're struggling with, is motivated mainly by the chance to spend more time with you — but also being able to help you too, of course.

NERD JAKE who loves your compliments and praises, is motivated to work even harder to impress you with his knowledge.

NERD JAKE who talks about how smart you are whenever he sees you frustrated with a problem, but often ends up rambling about how great he thinks you are, sometimes leading to his own embarrassment.

NERD JAKE who lets you sleep on his shoulder while he finishes the rest of your assignments.

NERD JAKE who always looks at you when the teacher explains there’s pair work, hoping you’d want to be his partner too.

NERD JAKE who listens to you attentively, making sure to remember to jot down your likes and dislikes later.

NERD JAKE who has a soft spot for you, unable to refuse anything you ask of him, even if it might get him into trouble.

NERD JAKE who keeps all the little notes you two passed around in class in a special box, often revisiting and rereading them whenever he misses you.

NERD JAKE who tries to focus on his studies, but his mind keeps drifting back to you, causing him to eventually plant his head on his desk, scattered with papers.

NERD JAKE who masks the things he does for you as friendly gestures to avoid feeling overwhelmed by the thought of potentially liking you, convincing himself it’s just being a good friend while his heart says otherwise.

NERD JAKE who can’t help but feel slightly jealous when you hang out with someone else, knows he can’t do anything about it and is left pouting.

NERD JAKE who comes up with random excuses whenever you ask to meet up, knows how much he wants to but can't let his feelings grow, especially after seeing you with another guy.

NERD JAKE who focuses on just admiring you from afar, doesn't want to take up too much of your time from your friends at school.

NERD JAKE who leaves an empty classroom with his face a red mess after you confront him about being distant and confess your feelings for him, his heart racing as he tries to process everything.

NERD JAKE who goes home and lies in bed thinking about the incident, replays the moment over and over in his mind before covering his head with his pillow and screaming into it in frustration and embarrassment.

NERD JAKE who stutters while trying to ask you out on a date, nervously fiddling his fingers as he waits for your answer.

NERD JAKE who spends so much time going through his closet trying to find the perfect outfit for the date, heavily debates whether he should wear one of his flannels.

NERD JAKE who gives himself pep talks, practicing to avoid fumbling his words and preparing enough conversation topics to ensure the date won't be awkward.

NERD JAKE who arrives at your house with a bouquet of flowers, complimenting your appearance with a gaze filled with admiration and nervous excitement.

NERD JAKE who spontaneously makes up jokes just to hear your laughter, cherishing the moments when he can bring a smile to your face.

NERD JAKE who completely loses his composure after you kiss him on the cheek, visibly flustered as he touches his face, wondering if he's actually dreaming.

NERD JAKE who walks you home, staying until he sees you safely enter your house before he heads off, a smile lingering on his face.

NERD JAKE who gathers all his courage to ask if he could be your boyfriend, his heart pounding with anticipation as he waits for your response, having poured his feelings into a website created just for this moment.

NERD JAKE who has been captivated by you since the moment you bumped into him, his thoughts fixated on you from the start.

💭 — should i make more works like these because these are lowkey fun to write 👀

enhypen perm taglist is open ; comment or send an ask !

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: perv!wonwoo (not super pervy but i tried my best 🫡), smut, f reader, penetrative sex, established relationship (situatuonship is mentioned but idk lets assume they're exclusive just bc i can), he's kinda a dick, etc.

wc: 905

masterlist

streamer!wonwoo perv!wonwoo whose audience believes him to be a golden boy. simply a polite yet charming guy whos into video games, who just so happens to be insanely handsome. his thick rimmed glasses and wavy hair almost covering his eyes, accompanied by those wide shoulders, was able to catch the attention of all of those looking for a pretty face to look at while consuming content from their favorite video games (although many keep their eyes glued to the tiny view of wonwoo on the corner of the screen rather than the game itself).

the people watching him through the screen dont even see the half of it, though, not knowing how much of a perv he is when in real life. not so much a respectful and charming guy, but a degenerate who keeps up the act for appearances. after all, that is how he first got to you a few years back, when you, one of the few who had been a loyal viewer since before his channel blew up, decided that you just HAD to have the pretty nerd rambling about league of legends on stream.

after a few (okay, maybe more than a few) attempts at catching his attention through leaving various suggestive comments, wonwoo finally decided to take a look at your account, noting an instagram linked on your bio. after seeing that the desperate commentator he had taken a liking to seeing always punctual in his streams was a pretty girl in his area, his mind went straight to the gutter, finding his hands moving on their own to send you a message detailing his interest.

a few months later and you found yourself in a months-long situationship with the streamer, having him hit you up almost every other day when he needed 'something warm warm to stick his dick in', as he so nicely put it as he had you sitting on top of him, cockwarming him while he gamed (off-stream, of course).

having a such a well paying stay at home job had many perks, including the ability to take any day off he wanted to fuck you into his bed, somehow managing to never scare you away with his very obvious obsession with your body, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you with little to no regard for the exhaustion you'd feel after a few hours with him. somehow the roles had reversed, with him now being the one to continuously pursue you under the vice of getting under your pants every second he could.

"n-nonu fuck. slow down, i-" you whined as he senselessly bounced you up and down on his dick, rhythm completely lost a few rounds ago.

he practically growled at your complaint, "you asked for this when you showed up wearing that tiny excuse for a skirt while i was on stream."

"you asked me over-"

"for moral support, baby. not for you to parade yourself around me knowing i wouldnt be able to hold back from taking this pussy," he breathed out, angling you slightly differently, now causing you to whine even louder at your clit being stimulated by the friction.

"does your audience know how m- agh fuck. how much of a perv you are? leaving mid stream to get your dick wet?"

your brattiness causes him to disconnect your bodies, flipping yours over to put you on your hands and elbows and ramming himself into you with no warning.

"be thankful i'm fucking you of all people baby. be thankful this pussy has such a grip on me to get you on my bed every night," he sped up as he spoke filth into your ears.

wonwoo had a special way of making you feel like an object, something which you only enjoyed when it came to him. despite being such a fucking perv, you enjoyed the dynamic you had built, allowing him to play with your body however he saw fit as long as he made you cum. and jesus christ, did he.

"fuck," you felt the end coming near and began to push yourself back against him, grinding into him as much as you could despite his clammy hands having such a tight hold on your hips.

"im gonna make you cream all around me and then im gonna fill you up. okay, baby? then im gonna go back on stream while you keep my bed w- ah fuck. warm for me. if you're a good girl for me, i'll fuck you to sleep afterwards," he rasped out, losing his rhythm even further as he neared his own high.

a few more harsh thrusts later and you were creaming around him, tightening up so much that he, too, reached his peak, filling you up and letting go of your hips, causing you to fall flat against the mattress.

"fuck. baby, never show up like that here again. i almost died," he breathed out as he tried to do a decent job at cleaning you up a bit and tucking you under the covers.

despite his perverted treatment of your body, wonwoo was always sweet to you when his mind wasnt filled with sex (which admittedly wasnt often).

"you act as if i forced you to fuck me," you retaliate despite knowing you did wear that skirt with a specific purpose in mind.

"just shut up and go to sleep, baby. you'll need your energy back soon."

n/a: this is ass im rlly bad at writing men who r not obsessed with their s/o im sorry </33

[fan-a-tink]

Character Appreciation Week: Edwin Payne

Edwin Payne is the kindest & bravest soul I have ever come across in fiction. He found the courage to forgive his killer, he dedicated his afterlife to helping other people, solving their cases and giving others the help he never received when he was alive. He endured decades of torture in literal hell and it only made him kinder, more desperate to help others, to protect others from the same fate. He brought Charles so much more than just a lantern, but warmth and light and comfort in his darkest hour, and Edwin was ready to let Charles move on, completely selflessly offering his friendship for a few hours thinking that's all it was ever going to be.

Edwin is also an incredible detective, and I love that he can spend his afterlife pursuing his interests, using his intelligence and analytical abilities to solve cases, and becoming like the great detective characters he always loved reading about. He takes his work seriously, but I know that he also takes pleasure in it, reveling in the questions and motions of detective work. He's actually the biggest nerd who made his special interest his profession and I love how much joy that brings him.

I love Edwin for how protective he is of his own space and for how he adopts a quiet confidence in himself as he discovers more about himself, his queerness, his relation to others. He is always very aware of the space he takes up in the world, the ghostly body he's been given, the version of himself that exists in the world as a testimony to his escape from hell and the endless cycle of being ripped apart over and over again. It's no wonder he is conscious of his body, and careful about who he lets into his personal space. But I also love that that never stops him from adding little flourishes to his movements, small gestures that become part of his very unique style of existence. By the end of the eight episodes you can really see in his movements that he is comfortable in his ghostly skin and confident about who he is. It is beautiful to see.

And finally, I love Edwin for how he loves Charles. His journey of discovery, not only of his sexuality but also of his feelings for Charles, of learning how to love and let other people in was so powerful and really hit a nerve with me. Out of all the incredibly brave things he's done throughout his after-life, confessing his feelings for Charles is by far the bravest one. He poured his heart out and made himself completely vulnerable in front of the person who had the power to hurt him more than anyone in the world. And I am so glad it was Charles, and that Charles responded with so much gentleness and acceptance. My heart sings when I think about how much Charles and Edwin care about and for each other, how gently they hold each other, how precious they are to one another. Their relationship is the definition of the secret third thing and I will forever be grateful to Edwin for being a part of that. I feel so hopeful knowing that he is finding his way through the great labyrinth of sexuality and romantic attraction, hopeful that I can navigate it too.

Edwin Payne, my precious boy, my beloved ghost detective, my favourite character to ever grace the realm of fiction. You are so loved.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Peaceful Property went ahead and picked one of my special interests to explore this week. For queer history nerds like me, some of the most prominent questions in the field are whether and how to connect to those in the past who did not have the same conditions and language for queerness as we do in the present.* Forcebook gave us two characters, Phoom and Vicha, who failed to name or live their queer feelings in the past. Instead, they had queer gestures to offer across time. What do these queer gestures and failures offer to the main conflict between Peach and Home, and what do they offer to us as an audience debating whether Peaceful Property is a BL or queer-baiting?

That ghost story spanned and blurred time into a time immemorial. Using the venue of Thai traditional dancing gave the story a sense of deep Thai history and traditions that are kept up to the present, while Phoom's home indicated early twentieth century Western influences, and a television (alongside Phoom's age in the modern-day setting) suggested the beginning of the global information age of the 80s or 90s. Then Force and Book, finally getting the opportunity to show their true acting capacities (let Force be as queer, emotive, and silly as he is in his interviews, GMMTV!!!), took us on a heart-shattering journey that blended those eras together.

In front of the TV, Vicha teaches Phoom the gesture for love before they kiss. It's not a pronouncement, and no one's recording. It's just a movement between two men tucked away in a private place. Vicha records later, but he doesn't put it into words. He carves tallies into a tree waiting for Phoom to return. Then Phoom does, but he's so cold toward Vicha that the latter can't even bear to look as Phoom tries to explain his sadness through dance. Phoom's mother is looking on as Phoom repeats the the move to signify "saddened," in the face of the instructor's demands for "happy."

The dance is interspersed with scenes of Phoom's mother berating him for being "gay"--she uses the English word! and as @absolutebl explains that's important!--across a locked palatial door as Phoom collapses in tears. Edit: @lurkingteapot giving me the Thai language lesson in the notes to explain, “Phoom's mother does not use the English word for gay. she says มีลูกผิดเพศอย่างแก mii lûuk pìt pêet yâang gɛɛ, where the gɛɛ is a familiar term for "you" -- "to have a child who gets gender wrong, like you!" ("gets gender wrong" as in, directs affections/attraction at the wrong gender).”

With just one chance to return to the dance studio that she believes to be the cause of his queerness, all Phoom can do is subtly cue Vicha about his queer experiences through dance. Jose Esteban Munoz says in Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity,

"Queer dance is hard to catch, and it is meant to be hard to catch--it is supposed to slip through the fingers and comprehension of those who would use knowledge against us. But it matters and takes on a vast material weight for those of us who perform or draw important sustenance from performance. Rather than dematerialize, dance rematerializes. Dance, like energy, never disappears; it is simply transformed. Queer dance, after the live act, does not just expire. The ephemeral does not equal unmateriality. It is more nearly about another understanding of what matters. It matters to get lost in dance or to use dance to get lost: lost from the evidentiary logic of heterosexuality.

Phoom's mom, the representative of compulsory heterosexuality, watches on, but she either can't see the coded evidence, or she recognizes its ephemerality and bears it knowing its lack of impact. Even then, she ends Phoom's dance before Vicha can look up and see the queerness that might affirm his own queer feelings. Phoom fails to live as a representative of queerness, unable to resist the pressures of heterosexuality.

With Phoom locked away, Vicha can't bear the loneliness. Queer suicidality has been haunting Peaceful Properties since the first episode, and the reason Peach keeps his blinds closed in his apartment returned this episode if we didn't recall. But we've had other subtle references, too. Vicha's death, though, was visceral and vivid as he slit his wrists with the same tool he used to count down the days until the return of the person who could affirm his queer feelings. Then, he documented his feeling in poetry with blood. While, Phoom failed to materialize his queerness for others, Vicha could only materialize his queerness through tragedy.

Much of queer history and fiction has focused on these tragic queer figures. In fact, they've been quite productive political tools for advancing queer goals. In the past ten years or so, the culture has turned on tragic queer figures and their narratives, though. Emotionally, I feel like that's for the better, but there's a fine line I'm always attentive to between welcoming empowering histories and turning our backs on those who don't or can't achieve them. It's also a fine line between welcoming ensured happy endings for queer characters and refusing to engage with those creators past and present who use other narrative tools to explore queer themes.

Relatedly, using a branded pairing for Peaceful Property while not advertising it as a BL, nor committing to that status even by episode 7, seems intentionally designed to invite the conversations about whether its queer-baiting or a BL. It feels so old-school to engage in the kind of queer subtext reading that much of the fandom is doing currently. Sure, people do fantastically detailed metas about body language, color theory, and everything else you can think of for BL series. When queerness is not a given, however, the analysis of queer subtext serves the purpose of liberating the characters and the text from the binds and blinds of an otherwise heterosexual context.

There's a generosity in that work. It certainly can't erase the failures to fully live-out one's queerness, nor the problems and behavior that suffering and suppression can lead one to commit. However, sometimes you absolve people out of empathy rather than anything they do to make-up for their harm and futility. Sometimes people are transformed by that initial love, mercy, or understanding, whatever you want to call it, like the ghosts in the series finally being seen. The basic tenets of humanism, a philosophy so disruptive to the rigid class structures the show's simultaneously exploring, and Buddhism, the Thai beliefs which the show's been explicitly exorcising the ghosts with, depend on understanding people at that level, beneath the trappings of social status, symbols of wealth, and even language.

Peaceful Property has taken us on the journey for Home and Peach to understand each other at this level. They, like the audience, have been looking beneath the cloaks of class and patriarchal defensiveness that separate them for the meaningful ephemeral queer gestures that can offer them release from the endless cycles of grief and guilt they're stuck in. That the series keeps finding ways to find peace for these ghosts suggests that the we'll also find peace and love from the alienation haunting Peach and Home. They just need each other to perform that exorcism on their hearts.

*Thailand, specifically, is unique site for queer historians and anthropologists--like director P'Jojo!--because of this question. Its one of the few places that maintained a non-binary gender system into the present, whereas many others were suppressed by Christian colonial law or influence.

[sixeyesonathiel]

a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH01 – the anatomy of a grudge

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

series masterlist | playlist | next

chapter summary : it starts with a princess, a prince, and a perfectly decorated box of chocolates. it ends with a broken heart, a flying carrot, and a lifelong vendetta. some wounds never heal. some grudges never die. and it is just impossible to avoid someone when you live in the same bubble.

the first day of kindergarten is an event, a grand occasion worthy of celebration. the sun shines bright, gilding the pristine walls of tokyo’s most prestigious academy, as if the universe itself acknowledges your arrival. your dress—a dreamy confection of lace and ribbons—catches the light with every step, a shimmering reminder of who you are. inside the grand classroom, the air hums with anticipation; the other children whisper, eyes wide, voices hushed with awe. you are used to this. the admiration, the attention—it is the natural order of things, and you embrace it with the effortless grace of a princess greeting her subjects.

but amid the murmurs and the shy stares, a name rises above the rest. gojo satoru. the words are spoken with reverence, laced with something almost like fear. the smartest kid in class. the heir to the gojo conglomerate. a genius, they say, as if that alone makes him untouchable. your interest is immediate, sharp as a diamond catching the sun—you have decided. you are going to marry him.

when you finally find him, he is seated at his desk, a tiny king on a plastic throne. his glasses, far too big for his face, slip down his nose as he reads, utterly absorbed in the world of numbers and words. around him, children run and shriek with delight, yet he remains unmoved, isolated in his own brilliance. you have never seen anyone so mysterious, so special, so handsome. like a prince out of your bedtime stories, the kind who rules entire kingdoms with a single glance. the sight of him, so lost in his book, fills you with something fierce and determined—you must have his attention.

so you march up to him, confidence radiating from every step, your brightest, most charming smile in place. “do you wanna play with me?” the question is simple, the answer should be obvious. but he does not even look up. “i’d rather study,” he replies, tone flat, uninterested. you blink. what? scandalized, you stare at him as if he has just insulted your entire lineage. no one—not one person—has ever turned you down before.

but you are not one to give up easily. if he will not play with you, then you will simply have to play with him. for days, you follow him around, unfazed by his dismissals, chattering away as if he has already accepted your presence. he speaks of numbers and patterns, things you do not understand, but that does not matter. “yeah! i’m trying to study how red and white makes pink too!” you declare, nodding with the same intensity as him. he squints at you, skeptical, but does not tell you to leave. it is progress, a victory, and you grin, certain of one thing—soon enough, gojo satoru will be yours.

february arrives in a flurry of pink and red, ribbons and glitter, love and admiration wrapped up in shiny paper. in the warmth of the kitchen, you sit perched on a stool, small hands carefully piping pink icing onto a tray of chocolates. your nanny helps, guiding your every move, but the love you pour into each swirl and heart-shaped decoration is all yours. it is important that they are perfect, because these are for him. gojo satoru. your prince, your future husband—he just doesn’t know it yet. you imagine the way his face will light up when you give them to him, how he will finally understand that he is special to you, that you adore him, that he should adore you too.

but when the moment comes, it is nothing like the fairytales. standing before him, chocolates cradled in your hands, your heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings. you are shy for the first time in your life, cheeks warm, fingers twitching as you present your hard work. satoru barely glances at them before frowning. “you shouldn’t eat too much chocolate,” he says, matter-of-fact, like he’s reciting a textbook. “it’s unhealthy. bad for your teeth.” and then—he doesn’t take them. your breath catches, the world shifts, and you don’t understand why it feels like the ground has been ripped out from under you.

you sob in the hallway, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, staining the sleeves of your dress as you bury your face in them. the walls, once grand and full of warmth, now feel cold and suffocating, closing in on you as your chest heaves with the unfairness of it all. why did he do that? why didn’t he want them? you made them for him, with so much love, so much effort, and he just… rejected them. the sting is unbearable, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. the other kids watch with wide eyes, but you don’t care—you cry until your nanny finds you and scoops you up, whispering reassurances that do little to mend the ache in your tiny heart.

satoru, meanwhile, sits at his desk, bewildered. he doesn’t know what he did wrong, only that your face crumpled and your eyes filled with tears and then you were gone. at home, he asks his dad for advice, confused and restless, something tight and unfamiliar pressing against his chest. “you should apologize,” his father says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s easy. so satoru thinks, hard, determined to make it up to you, and remembers something he read once—carrots are good for the eyes. and you have very pretty eyes. logically, this means that carrots will make you happy again.

the next day, you march into class with a fresh resolve: you will not think about gojo satoru. you will not look at him, you will not speak to him, and you will certainly not remember the way he broke your heart with his stupid, stupid words. but just as you take your seat, still clutching the remnants of your righteous fury, a shadow falls over your desk. you glance up, and there he is—gojo satoru, standing stiffly in front of you, an unreadable expression on his face. before you can tell him to leave, he shoves something at you, small hands gripping it tightly as if it holds the answer to all the world’s problems.

a carrot. a whole, unpeeled carrot, straight from someone’s fridge, still a little cold in his palm. “here,” he announces, dead serious. “carrots. for your eyes.” you blink, slowly, processing. surely, surely, you misheard him. “...what?” your voice is hesitant, unsure if this is some elaborate joke, but satoru just nods, like this is obvious, like he is being generous.

“they’re good for you,” he explains, pushing the carrot closer, his tiny fingers wrapped around it with a kind of solemn determination. your jaw drops. of all the things he could have done to fix his crime, this—this root vegetable—is what he chose? is he mocking you? is this some nerd thing that you don’t understand? the insult is too great, the betrayal too fresh, and suddenly, all the grief and rage you’ve been holding in erupts.

“i don’t want your stupid carrots!!” you shriek, shoving his hand away so forcefully that the carrot goes flying across the room. it bounces off a desk, rolls onto the floor, and lands unceremoniously near the cubbies, an innocent casualty in the war between you and gojo satoru. silence follows. the entire classroom, once lively with chatter, falls into stunned quiet as every pair of eyes turns to watch the scene unfold. you are furious, fists clenched at your sides, breathing hard as you glare at him like he is the worst thing to ever exist.

and satoru—poor, poor satoru—looks devastated. his mouth falls open, hands still frozen in mid-air where the carrot used to be, his eyes wide with something that looks far too much like heartbreak for a boy who doesn’t even know what he did wrong. “but…” he stammers, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sense of what just happened. “but they’re good for your eyes.” his voice cracks at the end, the first sign of his impending doom, but you don’t care. you spin on your heel, nose in the air, and storm away before he can say another word.

satoru stands there, lost, humiliated, still staring at the spot where the carrot landed. his ears burn with the whispers of his classmates, with the quiet giggles and curious glances, but none of it matters. all that matters is that he tried—he really tried—and somehow, it only made things worse. his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists, his throat tight with something unfamiliar, something sharp and awful. 

you decide you hate him. you call him a boring nerd, cross your arms, and vow to never waste another second of your time on him. he had his chance. he ruined it. as far as you’re concerned, gojo satoru is no longer a prince, no longer special—just an insufferable, glasses-wearing, know-it-all who doesn’t deserve you. but as you go back to playing with the other kids, ignoring him completely, satoru sits at his desk, staring at the abandoned carrot and wondering why his chest feels so empty. girls, he concludes, make no sense at all.

later, when his father picks him up from school, he sits in the backseat, staring out the window, blinking rapidly to stop the tears that threaten to spill over.

he doesn’t understand. he might never understand. but one thing is clear—girls, especially you, are impossible.

high school is hell. not because of the schoolwork—you don’t struggle with that, never have—but because everything else is crumbling, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold it together. your father does not bother to hide it anymore, coming home late with his collar stained in red, his shirts reeking of perfume too sweet, too floral to belong to your mother. you wonder if he even bothers to wash her scent off before climbing into bed beside his wife, if he kisses your mother with lips that just touched another woman. your mother, poised and perfect, does not react. she doesn’t cry, doesn’t fight, doesn’t care. because she has her own secrets, her own whispered rendezvous, her own sins tucked neatly behind closed doors.

the house is still beautiful, still immaculate, still cold. marble floors that gleam under the chandelier, long dining tables set with silverware that never sees real use, portraits of a perfect family hanging in hallways that have forgotten what warmth feels like. your parents sit across from each other at dinner, exchanging pleasantries, empty words over untouched meals, and you think you might go insane if you have to sit through another one of these nights. they are both living their own separate lives, tied together by name only, playing pretend for the world. you are the only one left suffocating under the weight of their act.

so you leave. not forever, not in a way that anyone would notice—but enough. enough to get away, enough to escape the sterile perfection of a home that does not feel like home anymore. the city is alive in a way your house never is, buzzing with neon lights and laughter, thrumming with music that drowns out the thoughts in your head. and when you step out, chin high, gaze sharp, the world takes notice. men—older boys, college students, strangers—watch you, eyes trailing after you like dogs chasing a scent, greedy and hungry, waiting for you to acknowledge them.

but you don’t. you let them look, let them stare, let them want. you know you’re beautiful—people have been telling you that your whole life. they say it in different ways, in lingering glances, in hushed whispers, in the way they hover just close enough to hope you’ll look back. but you never do. you don’t need them. you just need the feeling—the rush of knowing you are seen, that you are something more than just a girl trapped in a perfect, broken home.

dress code violation. again. they don’t even send a note home anymore, don’t waste their time dialing numbers that will ring and ring with no answer. the teachers barely look at you when they usher you into detention, muttering something about repeated offenses under their breath. you roll your eyes, adjusting your bag higher on your shoulder as you step inside, skirt still hiked up at the waist. same old story, same old routine. but then, you see him.

gojo satoru.

he sits at the front of the room like he owns it, glasses perched on his nose, book in hand, posture as straight as ever. not a single wrinkle on his neatly pressed uniform, not a single hair out of place. he doesn’t even glance up, doesn’t acknowledge your presence, just flips another page like he’s too absorbed in whatever stupid book he’s reading. you nearly scoff. of course he’s here. of course, the student council president, the school’s golden boy, would be the one watching over detention today.

you turn to the window instead, resting your chin on your palm, watching as snowflakes gather along the glass. once upon a time, you loved the snow—loved how it painted the world white, how it felt soft against your fingertips, how it meant holidays and warmth and laughter. now, all it reminds you of is cold, empty spaces. rooms with no warmth, no light, just a family name that still shines while everything inside has rotted. you exhale, fogging up the window, and drag your finger through the condensation, drawing nothing in particular.

but in the corner of your eye, you see him. sitting there, perfect as ever, untouchable in his pristine little world. no cracks in his foundation, no stains on his perfect family portrait. a life still whole, still secure, still wrapped in the warmth of something you barely remember. he still has everything. and you—your nails dig into the desk—have nothing.

the bell rings, loud and sharp, snapping you out of your thoughts. you’re the first to stand, flicking your hair over your shoulder, striding toward the door without a single glance back. gojo doesn’t stop you. doesn’t say anything. and you tell yourself you don’t care. that he isn’t worth your time, your thoughts, anything at all.

you’ve learned, over the years, that rage is exhausting. teenage fury burned hot and fast, but it never fixed anything, never filled the hollow space in your chest. so you let it cool, let it settle into something easier to manage—indifference, or at least the illusion of it. money smooths over the cracks anyway; it buys silence, buys distraction, buys the closest thing to happiness you’ve ever known. you spend it recklessly, thoughtlessly, like if you throw enough of it at the void, it’ll give you something real in return. maybe it never does. but the lights are bright, the music is loud, and the nights blur into mornings before you can think too hard about it.

you’ve perfected the art of being the girl everyone wants to know. you slip into every party like you belong there, heels clicking against marble, lips curled into an easy, practiced smile. men chase you, women admire you, and none of it means anything. you let them get close, let them touch, let them want—because want is power, and you like holding it in your hands. you don’t believe in love, not really, but pleasure is easy, and control is intoxicating, and if you wake up in a stranger’s bed with his wallet on the nightstand and your lipstick smeared on his skin, who cares? you’re having fun. and that’s all that matters.

still, you play your part during the day. you walk the halls of the most prestigious business academy in the country with your head high, effortlessly slipping back into the role of the untouchable heiress. business administration suits you—broad, flexible, full of opportunities you’re not sure you actually want but know you’ll take anyway. because success is expected of you, because wealth demands wealth, because of course you’ll thrive. it doesn’t matter that you’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else. you don’t think about that. instead, you drown yourself in numbers and presentations, in group projects with people who fear you just enough to always listen when you speak.

and of course, he’s here too. gojo satoru, top of his class in business finance, heir to an empire, as obnoxiously untouchable as ever. you never really forgot about him, even when you tried, not when you two basically exist in the same circle, even when you spent years pretending he didn’t exist. and it’s infuriating, really, how he’s still perfect—still smart, still respected, still sitting at the top like he was born there. he walks through the academy like it was built for him, like he owns it, and it makes your teeth grind. because you know—you know—that no matter how much time has passed, no matter how different you are now, you’ll always be the girl who once declared she was going to marry him.

except now, you’re also the girl who swore she hated him.

group projects are the worst.

you don’t even bother hiding your sigh as the professor hands out the details, voice droning on about advanced business and economics, about luxury market strategies and the delicate balance of exclusivity and profitability. it’s all so predictable—another overcomplicated assignment designed to make sure everyone in this academy understands just how privileged they are. as if your last name, your wealth, your place in this world aren’t enough proof already. whatever. you’ll skim the slides, nod at the right moments, and let someone else do the heavy lifting while you focus on things that actually matter.

but then you hear his name.

gojo satoru.

for a split second, something in you sparks—amusement, maybe, or something sharper, something almost triumphant. because this? this is a jackpot. you already know exactly how this will go: satoru, with his color-coded notes and ridiculous spreadsheets, with his perfect grades and even more perfect reputation, will handle it. he’ll do the research, draft the reports, put together a flawless presentation. you won’t even have to lift a finger.

so you don’t acknowledge him. you don’t turn your head, don’t glance in his direction, don’t bother with the fake niceties that other students would force. instead, you sling your bag over your shoulder, heels clicking against the polished floor as you walk out of the lecture hall without so much as a backward glance. later, you’ll send him the bare minimum—a quick “lmk when it’s done” or “let me know if you need anything”. it’s effortless. it’s easy.

you don’t think about how he’s still here, still orbiting your life like a constant, a ghost of a childhood you don’t care to remember. you don’t think about how annoying it is that he’s still perfect, still untouchable, still the one person who’s never bent under the weight of expectation.

you don’t think about him at all.

except, of course, he’s a pain in the ass.

you ignore his texts? he calls. you ignore his calls? he shows up. and not at some normal, reasonable place—no, he tracks you down at an exclusive luxury bar, where the music hums low and expensive in the background, where the drinks are poured with a practiced hand, where you’re lounging on a plush velvet seat, laughing at something not even remotely funny. the world is soft around the edges, warm with alcohol, and you’re enjoying yourself just fine. until you see him.

satoru stands at the entrance like he owns the place, like he belongs here, even though he sticks out like a sore thumb. designer casual, understated but ridiculously expensive—soft knit jacket, tailored slacks, glasses perched on his nose, hair messier than usual, like he ran a hand through it too many times. the sight of him makes you scowl. not because he’s bad-looking—annoyingly, he’s not—but because he’s here. why is he here? you don’t get to ask before he’s moving, crossing the distance between you like it’s nothing, leaning down to murmur, “we have work to do.”

you laugh, not even glancing at him. “you have work to do. i just have to sit pretty and get the grade.” your glass clinks softly against the table as you set it down, lifting a brow at him. he doesn’t even look irritated—just vaguely amused, as if he expected this. “this is how you do research?” his tone is smooth, edged with dry amusement. you sip from your drink again, feigning indifference. “networking, actually.”

he hums, unconvinced. “come on. let’s go.”

“i’m busy, gojo.”

“you’re getting wasted.”

“and?”

“and we have a project to do.”

you tilt your head, smirking. “how about we do it here?” you gesture at the men who’ve been stealing glances at you all night, their interest barely hidden. “i bet one of them owns a luxury brand. isn’t that our topic?”

he exhales through his nose, patient. “get up.”

you scoff. “make me.”

his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something close.

before you can react, satoru grabs your wrist, gentle but firm, pulling you up with absurd ease. “hey—!” you protest, but it doesn’t matter. he’s already leading you toward the exit, his grip unrelenting yet careful, like he knows exactly how much pressure to apply to make you follow without a fuss. the night air bites against your flushed skin as soon as you step outside, sharp and sobering, and you barely register where you are until you’re standing beside his sleek, very expensive sports car.

satoru unlocks the door with a single click, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the city. the streetlights cast a pale glow over the pavement, over the sleek lines of his car, over the way he stands there—calm, composed, like he has all the time in the world. he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand, just watches with that insufferable patience, hands in his pockets, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose. his gaze, even behind the lenses, is expectant. “get in.” the words are easy, effortless, but they leave no room for argument.

you cross your arms, shifting your weight to one side, chin tilted up in defiance. “you’re annoying.” the night air bites at your skin, but you refuse to shiver. he barely reacts, only tilts his head slightly, lips curving into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t not one, either. “you’re lazy.” it’s not an insult, just a statement, delivered with the same frustrating calm as everything else he says.

“we’re literally rich.” you exhale, exasperated, like it should be obvious. “why does this even matter to you?” the words come out sharper than intended, but he doesn’t flinch. instead, he studies you for a second, like he’s searching for something beyond the irritation in your voice, beyond the stubborn way you hold yourself. “because i don’t like half-assed things.” his response is immediate, unwavering, and there’s something about it—about the certainty in his tone—that makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

you scoff, turning your head away, but the movement is too sudden, and the wind catches you off guard. cold slips down your spine, sharp and sudden, and you don’t even realize you’ve tensed until you hear him sigh. before you can react, something warm, soft, and faintly scented with expensive cologne settles over your shoulders. his knit jacket. heavy, draped over you like it belongs there.

“wha—” the protest barely leaves your lips before he cuts in.

“it’s cold. get in the car.”

you hesitate for half a second, something tightening in your chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. but you don’t fight it. you slide into the passenger seat, tugging his jacket closer around you, drowning in the warmth. only because it’s cold. definitely not because your heart is acting weird.