#but is it really needed to always make fun of his intelligence? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fushitoru · 2 months ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

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

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

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

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

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

that is, until gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what can i get you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you said to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i really can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“as you wish.”

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

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

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

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

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

alright, pause over. back to now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let me get that for you.”

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

gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

that day at starbucks, though.

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

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

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

what was it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“how is it complicated?”

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

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

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

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

“well, when you put it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“rough night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you should do that more,” he said.

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

“laugh.”

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

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

“is that right?”

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

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“gojo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you trust me, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and yet, you’re still here.”

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

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your breath catches. “satoru…”

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

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

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

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

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

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

that’s when he freezes.

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

your heart drops into your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

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

satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

nestled right against his morning wood.

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

oh, say can you see—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

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

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

#aashi writes #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru

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taeslarityy · 5 months ago

Text

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night.

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic.

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls.

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely.

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park.

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that.

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night.

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm.

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home.

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity.

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds?

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa.

You also adored the fuck out of Joel.

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock.

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman.

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts.

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.”

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day.

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.”

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided.

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.”

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by.

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home.

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet.

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm.

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already.

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee.

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it.

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name.

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house.

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted.

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?”

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you.

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest.

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long.

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

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notthestarwar · 1 year ago

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@dukeoftheblackstar and heres another snippet from the same fic which i think gives a kinda sympathetic view to mace. i've taken this straight from my drafts so i'll leave the old tags there. now i'm gonna reblog some pro mace posts lol but i wont tag you in those cause i think i've probably tagged you in enough at this point lol

This snippet is from 'When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it'

It's from Chapter 7, ghost Mace is explaining to past Jaster what he knows of Jango's life, in the future. Here, he's describing the moment he killed Jango and his feelings in the aftermath.

In the midst of the battle, a man started shooting at me. We fought, it was a brutal thing, I was barely keeping up in spite of the Force. I did not know who he was or why he was shooting for me but I did know that if I ceded any space at all, he would take it and I would be dead.

In the end, I came out on top. I can't say I was intending for it, I was just trying to make contact in any place I could, but I caught him with my saber between his helmet and chest plate. He died, after I decapitated him and it wasn't until after the fact that I discovered that he was the one I had been searching for all those years before.

As a young Knight I set out to bring Jango Fett home, to right a wrong, but I was unable to find him. I had thought of him, often. The wrong I had not been able to right for my people. The man I could not save. And then, I stepped on to a dusty planet that I hardly knew, for reasons I hardly understood and I killed a man.

Jaster swallows. When Mace looks at him, honestly paints his face and regret curls at the edges.

"Quite without knowing it, I had killed the one I hadn't been able to save, years after the fact."

His son.

"I hadn't saved him but he survived all the same. He didn't need me to save him, he'd saved himself. I'd thought him dead but he lived to walk up to me all those years later. He survived that slave ship so that he might die at my hand years later."

The fact that he's sorry for it doesn't really cushion the blow. This is the man that killed his son. He is dead because of Jango but in a far off future, Jango is dead because of him.

How did he die? This Jedi? He had time to discover Jango's identity after the battle so he must have survived it. Did he later die of wounds Jango gave him? Jaster thinks not. None of this has been easy, none of this is simple. There remains a weight in the air, the burden of the remainder of Jango's story. An oddity considering it should end here.

He looks back to Windu, watching his face.

"I did not mean to kill your son Jaster. I meant to save him, but I was quite unable. The idea of him haunted me as steadily as any ghost and then, I killed him. I didn't know who he was when I struck and I did not know when he fell that he had already killed me, long before that day. It would be three years before my heart would stop but I was dead from the day Jango Fett landed on Kamino."

"I did not intend it, but I did it all the same. I am sorry that I killed him and I have to live with that regret even now, in death. I remain here knowing that I killed the man I was intending to save, the man who I had never forgotten failing."

Jaster is a warrior. He knows what a fight to the death is like. He has known the ferocity that an adult Jango would hold long before he knew that in a later time, the galaxy would know his son as 'The Jedi killer'. What a title. Jaster had not wanted this life, the one that from Mace's perspective has already passed, for his son. He wanted something kinder, easier, for him. It hadn't happened. Jaster had been unable to give that to him.

Mace didn't have any choice but to kill him but, all the same, as a father it is Jaster's right to hate him, just a little, for taking his sons life.

Jango deserved better than the galaxy that had delivered him to this Jedi on that day. He deserved better than the life that had shaped him in to the man that would attack this Jedi and lose. He deserved, parents that wouldn't die before he had finished growing, a second chance that worked out differently. He deserved everything and anything Jaster could give him and maybe, even that could not be enough. Could never be enough.

Mace looked at him. "Everyone in that hall is there because Jango is responsible for their death. I am not sure if the same can be said for me. Jango is responsible for my death but is that the reason I linger?"

The Jedi looks far away. "He haunted me far before he ever died and now I haunt him far before he ever killed me. He lined up the pieces of my death long before I met him in that arena. And I killed him long before he killed me. Time is not linear for the dead, but in the case of Jango and I it is even less so. The story of our haunting is a circular thing and in truth, I can not really say who of us is haunting who

He meets Jaster's eyes. "We are here to discuss why we haunt Jango. But it would be remiss of me to not tell you that your son has haunted me every single day since I left on a mission to retrieve him, to try and offer reparations for what my peoples neglect brought down on him, and came home empty handed."

"We thought him dead, but I did not forget him. From that day, I've carried the weight of what we did to him. I have often thought of him over the years. You hold no blame here, but we just might."

I love this bit. To me it's very clear that Jango's death was largely Jango's fault. In this fic, Mace finds himself on Galidraan with little understanding of why he's there, just trying to act in the moment to defend himself and other Jedi. Jango starts shooting at him, clearly shooting to kill. Mace knows that he's in danger, he knows that if he dies (because Jango intends for one of them to die. He will not stop until one of them is dead.) Jango will go on to kill more Jedi until one of them gets the upper hand, and so Mace acts in a way that is very understandable and defends his life with all he has. He's reacting rather than planning any of this, Jango is not giving him a chance to think about any of it, so when Jango is about to get the upper hand, Mace takes the only move available to him, and goes for his neck.

It's understandable, he had no choice, and yet, because of who Mace is, I think he'd find it very difficult to come to terms with having killed someone in that way. It's horribly violent (lightsaber deaths always seem to be??? Decapitation isn't quite bisection but it's not great. However, I think such a thing would be even harder for Mace to confront than it was for Obi Wan.) and I think Mace would struggle to accept that he really didn't have any choice, and anyone would have done the same.

And then!!! This Mace, is a Mace that has been metaphorically haunted by Jango ever since he 'failed to save him'. To know that Jango was out there to find all along and Mace just didn't manage it? That Jango didn't need Mace to escape, but that he suffered for longer thanks to his own rescue being left to him. That in that suffering, he became the kind of man, that would be in the arena, forcing Mace to kill him. That had Mace done anything about this constant reminder (was that a sign? From the force?) of Jango for all these years, he could have helped Jango. He might have stopped him doing what he did with the clones. He might have helped him process what had happened, so that Jango didn't end up on a suicide mission, determined to throw himself head first in to fights he can barely win, only so he can try and repent for not dying with the rest of them, the first time or the second.

Mace was a master Jedi, if anyone could help someone work through trauma, it was him. (His struggle to process it all himself is 100% not a sign of his ability. You can understand how to healthily process emotions to the n th degree, but it won't stop you being human and falling to human difficulties. He is the best person to help anyone else through this stuff, but when it comes to himself, he's too close. That's why Jedi help each other work through stuff.) But Mace wasn't there, because he didn't think Jango was out there. In spite of this constant lingering reminder at every step, he didn't look. And so Jango carried on, hating that he survived, living only to carry out this corrupted form of justice, until he finally met the end that he thought he should have met years before.

Mace couldn't help him, and then, he ended up doing the worst thing possible for him. He gave him this violent death, that in Jango's grief and pain, he was sure he deserved. I just think the more Mace learnt about Jango, after finding out he's just killed the man he thought had died thanks to his failure all those years before, going on to see the depths of what happened to Jango, what it made him, the more responsible he'd feel. If he'd only found him. What he went through on the ship. What the clones went through. All those years hating himself for surviving. Boba, who Jango wanted in spite of his self hated, who he loved so fiercely but could NOT do right by.

I think Mace would look at each part of it and a part of him would be like 'none of this had to happen. If you'd done your job, you could have saved him from that ship, from becoming this. You would have spared him from himself, but also the clones, Boba, everyone else he hurt.' I do think he would have known that this wasn't rational, and would have worked through it, been working through it, as he lived on and more and more things crept out of the woodwork to remind Mace of his one failure. Each revelation about jango is something else Mace might have prevented.

And then, Mace's death at palpatines hand. He speaks to the other ghosts and suddenly he sees. He sees the big picture. What Jango did to him, did to his people.

Mace has it completely right when he looks at this haunting as a circular thing. Who is haunting who? Time isn't linear for ghosts. He was haunting Jango from the start, but also, Mace didn't start haunting Jango till he'd already killed him. Mace not being able to forget that mission early in his career, the boy he hadn't been able to save. Was that bog standard guilt? His brain kicking up dust? Or was it the force warning him that Jango was out there, that he should look. Was it neither? As a force sensitive could Mace feel his future self, pulled back in time by his connection to Jango? Was the feeling of Jango haunting him, actually his own ghost, obsessed with the man he was tied to, the one responsible for his death.

He and Jango orbit each other before either of them are dead in a way the other ghosts don't. But it being uncertain who's haunting who? That's true of all the ghosts. Jango haunts them just as much they do him. They are ghosts because they can't let go of him and he can't let go of what he did to them.

#I've been thinking about this #cause i saw a post talking about who's fault Jango's death was (i think it was a poll?)#anyway i have very strong feelings about this. because i very much do think that Jango was never surviving to see the war #he'd done his bit dooku didn't need him. i don't think dooku set up his death at Mace's hand. but i do think that he knew the man Jango was #and knew that by placing him in that arena; he'd get himself killed. arena full of Jedi. Jango always would have tried to fight them and #it would always be a fight to the death. because of who he was. his pride & he didn't care about surviving enough to walk away from a fight #he was too intelligent to not know he wasn't getting out alive. tangle with nasty ppl you wind up dead when they don't need you.#& he knew bad ppl well. but he never tried to get away. i think that was cause a part of him wanted to die. he walked in to that death #i do think he loved Boba. but i think he hated himself hated that he'd survived everyone. more. think he'd convince himself boba was better #with him dead. so i don't think mace had any hand in Jango's death really. if not him it would have been someone else. Jango would have #created that situation with anyone. HOWEVER #i don't think Mace would see it that way. i think he'd struggle to accept that he did the only thing he could and i think the understanding #that it was him or Jango BECAUSE Jango was determined to die & take out as many Jedi on the way out as possible. would make it harder for #him to accept. he completely played in to this suicidal impulse. Jango was a sentient in pain who needed help. mace wants to be someone who #helps.but instead he let himself be played.he was the sword and the hand that held it and he killed him in a particularly violent move #(which i think was unavoidable in the moment. if he'd delayed he would have died he was acting not thinking. Jango made it so.)#it was not Maces fault but i think he'd struggle to accept that even when knowing it objectively.if it were another Jedi he'd help them see #but for himself it's hard to come to terms with. knowing that dying in such a violent manner was what Jango thought he deserved #i think would make mace feel like he'd been the worst version of himself in that moment and someone he could have helped payed for that #it was fun to explore in this fic cause mace had been sent out to find Jango after galidraan and it had stuck with him as a failed mission #early in his career. in the time since he's done all these amazing things but he always remembered boy he couldn't save at the start #and then. years later. mace ends up inadvertently killing that same man. he doesn't know who Jango is.he has no idea that he survived until #he's already dead at Mace's hand. i think theres a horrible sense of neatness to it all.#so yeah! i don't think mace is guilty but i think he's the kind of person that would feel he was all the same #Mace is great #part 3

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lunasfics · 1 year ago

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Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it?

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back.

“Good. Nightwing?”

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent.

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for.

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom.

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.”

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.”

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read:

Attempt 1: G6B24

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown)

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass.

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did.

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick.

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind.

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him.

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you.

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file.

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?”

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.”

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?”

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised.

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected.

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up.

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’”

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on.

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.”

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave.

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?”

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry.

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?”

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.”

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well.

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.”

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different.

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first.

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile.

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.”

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.”

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you?

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state.

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.”

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile.

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.”

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.”

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.”

“Wayne.”

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares.

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response.

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.”

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…”

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper.

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.”

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement.

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.”

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you.

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.”

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain.

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.”

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.”

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change.

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over.

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you.

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase.

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first.

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.”

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.”

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own.

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there?

“How?”

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first.

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.”

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.”

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.”

Bruce simply gave a nod.

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all.

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian.

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe.

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest.

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!” he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you.

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.”

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?”

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own.

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.”

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her.

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.”

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey.

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.”

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.”

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front.

“This better be good.”

Tim mumbled, “Finally”

“Miss me Timmy?”

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away.

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce.

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.”

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.”

“Holy shit, man.”

“Jason, will you shut up?”

“Never.”

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.”

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.”

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.”

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.”

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.”

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you.

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her.

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit.

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-”

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled.

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.”

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.”

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone.

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.”

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied.

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.”

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.”

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.”

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do.

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered.

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.”

“I want time with her, Bruce.”

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.”

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer.

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?”

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile.

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless.

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.”

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away.

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?”

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.”

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.”

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.”

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–”

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news.

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him.

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated.

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done.

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.”

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.”

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement.

“We’re just buying training clothes.”

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.”

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.”

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site.

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that.

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself.

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself.

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about.

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings.

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere.

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off.

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.”

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.”

He nodded, walking away to change as well.

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill.

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.”

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense.

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.”

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.”

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing.

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine.

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite.

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit.

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying.

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction.

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.”

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?”

You nodded.

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds.

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you.

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner.

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking.

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case.

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor.

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother.

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in.

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there.

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough.

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled.

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal.

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it.

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine.

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow. Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag (I'm not sure why some people's tags didn't work,, I am very sorry, if anyone has suggestions onhow to fix that i'm open to fix them)

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lilislegacy · 3 months ago

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Okay, I’m so gonna get hate for this. And it will probably get about 4 notes. This is, by far, the most opinionated thing I have ever posted on here. If you can’t tolerate criticism towards Rick Riordan, the books, or the TV show, please keep scrolling. My goal is NOT to change your mind or start arguments.

I also want to preface this by saying that I love and respect Rick Riordan (even if I disagree with him on things and don’t like some of his choices) and fully acknowledge that he has the right to do whatever the hell he pleases with his own series. I also want to say that I love Annabeth Chase (both the book and tv show version) with my entire being and you will never find me being an Annabeth hater. She’s my girl.

We good? Okay cool. So here’s the thing: I’ve seen a lot of people on here saying things like “If you didn’t like the books, you just don’t know how to have fun,” and “The new book haters are just mad that they aren’t the target audience anymore,” and (my personal favorite) “Nothing in the books has changed, only the readers have.”

And while I see your points, and I respect you, allow me to show you something. Because of the 10 picture limit, I am only going to focus on one specific change: Annabeth’s view of Percy.

WOTTG: Annabeth is surprised to be comforted by Percy

Past Books: Percy is constantly comforting Annabeth

WOTTG: Annabeth is shocked when Percy is smart

Past Books: Annabeth often points out that Percy is intelligent

WOTTG: Annabeth thinks Percy can’t do anything on his own, and Rick communicates that Annabeth is always saving his ass

Past Books: Percy is ALWAYS watching her back, and saving her ass just as much (and Annabeth admits that)

I could put a hundred quotes in here. I could go on and on and on. But I can’t, and I won’t.

My problem with this new book is NOT that it is more goofy than serious. My problem is NOT that little things have changed. My problem is NOT that it’s just for fun. My problem is NOT that it’s much more childish. (And by the way, I’ve read PJO and HOO as an adult, so it’s not like I was a child when I read everything else and am now an adult reading the new ones.) I really did like and enjoy many parts of this book.

My problem is that the characters (especially Annabeth) have flat out changed—in bad ways—and we have no choice but to accept it as canon. My problem is that Rick, while trying to merge his books with his new TV show project, is changing the entire personalities and past behaviors/ tendencies of the characters.

I loved Chalice of the Gods. You know why? It was fun, goofy, and showed the characters that we know and love being happy and adorable. I strongly dislike Wrath of the Triple Godess because the characters—no matter how adorable and happy they might be—are no longer the ones we know and love.

My problem is that Rick Riordan fully admitted that he no longer considers the old book characters when he writes the new books. He is now purposefully incorporating his own personal mixture of the book characters and tv characters and writing those versions instead. Because of his desire to change and transform the series, I doubt he’s even read the original PJO or HOO books in years, which is why everything is so inconsistent. The old book characters—the ones who made the series what it was—are gone. And that is not my opinion. Rick fully admits that he doesn’t imagine them when he writes anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the tv show actors. I adore Walker and Leah and Aryan with my whole heart, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But the fact is: they will never be exactly like the book characters. It’s impossible for actors to become the words on a page. They’re their own unique version! And likewise, you cannot turn actors into print. It doesn’t work! And why would you try? The books versions were perfect as they were. And the disney kids need to make the characters their own. The two versions can exist side by side, equally as wonderful, and still be gloriously different. We should celebrate the uniqueness of both. But instead, Rick is attempting to merge them into one. And in my opinion, it’s just hurting them both. And I’m gonna get real brave by saying this, but do you want my honest prediction? If he keeps doing what he’s doing now, the TV show is going to get cancelled and the books are going to turn into a joke. I so, so badly hope that this doesn’t happen! I have loved Rick and PJO for many, many years. I badly want both to thrive. But what is going on right now… it is not working, no matter how much we all want it to. And speaking as someone who knows people in the TV/Film industry, I am sadly not the only one who thinks the show is gonna flop. Which is devastating, because Rick Riordan deserves a redemption on the big screen, and the incredible actors deserve to bring this series to life in a new way.

I am not trying to force my opinions onto anybody. You are welcome to disagree with me and move on. I am not saying that I’m right and you’re wrong. If you disagree, that’s okay. If you agree but you don’t have a problem with it, that’s okay. In fact if other people have literally no issues, that makes me somewhat happy. And if you loved the book, I’m honestly so stoked for you. Feel free to just keep on scrolling, my friend.

But me? I’m sad. I’m really, really freaking sad. And I’m a little angry too, even if I don’t have a right to be. I can’t help it because I’m only human. But this is how I—and a lot of other people—feel. And you know what? That’s okay too. Because the fact of the matter is:

Annabeth isn’t the same Annabeth anymore. And Percy isn’t the same Percy anymore. And it’s not because they went through trauma, or because time has passed. It’s because Rick Riordan doesn’t have any interest in writing those versions of them anymore. And I think the comparisons between the old and the new show that fact pretty clearly.

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 20 days ago

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Rile Him Up

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~700

Warnings: sexual tension

Summary: Class is so much more fun when Spencer Reid is your professor.

Square Filled: college au (2020) for @cm-kinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

The desks in class have always been uncomfortable, but you’re feeling a bit extra this morning. Your entire body is sore and there is stiffness in your neck where there shouldn’t be. The back support isn’t great in these small desks, but you make do with what you have. Your best friend walks into class, and you sit up straighter and put a smile on your face.

“Hey, Ames. How was your vacation?”

“Oh, I wish I was back in Paree,” she says with a slight French accent. “But I’m also glad to be back here with you. How was your weekend?”

“Tiring. I barely got any sleep last night, and my neck is sore. Maybe I slept on it wrong, I don’t know.”

“After class, I’ll give you the name of my massage therapist. He works wonders on my body, and he’ll even take you for free as a courtesy to me.”

“Are you fucking him?” you grin.

“That’s neither here nor there,” she giggles.

“Well, thanks. I’ll take it.”

The rest of the class comes into the room including the young professor, Dr. Spencer Reid. All the women in his class have googly eyes for him. What’s there to look at? He just has honey-brown eyes, curly brown hair, a lean but toned body, and a very intelligent brain. He’s every woman’s dream, apparently.

Instantly, whispers fill the room, mostly from the women. Spencer sets his bag on top of his desk and walks to the whiteboard. He grabs a marker and writes “Criminology 101” on it.

“I have graded your tests from last week. I have to say, the majority of you did not pass. I do encourage office hours for those who need extra help. There is no shame in asking for it,” Spencer announces.

Spencer takes the graded tests from his bag and starts to pass them out. You don’t want to turn back and hurt even more from the kink in your neck, so you only watch him when he’s in the front of the class. He gets to you and sets your test face down on the desk without sparing you a glance. You grab your test and turn it over, silently scowling at the B.

You deserved an A.

“If you have any questions about the grade you’ve received, please see me at the end of class.”

You take your laptop out of your bag as Spencer moves on to the next subject. He speaks but you don’t hear a word he’s saying. You lean back in your chair and spread your legs slightly like how a man would spread his. Spencer briefly looks your way before moving on.

“This next project we’re going to do is worth thirty percent of your grade, so you’re going to work in pairs to get this done.” Chatter picks up as people already pick the person they want to work with. “Once you have your partner, you’re going to research a famous criminal in world history, create a profile about that person, come up with victimology, and how you would apprehend them. Once you have the criminal in mind, come up and let me know. No two groups will have the same criminal. Get started.”

You and Amy immediately pair up and start researching famous criminals, but you can’t look down long because your neck will start to hurt.

“Damn, you must really have hurt your neck,” Amy says.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

Your phone rings and you see a text pop up from your boyfriend. You smirk and hide your phone away from Amy even though she isn’t paying attention to you.

My Love💞: I hope I didn’t choke you too hard last night.

Me: Maybe a little, but I liked it. We should be talking about the B you just gave me.

You look up and lock eyes with none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. He leans back in his chair but the expression on his face doesn’t change.

My Love💞: Your argument was weak. You can do better than that. What we should be talking about are those pretty pink panties I see peeking out from under your skirt. Close your legs. Get back to work.

You smirk and put your phone away. Instead of replying to him, you open your legs a bit more. Even from where you are, you can hear him growl softly. Class is so much more fun when your boyfriend is the professor.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

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itsbeeble · 1 year ago

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NO BITCHES?

SUMMARY: When you met Eric, you’d thought he was just another frat boy, looking to get into any woman’s pants (particularly yours at that moment). You never would’ve thought that he was just a loser who really liked FNAF and just thought you were pretty.

GENRE: smut, fluff, crack, mild angst

PAIRING: Eric Sohn x afab!reader (ft hak, sunwoo, sunwoo's gf, and sangyeon)

WC: 10.5k (there go my plans of proving Ally wrong)

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @winterchimez

18+ MDNI AGLESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: um... okay so virgin!eric, kinda dom!reader, eric's a fucking loser, reader kinda makes fun of him at first for being a virgin, reader kinda teaches eric about everything from kissing to uh...yeah, dry humping, kissing, making out, oral (m and f receiving), eric cums in his pants, eric plays fnaf, um...public making out? public fingering?, multiple orgasms, eric goes from little virgin boy to I TOLD YOU WE NEEDED MORE GLITTER real fast, sunwoo slander, sunwoo's annoying in this idk, eric's a dumb gamer boy who needs desperate help from the boy who concussed his gf (cough sunwoo), slight bit of miscommunication?, eric cries (ummmm dacryphilia?), reader also cries (again...dacryphilia?), edging el oh el, sunwoo and. reader know the importance of CONSENT, i think that's all the important stuff

A/N: I'm never gonna beat the allegations... ally will always think i bias eric. Anyway, happy birthday to my little munchkin princess eric sohn 🥰🥰

Eric was practically shaking as he approached you. Scratch that, he was definitely shaking but he could blame the ripples covering the drinks in his hand on the pumping base. It thrummed in his veins, or maybe that was his pulse steadily increasing when he locked eyes with you.

You. His gorgeous, intelligent, perfect…

Lab partner. You were his lab partner and at that very moment, nothing more. At least, not in your eyes. Eric, though? He was enamored by you. The way you laugh, the teasing grin when he does something wrong and you scold him, the way your body looks in that dress—

“Hi.” You look away from your friends and face him, a curious look on your face. He’s starting to feel warm. Was it warm in here? He thinks he’s starting to sweat, and can feel something drip down the back of his neck.

“Hi…?” Your hands are empty, and Eric forces himself not to jump up and down with glee that he doesn’t have to make the excuse of having two drinks for himself.

“I’m— Do you—” He stutters, and heat begins to spread from his neck to his cheeks as your friends giggle. You just smile. A kind smile that has his body slowly relaxing the more he looks at your face. “Do you wanna drink— I mean— fuck, I meant do you want a drink. Not— not do you wanna drink— I mean that could— that is also a question, but—”

More laughter from your friends and Eric suddenly thinks he’s gonna throw up all over you, your dress, and his nice white button-up shirt that he’d forced Sangyeon to iron for him.

“Thank you, Eric.” You say, reaching for the cup in his left hand. Your fingers brush against his, and his knees begin to wobble visibly. Your smile disappears into a concerned frown, and suddenly Eric’s attention is on your lips. He isn’t paying attention to his surroundings anymore. Can’t find himself caring that your friends are still laughing at the scenario, nor that you shoo them away.

“Eric?” Your hand waves in front of his face, effectively catching the boy’s attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Eric says it far too quickly, knowing immediately that you don’t believe him. Fortunately, one of his many charms is that he’s very good at lying to people. “I’m perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”

You giggle, and it’s the sweetest sound that he’s ever heard.

“You just— you seem a little uncomfortable right now.” You lean close to him, scanning his face under the flashing lights. You can hardly make out his features under the colors. Blue, purple, red, white, green, yellow. All the colors under the rainbow covered his face and changed every few seconds. When they flashed white, you swear you can see a flush in his cheeks.

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” He leans toward you with a sudden surge of confidence that has your heart pounded a bit. “Why would I ever be uncomfortable around the most beautiful girl in the building?”

And there it is, folks, you think. Your eye twitches, something so subtle that Eric fails to catch it. The irritation, the disappointment.

“Ah, I see.” You grimace, and Eric begins to panic again.

“What— did I upset you?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“Eric, if you wanna get into my pants you’re gonna have to try better than that.”

Eric’s heart drops to the floor, his face flushing even more as he begins to panic. He stutters, he tries to backtrack, he tries to explain himself. You, however, are hearing none of it. Not a single word that comes out of his mouth reaches your ears.

“Stop, Eric.” You snap and his mouth snaps shut. “Just…Just stop.”

You set the cup he’d given you down on the table, and he stares at it dumbly while you storm away to find your friends again. The amber liquid in the cup sloshes with the base echoing around it and the loud noise of partygoers around him.

He watches it spill over the lip of the cup, and then sets his own cup down next to it, turning around to return to the party but the weight of crushing rejection sits uncomfortably on his chest.

It’s two days later when you see Eric again. Monday morning, an 8AM Physics lecture that no one wants to be in. Two weeks into the semester, and almost twenty people had already dropped the class. He walks in with a black hat covering his head, and a white tee shirt covering his torso. It’s certainly not clothing suitable for the cold air of early February, but he’d been unable to do his laundry over the weekend due to the parties on Friday and Saturday and the neverending clean-up that occurred on Sunday.

He spots you, tucked well into the second row, and his eyes light up. Yours, on the other hand, narrow. You keep your gaze on him while he makes his way up to you as quickly as possible, hoping to have a chance to talk to you before the lecture begins.

“Hey,” he grins at you, gently setting his bag on the chair to his left and turning to face you. Your eyes are still narrowed with suspicion. “How was your weekend?”

How was your weekend? It’s as if the both of you hated that question; one of you cringing with something close to disgust, the other with something like horror. Is he stupid?

“It was fine,” you tell him curtly. Eric frowns, leaning back in his chair when you turn your gaze to the front.

“Did I do something wrong?” He blurts out, and your shoulders sag. Was that the wrong thing to ask? Did he do something wrong?

“Did you seriously just ask me that?” You hiss out, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He opens his mouth to speak, but he has a hard time finding the words. What is he even supposed to say? What if you think he’s an asshole for not knowing what was wrong? What if you never smile at him again?

“I— honestly I really don’t know!” You scoff and Eric sits up, leaning forward on the table to get a better view of your face. You can see the pout, see the way his eyebrows knit together in what you can only assume is faux confusion. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he did.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You look at him fully now and watch the way his body recoils from the words. Hurt, confusion. No anger. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Eric Sohn angry in the two years you’d shared classes with him.

“What— what did I even do?” The professor walks in, and he hushes his voice. “I can’t fix things if I don’t know what I did wrong!”

“That’s your own damn fault then, isn’t it?” You click your pen, and Eric shuts up. You almost feel bad, carefully watching as he takes out his own notebook to begin taking notes. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the lecture, and you feel a pang of regret in your chest. Maybe he really doesn’t know what he did wrong, you think, nibbling on your lip in thought. No, there’s no way he doesn’t know. He’s the smartest guy in the room, no way does he not know what—

You glance at Eric again, this time turning your head to fully look at him. His blond hair falls over his eyes, even with the hat covering his head. His shoulders are hunched, his hand moving so quickly over the lined paper so that he can at least try to keep up with your professor. For a moment, you think about Eric Sohn. About the frat boy who had been nothing but kind to you since the day you met. About the boy who once gave you notes far more detailed than you’d ever written during the week you were sick. About the boy who—

No, you shake your head and begin to write down more equations you know you’re going to have to ask Eric about later. He’s a frat boy. All he wants is a good fuck and then he’s gone.

But why did he seem so hurt when you spoke to him so rudely? When you turned him away not once, but twice within the past three days.

You liked him, you really did! He was kind, thoughtful, and he was always helping anyone he could. He never refused to help anyone, even if it was a subject that he didn’t know that well. Had you gotten it wrong? Was he just trying to talk to you and you had responded—

Your pen clicks again as you give up on the notes, and you lean back in your chair to squint at the whiteboard in front of you.

Talking with Eric Sohn was inevitable, but it was only a matter of how long you could avoid the topic—

“I want all of you to pair up. These will be your partners for the midterm project.”

Eric’s gaze turns to you uneasily, tilting his head in question. You bite down hard on your tongue, fighting every urge inside of you to turn around and ask the girl behind you to be partners.

Fuck, how could you say no to those eyes?

Your room is brighter than Eric thought it would be. When you originally invited him over to study that night, he had been terrified. Was your apartment going to be almost falling apart? What if it was really nice and he broke something? What if you killed him and stuffed him into a dumpster?

Fortunately, none of those things were necessarily true. Your building wasn’t falling apart, thankfully, although it was arguably nicer than any other off-campus apartments and you could still choose to kill him.

It was nice, though. It was a two-bedroom apartment that you shared with your friend Eunseung, one full bathroom and another half-bathroom, a decent kitchen, and a nice-sized living space. According to what you told him in the last semester, the rent wasn’t too awful either.

The walls of your bedroom were yellow, but not an ugly shade of yellow. It was pastel, not quite bright enough to be harsh on the eyes but not dark enough to make it hard to see. You’d lined bookshelves up to the wall, most filled with books but some with photos and plants and music albums. You had a small desk in the corner, and your bed was aligned with the center of the back wall, a light green comforter covering white sheets.

“I’m surprised we’ve never studied here.” You hum, but your tone is distant. Eric laughs dryly and sets his bag down on the ground next to your bedframe.

“You prefer the library,” he points out. “The lighting is easier for your eyes.”

For a moment, you pause in your motions. How did he—

“How did you know that?” You ask, turning to face him. You can see the flush in your partner’s cheeks, and he ducks his head so that the baseball cap on his head covers his eyes.��

“I just— you would always squint when we studied at the library or— or at the TBZ house. I just…I figured that was the reason.” I pay attention. That’s what you knew he meant.

Why does a boy who only wants to get into your pants care so much about you?

“Oh.” You dig your laptop out of your bag and take a seat on your bed, leaning against your pillows with your legs straight out in front of you. Eric joins you, sitting crosslegged at the other end of the bed. He’s careful not to get too close, shifting away from you when you adjust your position. Your skirt flares out to the side, ruffled by the blanket and exposing your thighs a bit more. Eric has to force his eyes to remain on his laptop. You notice, but there’s no anger with it. You choose to not even acknowledge it.

“So what do we wanna do for our project?” His eyes flick over to you, and you shrug.

“We could build something?” You suggest. “Maybe, like, a paper airplane launcher?”

He hums, tilting his head back and wrinkling his nose in thought.

“What about something with electromagnetism?” You nod slowly.

“That could be good. We could keep with the idea of building something and make an electric motor with things people have lying around their houses?”

Eric grins at you. “Now we’re thinking. We’ll have this done in no time at all.”

Eric was right.

The brainstorming and research portion of the project had been completed within a few hours, and the two of you had cast your laptops to the side to search your apartment for things to use. Paper clips, some sort of copper wire (you had no idea why anyone would have a copper wire hanging around their house. Eric, however, said that there were several around the frat house), wood, some batteries. Anything that the two of you could use. The only thing neither of you had was a staple gun.

“It’s getting late,” Eric notes with a quick glance toward your living room window. You hum in response, lying back on your couch with your phone in your hand. “I should get going soon.”

Your eyes flick to him, but he isn’t looking at you. “Do you wanna stay the night?”

Silence. A long moment of silence, and then Eric looks at you with a look nearing scandalized.

“What?” You sit up, draping your arms over the back of your couch and getting a better look at him.

“You heard me.” His face is bright red, similar to the night of the party.

“Why would— why would I want— I mean th— thank you for the offer but— but I can’t stay the night. Why would— where would I even sleep? I don’t have clothes to sleep in!” He throws every excuse he could possibly think of at you, adding to your amusement. He had no clothes, where would he sleep, you had classes earlier in the morning than him, it would be weird if he stayed the night. It was cute.

You’ll admit it, Eric was cute. The puppy-like look in his eyes, the pout on his lips. Everything about him was cute. It almost shocked you how fast you were able to get over the anger that he only wanted to sleep with you. In fact, you weren’t sure that’s what he even wanted from you. Only one way to find out, right?

“Eric,” you finally cut off his rambling and his voice stops, leaving your apartment oddly quiet. “Come here.”

He listens, slowly slinking toward you. Eric is nervous, you can tell. Every step he takes, every twitch when you shift your body. It fills you with pride, or maybe some other emotion.

Eric stops when he’s right in front of you, just a few steps from the back of the couch and both of you (really just him) are all too aware of how his crotch is level with your mouth.

“I wanna tell you something,” you beckon him toward you with one finger and he slowly, albeit a bit awkwardly as well, bends down so that his face is just above yours. Heat radiates off his face, so hot that you may start sweating soon. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands gripping the couch for dear life, short nails digging into the cheap fabric.

“Sure.” Eric’s voice is hoarse, and it makes you smile.

“I kinda like you, Eric.”

Your lips press gently against his. Entirely experimental, just enough to see what he would do. His body seizes up, his breath hitching in his throat. He doesn’t move against you, doesn’t tilt his head or part his lips. He sits there like the lead in a lame drama where the main characters seem like they couldn’t be less into each other. You begin to pull away from him, fearing you’d made him a bit uncomfortable, but a whine is pulled from his throat when your lips part from his.

You look at him, but he’s already looking at you with wide, bulging eyes.

“Eric…” You have a sneaking suspicion that you know why he didn’t kiss you. “Have you…has no one ever kissed you before?”

“What?” The boy’s voice is shrill, and you know the answer. “Of— of course, I’ve been kissed? What kind of question is that?”

Your lips quirk up. “Are you sure? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you know.”

“What— why would I be embarrassed?” His frustration and denial are cute. Adorable, really.

“Because you’re a sophomore in college and have been kissed once— by your physics partner, no less.” You smirk playfully and then gasp, pushing up and toward him suddenly. He reels back, nearly falling backward with the suddenness of the motion. “Eric Sohn! Are you a virgin?”

Eric looks like he’s about to cry from embarrassment, and he turns away from you completely. You grimace briefly and climb off the couch to come around and stand in front of him. He avoids your gaze by looking above you, around you, at the floor and the walls.

“Eric,” your voice is gentle now. He doesn’t move, nor does he make any noise. He’s like a deer in headlights. “Eric, can you look at me.”

“No,” he denies, crossing his arms over his chest. You feel a bubble of amusement rising in your stomach. “You’re just gonna make fun of me.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” You promise, your hand grazing his forearm. Eric’s eyes lock with yours, and for once you choose to hold his gaze. “Now, can you tell me the truth so I can help you?”

“Help me,” he echoes with an air of offense. “I don’t need help!”

“Eric, you’re a sophomore in college who’s in the most popular frat on the campus. Add onto that your personality and your good looks, you should be getting bitches left and right.” You say pointedly and the tips of his ears flush red. Or, rather, as red as they can when his whole face is burning up from your prior insinuations.

“What if I’m just waiting for marriage?” He counters. “Or— or the right person?” Your lips draw into a thin line, knowing that statement was bullshit.

“We both know you wouldn’t be hard as a rock right now if that was the case.”

Eric’s heart plummets to the ground, his eyes following it to check for himself. To his complete and utter dismay, you weren’t lying. Pressing against the front of his cargo pants was the solid outline of his member, straining against the seam and begging to be released.

“I— I am so— so sorry,” he stammers, his hands yanking the edge of his sweatshirt down to cover himself, his hands remaining carefully placed over his crotch but he knows it’s too late. “I didn’t— I don’t— oh my god I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, holding tightly onto his sleeve so he can’t run for the door. “I knew you wanted to sleep with me, it was kind of obvious.”

“No I— I don’t want—” Eric frantically shakes his head. “I don’t— I can’t— I don’t wanna sleep with you— I mean I do, I really really do, but not— not like this—”

The hand on his sleeve comes up to grab his cheeks, squeezing them together until his lips are pushed out and he can’t speak anymore.

“You can admit it, Eric.” You hum, and with your hand still on his face, you begin to walk him back and around to the side of the couch. He yelps when you push him back, letting go of his face and watching him fall over the arm and land with an oof on the cushions. “You can admit that you wanted to fuck me from the moment you saw me.”

“But I—” He choked on spit before he could finish talking, eyes widening into saucers when you climbed onto the couch, crawling up to sit on his lap. He’s sitting up straight now, but the risk of falling back again is high with nothing to support his spine. Your hands just rest on his shoulders, not digging in or moving to grasp anything else. They stay there, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Tell me if you don’t want me to continue, Eric.” His hands are trembling, his pulse higher than it’s ever been. He slowly rotates his body, placing his feet firmly on the ground and resting his spine against the back of the couch so that he doesn’t hurt either of you.

“I want—” his voice cracks.

“What do you want?” Your lips are on his neck, featherlight kisses being left in your wake and knocking the breath out of him. He’d never felt like this, he’d never been touched like this save for his own hand in the darkness of his room with an animated video on loop on his laptop screen. At his lack of response, you pull your lips back from his neck. Eric lets out a loud whine at this, his left hand coming to the back of your head to lightly try and push you back into him.

“Keep doing that,” he gasps out, and you smile.

“Don’t you want me to kiss you?” You ask him, and another whine tumbles from his lips.

“I— fuck, I do— god, why are you doing this to me?”

“I just wanna know what you want, Eric,” you’re teasing him and you know it, but you’re pretty sure Eric might fall to pieces if you don’t give him something soon. “Can’t you tell me what you want?”

“Just—” he leans his head back, and you watch the rapid bobbing of his throat as he tries to swallow and take in air and do anything to calm himself down. “Just do something.”

“What’s the magic word?” He raises his head, gasping when he finds your lips suddenly inches from his own.

“Ple— please?” Your lips quirk up.

“Actually, it was—”

You don’t get the chance to tease him anymore. He crushes your lips together with so much force that it almost hurts. There’s nothing coherent about the way he kisses you, although you could hardly call it a kiss at all. It was more him putting his mouth against yours, tilting his head, and squeezing his eyes shut. It’s clear from the moment it started that he’s never been kissed before and that knowledge has you squirming in his lap.

“Eric,” you’ve barely pulled back and he’s chasing your lips as if you’re a glass of his favorite wine. “Eric, hold on.”

“Why?” His eyes flutter open and you have to force yourself not to kiss him senseless, even if he has no idea what he’s doing.

“Just—” You inhale deeply and the scent of his cologne begins to overwhelm your senses, practically intoxicating you. “You’ve never kissed anyone before.”

He nods, his previous embarrassment returning when you say that. “I mean…Yeah, I— I haven’t. But I—I’ve used WikiHow—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off and choose to ignore the comment about WikiHow, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just follow my lead.”

When he nods, you press your lips against his again. This time, it’s more fluid. It’s easier for you to kiss him when he’s copying your movements. It’s still awkward, your teeth smacking together painfully, but you can tell he’s getting used to the feeling. You’re able to part your lips against his, to open your mouth just enough for your tongue to slip out and brush against his lower lip. His whole body jolts, his hands digging into the fabric of your skirt hard enough that your skin would be bruised the next day. His hips roll up against yours, drawing a heady moan out of you.

When Eric parts from you, his eyes are hazy. “Did— did you like when I did that?”

“Yes,” you groan and begin to roll your hips down into his, watching the way his eyes roll into the back of his head and his back arches off the couch.

“F-Fuck, okay,” He screws his eyes shut again, lips completely parted as the two of you begin to hump into each other like some damn animals. Your lips meld together again, and you let your tongue slither into his mouth. It’s obvious that Eric has no idea what to do with his tongue— pushing against yours aggressively, shoving it to the side, and trying to push his into your mouth— but as the minutes pass, he begins to understand what to do. He begins to understand what makes your body react positively and what has you unintentionally cringing away from him.

Your lips part from his one more time but you hardly give him time to complain before you place a kiss on his cheek, then the corner of his jaw, and then right below his ear. He emits a nearly wild moan at this, his hips jerking up into yours in such a way that his bulge presses against your clit and punches a moan out of you. Being the quick learner that he is, Eric adjusts his position and rolls his hips up again and again and again, addicted to the way you sound and feel against him.

“Eric,” you whine, parting from his neck. “Eric, oh my god.”

He just huffs into your collarbone, licking and sucking and trying desperately to not cum too soon, but you just feel so good against him that he just can’t help it.

His hips stutter against yours, and he moans so loud you fear that the neighbors hear it. You let him continue to grind into you, to work himself through his orgasm as your slips back and escapes you. It doesn’t matter, you’d get yourself when he leaves—

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?” You blink dumbly at him, and Eric begins to pout.

“You didn’t— you didn’t cum. You should’ve told me. I would’ve held off!” You knew that wasn’t true. He could barely hold himself together from a few kisses, what made him think he’d be able to hold himself off until you came?

“It’s fine, Eric.” You reassure him, but he’s having none of it. You can’t stop him from lifting you off his hips and settling you against the couch cushions. Well…you probably could, but you wanted to see where this went.

You watch as he unceremoniously yanks down your panties, not bothering with your skirt whether out of impatience or because he liked seeing you in it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Eric peers up at you, a boyish smile on his face.

“Can’t be that hard, right?” You laugh, choosing not to argue with him. You’d tell him, when it came time, where your clit is but for now? You’d let him work things out for himself.

Your body shudders when Eric takes his first taste, licking from the bottom to the top of your pussy. You’re amazed that he didn’t accidentally go too far down like most (slightly more experienced) men have. It’s almost impressive how much attention he pays to your quivering body, and you flip your skirt up so you can see his face buried into you. Every lick draws out a moan from both of you, and you can see him starting to roll his hips down onto the couch.

“Fuck,” his words are muffled by your cunt, and vile slurping noises accompany him. “Could get addicted to the taste of you.”

“Mm, feels good, Eric.” Your eyes flutter shut, one of your hands slipping down to tangle in his blonde strands of hair and tugging him up slightly. Your other hand taps at your clit lightly, making your body jolt a bit. “Here. This— fuck— feels good here.”

“That’s it?” He drops his head down again, swatting your hand out of the way to replace it with his own. His touch is much rougher than yours, his hands thick and calloused compared to your delicate ones. “Right here?”

You whine for him, and he has to bite on his tongue to not cum again so fast. He’s quick to attach his mouth to your clit, sucking violently and swiping his tongue against it. If you weren’t impressed by him before, you most certainly were now. It hadn’t taken him long at all to figure out what felt good for you. Reading your mind and body was almost second nature to him, it seemed, and it became abundantly clear when your orgasm began to rise again.

“Close, Eric!” You gasped out, “I’m close!”

He groans against you, catching your hips in his hands when they begin to roll into his face. Eric wanted to drown in you. He wanted to feel you shake around him for the rest of his damn life. He wanted to hear you screaming his name until your throat was raw and your voice was gone.

And the sight of you cumming on his face, your essence soaking his chin and dripping onto his sweatshirt?

If he could stay glued to you for the rest of his life, he fucking would.

Becoming a habit came easy for you and Eric. You’re not dating, but you’re unsure of whether the puppy-like boy cares or not. You discovered very quickly that he would do anything for you, would learn anything for you. You’d successfully taught him how to kiss a girl without looking like a dumbass (i.e. the straight-face-to-sudden-kiss scenario you’d faced too many times to count), how to finger you and hit all the right spots, where not to put his mouth and fingers unless explicitly told otherwise. There was, of course, your next problem.

Eric refused to put his dick in you.

You knew he was clean, both of you had gotten tested when you originally began screwing around. You knew he liked you, that much was obvious. He looked at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, he told you how much he loved you every time you gave him head. He just…never went farther than that. Was he scared? Did he not want you as bad as you (very clearly) wanted him? It made you nauseous to think about, but it was getting frustrating how all you two did was make out, grind on each other like teenagers, and give each other head every time you saw each other. Shit— he was even fine with fingering you underneath the table in your lecture the other day!

That’s why you developed a plan. Here you were, standing outside of the Tau Beta Zeta frat house under the guise of needing to work on your project (which wasn’t necessarily a lie) but really planning on getting him to finally fuck you. Yes, you were aware of the fact that he was a virgin but it was obvious from the start that he didn’t give a shit about that.

Unless he did. Your hand pauses just inches from the door, but you shake your head to clear the anxious thought and you knock on the door.

One, two, three…one, two three…one—

On the third round of knocks, a boy swings the door open. His eyes are wide, his hair in disarray.

“Hi.” You wave your hand with a smile, but the boy just stands there with a dumb look on his face. Were all the TBZ boys like this?

“…Hi?” He says it in the form of a question, which draws a laugh out of you.

“I’m Y/N.”

“…Sunwoo…”

“Oh, the star soccer player, right?” He nods and you grin. “I saw your last game, the one where your girlfriend— I’m assuming girlfriend— knocked some sense into you. You really killed it out there!”

“Thank you…uh…can— can I help you?” You rock back and forth on your heels, biting at your lip in thought. The idea of wearing a skirt is choosing to bite you in the ass as a cold breeze picks up.

“I’m here for Eric, actually. Um…Eric Sohn? I think he lives here, right?” Sunwoo’s jaw drops, his head dipping down as well and he steps to the side to let you in. You smile, using your feet to pull your shoes off as you step into the entryway. You see a pile of shoes to your left, the larger men’s pairs shoved into a large pile while some smaller women’s shoes sit neatly. You can’t help but wonder if it was the girlfriends that did this or if one of the frat members cares a bit more about them than the others.

“He’s…he’s on the second floor, third door on the left…” You thank Sunwoo, ignoring how he follows you with obvious confusion and awe. Another boy passes by you, staring in confusion but ends up in the same state as the soccer player when he explains the situation.

You knock before you enter Eric’s room, rocking on your heels again as you wait for some sort of response. You get none, and when you go to interrupt him, the second boy stops you.

“Hi, um, I’m Haknyeon— you can call me Hak, though— Eric’s— he’s— he’s gaming. You can just go in because there’s no way you’re gonna get his attention by— by, um— yeah.” He stumbles over his words in an almost incomprehensible way, but you get the basic idea.

“Thanks, Hak,” you dip your head and twist the doorknob. Sunwoo and Hak both watch you enter the room, only snapping out of their daze when you shut the door tightly behind you.

“You…you saw that too, right?” Haknyeon grabs Sunwoo by the shoulder with a grin on his face.

“My best friend…” Sunwoo’s voice is quiet with confusion. “He’s…he’s getting bitches?”

“What did I say about saying that,” his girlfriend pops around the corner with a scowl on her face. Sunwoo’s face lights up, but it disappears at the scolding gaze she gives him.

“Sorry, baby,” he pouts and she rolls her eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Give them some damn privacy,” she clicks her tongue, eyeing the door. “Lord knows they’re probably gonna need it.”

Eric is facing a large gaming setup when you enter the room. You can see the dark polo sweater which is partially unzipped to reveal some of his chest, the beige hat, and the khaki combo he had, unfortunately, chosen to wear today (you’re going to have to update his closet soon, whether you date him or not. You have to save the next girl he’s with). The lights, shockingly, are purple rather than the red you had expected. You can see expensive monitors and a keyboard, all of which are cleaner than any other gamer’s setup that you’d seen. In fact, his whole room is so much cleaner than you had ever given him credit for. You’d expected to see something absolutely filthy, but Eric never fails to shock you.

What doesn’t shock you, however?

Five Nights At Freddy’s playing on the screens.

You clear your throat, and he barely even spares a glance at you. You wonder if he even recognized that it was you—

“Yo, Y/N!” Oh god, this might not go as planned. “You’re early!”

“Figured I’d come by to hang out before we got started on the paper.” You come up behind him, dropping your bag and jacket by the edge of the bed, revealing the black sheer top you’d chosen to go with your white skirt. You’d also chosen the perfume you know gets his attention the most, the one that always has him practically gluing his face to your neck.

That doesn’t happen this time. He stays glued to his game, his legs spread wide open and tongue sticking out from the corner of his lips.

“Feel— fuck!” His body jerks when an animatronic (Foxy, maybe?) comes out of a vent and gives him barely enough time to start protecting himself. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable, I might take a while.”

You hum, not moving from your spot. Your hands are on the back of his gaming chair, your eyes focused on the screen with fake intrigue. He doesn’t acknowledge you, so you let your hands begin to sink onto his shoulders. His chin tilts toward you a bit, but he corrects himself and goes back to ignoring you even when your nails graze the skin of his collarbone.

“What are you doing?” Eric asks, but it’s more dismissive than anything.

“Just watching you play,” you reply with a sly grin. Another jumpscare appears, and he grunts when you intentionally dig your nails into him (something you’ve learned he loves over the past two weeks).

Part two of your scheme begins when you sink to your knees beside Eric and slip under his desk. This grabs his attention. Eric watches as you get comfortable, no longer paying attention to the screens in front of him when you run your hands up his thighs, grazing the button of his khaki pants.

“Y/N, this—” his breath catches in his throat when you finally undo the button and pull the zipper down. You can see his member already hardening, twitching in his boxers. “You don’t have to— I don’t— why—”

“Jus’ play your game, baby.” You purr, your fingers hooking under the band of his boxers to tug them and his pants down at the same time. His jaw is hanging open, eyes wide with awe, but you stop your movements. “Play your game, Eric, or I’m leaving.”

His response is immediate, sliding his chair closer to you and lifting his hips to let you work. Your smirk is wide, and you yank his clothing down in one go, letting them rest around his ankles. Eric’s knee begins to bounce, and you rest your hand on top of it to steady him. His member, in just a few moments, has completely hardened. You can see the slick precum beginning to leak from his tip, and you lower your mouth to catch each drop on his tongue.

The moan he emits is loud, and you pull your mouth back just an inch to dig your nails into his thigh.

“Stay quiet and don’t cum unless I say so.” He whimpers in response, and you bring your mouth back onto him. You begin by suckling at his tip, letting your tongue swirl around him like a lollypop, and listening to his barely restrained moans. You hear clicking and tapping on his keyboard, as well as random noises from the game

You take him a little deeper and his thighs tense, but he’s good at staying quiet. He’s good even when his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag around him. Even when you take him so deep that you’re choking on him and spit is dripping from your mouth and onto his skin. Even when you begin hollowing your mouth and bobbing your head, and swallowing around him a few times when you take him all the way down so your nose is against his pelvis.

Another jumpscare and his hips jerk and force him farther down your throat. You moan around him, your eyes rolling back at the feeling, and that elicits a whine from him.

“Y/N,” he pleads. “I’ve been s-so good for yo—you right? Haven’t— Haven’t I been good? Ple—please let me cum. Jus’ wanna cum, please?”

Eric sees you look up at him through your eyelashes, and just the sight of you slobbering all over him has his eyes rolling back in his head.

Then you pull off him completely, leaving his dick twitching and lonely against his stomach.

“Why did— why did you pull off?” His eyes are dazed, and you flash a coy smile at him.

“I told you to pay attention to the game, didn’t I?”

“I— yeah, you did but— but I just— you—” Eric is tearing up as you begin to push your body out from under the desk to stand in front of him.

“Poor baby,” you cup his cheek and your stomach churns when he leans into your palm with a sigh. “Should’ve just paid attention and beat the night, then, hm?”

“Please,” he whines, leaving little kisses on your palm and working his way to your wrist, your forearm, your elbow, and then he’s pulling you onto his lap so you’re nearly sitting on his dick. You can feel it pulsing against your core, and you can’t help the tiny rolls of your hips to gain some sort of friction. “Please, just— I’ll…I’ll do anything you want. I’ll— I’ll eat you out, I’ll finger you, fuck, I’ll— I’ll let you sit on my face if that’s what you want.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against his chest in thought. “What if I want you to fuck me?”

His body tenses and his cheeks begin to flush, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Eric,” you say softly, moving your hand to his chin and forcing him to look at you. “Eric, talk to me.”

“I— I don’t—”

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything, Eric,” you reassure him, stopping the ministrations of your hips and bringing your free hand to the side of his neck. “I just want to know why. I want to understand. Do you— do you not want me? Do you wanna save yourself for another girl?”

“No!” He snaps, his voice a bit harsher than he’d intended for it to come out but it has you flinching away from him. In a moment of panic, he brings his hands to your waist and tugs you closer to him. “I— sorry. It’s not— it’s not that at all.”

“Then why?” Your hands are playing with the ends of his blonde hair, and Eric swallows once. Twice. And then he tucks his head into your shoulder.

“I…I don’t know.”

You nod, disappointment filling you, but you don’t let it show.

“Let’s work on the project.” You slide off his lap, ignoring the somewhat heartbroken gaze he shoots you. “The paper is due in a couple of days, so I grabbed a few sources and drafted an outline.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just tucks his member back into his pants and comes to join you on his bed. The air is tense and you know he wants to say something. You wait for him to say it.

He doesn’t.

“Eric, you’re fucking stupid.” Sunwoo throws himself onto his best friend’s bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of Eric hitting his head on his desk.

“I know…”

“I mean, we already knew this from previous incidents. Ahem, giving my then-crush-now-girlfriend a concussion. But holy shit I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse than that.”

“I know!” Eric whines, sitting heavily on the gaming chair he’d gotten head on almost four hours ago, and could have gotten laid in had he not been a damn moron.

“I mean, you’ve been trying to get laid by this chick for how long? And you cockblocked yourself because…” Sunwoo trails off, his eyebrows knitting together as he sits up. “Wait, why did you cockblock yourself?”

“I don’t know, man!” Eric huffs and leans his head back. “Fuck, she was so nice about it too. Too nice. I know damn well she’s pissed at me but she’s too fucking nice to say anything.”

“Well yeah,” Sunwoo shrugs. “Sex 101— don’t force yourself onto anyone. Hello? Why would she do that to you?”

Eric crosses his arms over his chest, using his feet to spin his chair back and forth lightly. You had been really sweet about everything. You could’ve gotten mad at him, especially since this wasn’t the first time this had happened, but you didn’t. You wanted him to be ready.

And he was. He was so ready! He just— he gets nervous around you! What if he’s a disappointment? What if he’s so bad that you have to fake an orgasm? What if he doesn’t fit? What if he hurts you?

“Eric,” Sunwoo claps his hands together to snap Eric out of his thoughts. “Stop getting distracted while I’m trying to help you in a way that won’t lead to injuries.”

The poor, self-cockblocked boy lifts his head with a pout.

“There’s a party this weekend, right?”

“Yeah…” Eric tilts his head.

“Make sure she’s there. Use whatever excuse you need to, and make sure she shows up. Then, ask her to talk. Go somewhere private, talk to her, tell her you’re ready, and then fuck until the sun comes up.” Sunwoo claps again, throwing his out to the side in a cocky I just made the best plan ever manner. “First of all, gets you laid, second of all— free revenge on Sangyeon.”

Eric drums his fingers against his legs in thought. The plan was good, he’d admit that. Of course, not out loud. No, he would never let Sunwoo know that he was right about something.

“Fine,” Eric agrees. “But if shit goes south, it’s your fault.”

“Deal,” Sunwoo grins mischievously. “And if shit goes right, you owe me and my girlfriend dinner.”

“Deal.”

Eric doesn’t see you at all that week, something that has him nearly crying on the ground in Sangyeon’s bedroom. He’d texted you, asked if you were okay, sent you notes, told you about the party but didn’t outright invite you. Nothing. No sign of you in lectures, no texts from you aside from a confirmation that you’d submit your written portion of the midterm.

“Take a damn breath.” Sangyeon rolls his eyes and tugs a formfitting black mock-neck shirt over his head, sliding a silver chain around his neck afterward. “She’s probably busy.”

“But she never goes this long without texting me! Or being in a lecture!” The youngest member of the frat holds his head in his hands, staring down at the white buttondown shirt that hung somewhat loosely on his body.

“Maybe she hates you, I don’t know!” Sangyeon exclaims. “Stop bothering me about it!” Eric pouts up at the TBZ president.

“But you know how to handle these things!”

“Not when you’re on my ass about it all day every day for a week straight.” Sangyeon’s lip curls and Eric huffs, laying back on the hardwood floor. “Dude, just be patient. Who knows, maybe she was sick? Maybe she’ll show up today and you’ll get laid. Just. Be. Patient.”

And patient he was.

He lurked around the party, a drink in his hand and a ripped red baseball cap covering his head and shielding his red-rimmed eyes from the public. They didn’t need to know he’d cried over his two-year-long crush ghosting him.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” He turns his body slowly, ready to crack a corny joke, and walk away from whoever yelled in his ear, but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. You’re in another tiny little black skirt and a black bralette that was used as a poor excuse for a shirt with a leather jacket thrown over it. He nearly crumbles in front of you, ready to worship you and the ground you walk on, ready to take you in front of all these people so they know that he’s yours.

“Oh my god.”

You laugh at the dumbstruck look in his eyes, at the way his eyes are stuck on your chest, and the way your bralette pushes your boobs up just enough to catch attention.

“You okay, Eric?” Your hand is on his arm, and in an instant his cup is thrown to the side and his lips are on yours, his tongue shoved into your mouth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, and, really, the suddenness of it all, but you don’t complain. You love how frantic he is for you, love how he’s ready to risk it all after just a week of not seeing you.

When he parts from you, there’s a string of spit connecting your lips that only breaks when you swipe your thumb across his lip.

“How’s that for a hello?” You say just loud enough for him to hear it.

“We need to talk.”

“We do.” You confirm, but his lips are on yours again, and you’re so glad that everyone is distracted by a game of beer pong on the other side of the room. You let your eyes flutter shut, moaning into his mouth when he pushes his tongue against yours. They dance together, swirling around each other but not fighting for dominance. No, this kiss isn’t about that. This is two people being addicted to the taste of each other, two people who could never get enough of what the other has to offer.

You have to force yourself to part from him, turning away so you can find somewhere more private— preferably his bedroom. He doesn’t stray from you, gluing his lips to the side of your neck as you try to weave through the crowd. It’s not easy, especially with Eric on you and refusing to let go, but you don’t mind.

Not when he shoves you against his dresser as soon as his bedroom door is shut and locked.

The handles of the drawers dig against your spine, but you’re too distracted by Eric’s lips on your chest to care. His hat is missing, likely somewhere on the staircase. Your jacket has been thrown to the opposite side of the room, the straps of your bralette shoved down and both breasts freed from its confines so Eric can lick and suck and bite at the soft mounds.

“Eric,” you moan out, arching your back into his hunched form. He groans against you, sucking hard at your nipple and eliciting a loud moan from you. “Eric, pick me up.”

Without even pulling away, he does, plopping you unceremoniously onto his dresser and moving his lips to the other breast, replacing his mouth with his hand. Your hand comes to the back of his head, and you find yourself smiling at the desperation your lover shows.

“Missed me that much, huh?” Your composure is crumbling, but you don’t care. “Might have to disappear more often.”

He rips away from your chest, eyes narrowed into a glare. “Don’t even joke about that. I thought you died.”

You kiss him again, both hands holding his face to yours, and your legs wrap around his waist. Eric’s hands find your thighs and he lifts you off the dresser. He sucks on your tongue, biting on your lip when you start to pull away and you whimper at the sting of pain.

“Thought I died, hm?” You brush back the blonde strands of hair covering his sweaty forehead and smirk. “It’s a good thing I didn’t then, hm? What would you have done? Fucked your fist for the rest of your life?”

A muscle in his jaw feathers and he throws you down on his bed. You yelp, eyes widening at the personality change. A week ago, he would’ve been begging you for any touch, would’ve been falling apart just for one look at your dripping pussy. But now?

Now he looks like a starved animal, and you’re the first helpless creature he’s seen in weeks.

“Eric,” you warn, watching him unbutton his shirt. “Remember what I said.”

He eyes you, smirking at the way your jaw drops when his shirt hits the floor. It’s odd, isn’t it? You’d probably been bare in front of him countless times but you’d hardly seen him with his pants down.

“Holy fuck.” You stare at his torso, at the chiseled abs and biceps, at the veins in his arms, at the trail of hair leading down to his dick. “You’re— you’re fucking shredded.”

“Shredded?” He quirks an eyebrow, undoing his belt and the button of his pants so he can push them down and kick them to the side. “That’s the first word you thought of?”

“Well—” you clear your throat and turn your gaze away from him. “I mean— you are.”

“Cute,” He coos and crawls over you, hooking his fingers into the hem of your skirt. “May I?”

“You may,” you look at him again, then down his body and swallow hard at the sight of him. You’ve seen him many times. You’ve held him in your hand, in your mouth. You know what to expect.

So why does it make you so nervous now?

“You’re getting distracted,” Eric kisses his teeth, lowering his face to yours but not kissing you. He traces his nose across your cheek, light kisses from his lips going with it. His nose nudges against your jaw, urging you to tilt your jaw up so he can kiss you there. You do, and his lips feel like fire against your skin. “I thought you liked it when people pay attention?”

“I— I do!” You gasp out, and Eric laughs against your skin. Where the fuck is all this confidence coming from?

“Then why aren’t you paying attention to me?” His fingers press against your sopping-wet entrance and you lift your hips in a weak attempt to get them inside of you.

“I am!” Tears are welling in your eyes. “I am paying attention to you, Eric, please!”

He juts out his lip in a mocking pout, using the hand that’s not against your heat to wipe the tears away.

“Okay baby,” he says softly, sinking two thick, calloused fingers into you. “Don’t cry, not yet.”

The intrusion has you crying out and Eric does his best to hush you, to soothe you, and then he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. Your fingers cling to his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense and shift with every movement of his arm. Eric grins when your eyes finally flutter shut, when you finally give in to him. He praises you when he slips a third finger into your core, and then a fourth. He praises you as he works you through the sting, curling his fingers gently to search for the spot he knows would have you falling to pieces under him.

Eric finds it easily and is oh so pleased by your wail of his name. He grins almost maliciously, when you begin to shake, when your body begins to thrash, and your nails dig into his shoulders and drag down his back.

“Always so easy for me,” he hums, staring in awe at the wrinkle between your eyebrows and how your tongue practically hangs out of your mouth. When he knows you’re about to cum, he crushes his lips against yours again and begins to move his hand faster. You’re sobbing into his mouth, unable to kiss him back between your cries and moans, but Eric doesn’t mind.

He lets you grind against his hand until you’re not shaking anymore. Then, and only then, does he pull his fingers out of you, watching with curious satisfaction as your cum drips from his fingers and onto the blanket below you.

“Don’t— don’t sit there staring at that shit.” you hiss, but Eric just smiles.

“So you can speak coherently now?”

“Shut up and fuck me already, or do you need me to teach you how to do that too?”

Eric’s gaze hardens, his tongue pushing against his cheek. You push yourself to sit up, but Eric pushes you right back down and uses his hands to push your legs apart.

“I don’t need you to teach me anything,” he grunts, lining his member up with your entrance.

“Really? That’s not what it looked like three weeks ag—oh fuck!” Your back arches off the bed when he suddenly sinks into you. Four fingers seem to have been just barely enough, the sting fading just as fast as it came. Or maybe you just like the pain so much it turned into pleasure. Whatever the reason, you’re quick to tell Eric to pick up the pace.

You’re both shocked and impressed by the movement of his hips. He alternates between smooth, sharp rolls and harsh, pointed thrusts that have your body forced up the bed and the headboard knocking against the wall.

“You think I need your help?” Eric growls, digging his hands into your thighs and spreading them farther apart, lifting the lower half of your body a bit to change the angle. This brings a new pleasure to both of you. Something that you’ve never felt before, and has your mind reeling. “I didn’t need you. I wanted you. I wanted every part of you. I craved you, craved your taste. It was pure fucking luck that you wanted me too.”

“Eric,” You gasp out, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck to leave another mark on his skin. “Eric, feels so good, god it feels so good please, please don’t stop. Don’t stop, oh my god!”

“Look at you,” he yanks your head out of his neck by your hair, staring down at your fucked out face as he continues to plow into you with no remorse. “All fucked out for me. I did this. Your little virgin boy. Isn’t it embarrassing?”

You whine in response but apparently, that isn’t what he’s looking for because he slows down at your lack of response.

“Answer me,” he hisses.

“I— I don’t— Eric I don’t—” You don’t even know what he’s trying to ask. You stopped listening as soon as he pulled your hair, the sting of it feeling too good. Eric laughs, picking up his pace again and dropping your head back down onto his pillows.

“What? Too fucked out to answer me? Who would’ve thought that I was the virgin and not you? What would people think if they walked in here and saw me fucking you like this?” He doesn’t expect an answer this time, not that you’d be able to give him one anyway.

Your legs draw tightly around his slim waist, holding him close as your orgasm approaches again, but Eric doesn’t seem to be even close to cumming. Even when your second orgasm washes over you, and then your third. He fucks you through each one, sweat dripping from his hair and down his torso until his body is sliding against yours. Your body feels numb, but at the same time, you can feel everything. Every drag of his length against your walls, every punch of his tip against your cervix. Your arms curl around his neck, but your grip is loose.

When Eric’s hips finally begin to stutter, you’re about four orgasms in, the fifth about to wash over you. Your voice is hoarse, a puddle of drool on the pillow under your head. You can’t find it in you to make any more noise, just gasping breathes and quiet whines. You cum together, and the feeling of his cum filling you has your back arching again. This time, Eric catches you and holds your body against his. He kisses you gently, uncaring that you can barely breathe let alone kiss him.

“That— that was a good talk,” he jokes, and you say nothing at first. “Um…are— are you okay?”

“You just—” you clear your throat, but it does nothing. “You just fucked me within an inch of my life, as a completely inexperienced virgin, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Eric frowns, settling down on top of you, but careful not to lay his full weight onto your obviously aching body. He can see the bruises he’d left all over you— on your chest, your neck, your hips. Anywhere his lips or hands touched, there was a bruise left in his wake. He imagines, however, that he looks no different. He can feel the scratches you left on his back, marring every inch of his skin and likely drawing a bit of blood, he can see a hickey on his arm that you left at some point and can imagine how the front of his body looks.

“So…so you’re not okay?” He tries and you huff, throwing an arm over your eyes.

“Eric, I love you, but you’re such a dumbass.” You groan, shoving him off your body so you can breathe properly. “Go draw a bath. I’m gonna need one after that shit.”

“Before I do, can you answer one question?” You pry your eyes open to scowl at him and his damn puppy-like eyes.

“What?”

“Are we— are we dating now?”

“We won’t be for long if you don’t get that fucking bath going.”

“Aw, yeah!” Eric cheers, jumping off the bed and running to the bathroom to start the bath like you asked. “Guess who isn’t single anymore, Sunwoo!”

“What’s your problem?” Haknyeon peers at Sangyeon over the lip of his mug. The frat president is glaring at you and Eric with something murderous in his eyes, which seem to have dark bags under them.

“My bedroom is right next to Eric’s.” Haknyeon raises an eyebrow, and Sangyeon clears his throat. “My bedroom is next to Eric’s.”

“Okay…oh. OH. Oh, shit man, I’m sorry.” Haknyeon turns his gaze to the two of you, grimacing at the thought of how long Sangyeon could have been kept up, but smiling when he sees how the two of you are cuddled on the couch. The grimace returns when he sees the state of your necks, neither of you having bothered to hide what you did to each other.

“I mean,” Sunwoo sits on the counter, a bowl of cereal in his hand. “You kinda deserved it after what you did to him.”

“What the fuck— what did I do to him?” Sangyeon exclaims, and Sunwoo quirks an eyebrow.

“You fucked your girlfriend for, what, seven rounds straight? The poor man didn’t get any sleep that night. Be glad you were able to rest after that.”

Haknyeon raises his cup, and the three frat boys return to “subtly” watching the two of you.

“Do you at least know if he was good? You know, for a virgin.”

“Oh my fucking god, Sunwoo, shut up.”

“You shut up, Hak! It was just a question!”

“You two are fucking nasty,” Sangyeon’s lip curls into a sneer, trying to block out the memories of last night. “But I’m gonna need a shit ton of bleach if I wanna forget that bullshit.”

“Hot.”

“Sunwoo, shut UP!”

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tealvenetianmask · 5 months ago

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I want to think a little about Blitz's self-perception with regard to his lack of education/sophistication. In my opinion, HB gives us a very accurate portrayal of what it feels like to navigate relationships when you're a person with a long history of feeling like you're never good enough ("I can always do better").

Let's start with his friendship with Moxxie, though like a lot of my posts, it will find its way back to stolitz.

Moxxie doesn't necessarily have more formal education than Blitz. I mean . . . he likely had the economic resources growing up, but I don't think Crimson seems like the kind of parent to prioritize education. Besides an education in violence. I assume that both Blitz and Moxxie had some basic education as kids, but the difference is that Moxxie likes "high culture(ish)" things like musicals and bow ties, enjoys knowing details about history, and probably reads for fun. He's also the kind of ". . . um actually . . ." friend who can make even a secure person feel a little stupid. Not that Blitz doesn't sometimes need to be called out, but Moxxie does seem to take some joy in correcting him.

And yes, Blitz bullies Moxx and calls his junk tiny and tells him to eat a salad, but like . . . it's pretty obvious that to some extent, Blitz is covering up for feeling inferior to Moxxie on some level.

We see how Blitz really feels about this in Truth Seekers.

Borrowed observation from excellent reaction youtuber Omn1media: When Blitz hallucinates Moxxie lecturing him, Moxxie goes really hard specifically on the insults to Blitz's intelligence. Moxxie's speech is also much more rambly/laced with figurative language than it is in their real (non-imagined) interactions.

We can see from Blitz's face in these scenes that these comments really get to him. Of course they do- he's making them up in his own nightmare.

"Foolish flights of fancy" is the rest of the caption there . . ."

He's very upset by the idea that he's really inferior to Moxxie- under all of the bravado, he's deeply insecure. It probably doesn't help that the truth gas made him admit that he didn't like the musical that Moxx recommended. Yes, I know that was a Cats joke, but also, Blitz bothered to lie, and he doesn't seem allergic to hurting Moxxie's feelings, so I think he wanted to pretend to "get" the "higher art" that Moxxie likes.

Okay so if Moxxie (with an essentially equivalent status and education) manages to unintentionally make Blitz feel stupid and uncultured, how does this translate when Blitz falls in love with Stolas, who IS objectively very high status and very well educated and DOES speak in "fancy rich people" language?

Oh. Right. The pedestal, the impossibility, and all of that.

I'm not saying that Hell's strict hierarchy doesn't have a lot to do with how Blitz perceives a real relationship between himself and Stolas as impossible- it absolutely does. And so does his history of failed relationships and heaping backpack of trauma. But also, the education/sophistication piece is there, and it's major.

I'm on the fence about whether Blitz actually sees himself as stupid or is just worried about being perceived that way by others. He obviously knows he's very good at the work he does, and that takes both a certain level of strategic thinking AND some very brilliant improvisation. I think he knows this. But he also knows he'll never . . . let's say, be the best read person in the room (if you want to know my thoughts on Blitz and literacy, click here- but short answer, I think he's quite literate but also dyslexic).

I think that like many real people who are kind of out of the box in this way (disrupted education and/or neurodivergence) he's simultaneously aware that he's very intelligent AND deeply insecure about being stupid or having others devalue his kind of intelligence.

#my helluva meta #blitzo buckzo #blitz #blitzo #helluva boss #stolitz #stolas #moxxie

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jinnie-ret · 11 months ago

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perfect night

poly!stray kids x idol!reader

genre: fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 1k

requested: @whoswony

summary: in which stray kids are watching the opening show of their girlfriend's tour, sonder, and they come to realise a song is dedicated purely to them

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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Oh how smug you felt, that a song you had written that was purely dedicated to your boys, could still be released and put onto your latest album, Sonder. Truth be told, it was masked as a song to all your 'girls' out there, about spending time with them being your most favourite thing in the world, and not needing anything else. That was how it actually made it onto the album. But you knew who you really wrote it for.

You wrote the song for Chan, who dedicated his life to protecting each of his partners and prioritising them over himself.

For Minho, who willingly let you read him like a book and get to know him because he wasn't scared of opening up to you.

For Changbin, who often indulged in late night deep conversations with you, whether they were trivial matters that you spiraled deeply into, or more serious ones that helped each of you lift the weight off of your shoulders.

For Hyunjin, whose dramatic antics yet romantic attitude always made you swoon, no matter how goofy he would suddenly become.

You wrote it for Jisung, who always managed to keep you on your toes, whether it be from him bursting into song, his sleep clinginess or his rambles about his new favourite anime that inspired him to write a song or two.

For Felix, who was your constant source of happiness, smiles radiating sunshine and reflecting his light across your shadows, forever brightening your day.

For Seungmin, your cheeky yet very emotionally intelligent partner in crime who helped you stay rational in times when all you could see was doom and gloom.

And finally for Jeongin, who always insisted his admiration for you, was levels above your own for him, because he couldn't believe that it was possible for anyone to be more adored in this world than you.

They were all you needed. And you couldn't wait to show them that, and finally be able to express that to them through the other thing you all loved - music.

-★-★-★-★-★-

Gorgeous yet eery piano notes echoed across the walls of the stadium as you made your entrance, like you were a mystical being that your fans laid their eyes upon.

"She's so hot," Jeongin sighed as he leant across the railings.

"Real," Hyunjin nodded, tongue grazing his upper lip.

"Stop perving on our girlfriend," Seungmin sighed and whacked them on the backs of their heads.

Your boyfriends were sat on an upper tier of the seating in the stadium, safely away from fans and any possible suspicions to why they were there. Luckily, if that case was ever made, fans would be sure to defend you, knowing that you and Jeongin were friends at SOPA.

If only they knew that the two of you were way more than friends. As well as his seven other band members.

Suddenly a new track they hadn't heard started playing, some calming guitar sounding out before a drum track starting kicking in and their girlfriend's poppy voice blended perfectly with the music.

"Come and take a ride with me, I got a credit card and some good company..."

"Wait, that's about us, right?" Chan's eyes widened and a big grin appeared on his face.

"She literally said her girlies," Minho said bluntly, making Chan laugh.

"We're sort of the girlies," Han shrugged.

"Yeah Jisung you do give baby girl energy to be fair," Felix laughed.

"So does Binnie," Jisung added on, smiling as their girl performed.

The fun, light-hearted choreography made you shine with your bright energy.

"I feel so proud, wahhh," Changbin held his hand over his heart, bopping along to the music much like his other boyfriends.

"Quick, let's head backstage!" Felix pushed his other boyfriends forwards down the stairs in pure excitement as the concert came to an end.

-★-★-★-★-★-

Stretched out on the sofa in your dressing room, sipping from some water, you nearly choked on your mouthful as the door burst open with eight men pouring through.

"You were so good!"

"That song was about us right?!"

"Right?!"

You giggled as you were quite literally smothered in their love, kisses being peppered across your face, your neck, your hands, swallowed up in the arms of your boyfriends.

"Yah! What if I was getting changed?" you gasped playfully as you pushed them all away.

"I wouldn't be complaining," Hyunjin smirked before getting a neck slap from Minho.

"Hey!"

And on they went playfully fighting as Chan gave you one of his hoodies he brought with him, just for you.

"Thanks love," you smiled fondly, pulling the fluffy black hoodie over your head as Jeongin tugged you into his arms.

"You really wrote a song about us?" Felix grabbed your hands to gain your attention.

"How could you tell?" you pushed your lips together, trying not to let any words spill out straight away. You'd keep them guessing just that bit longer, that was your game.

"Credit card and some good company? You literally said that to us one time," Seungmin shrugged knowingly, with shake of his head to get the hair out of his face. He had been growing it longer recently - no objections from you.

"That could just be about my friends," you feigned ignorance.

"Nah!"

"No way!"

"Hey I have friends!" you stood up, folding your arms and detesting their claims.

"We know you do, we know love," Changbin back hugged you tightly.

"But you also have us, hmm?" Minho smirked, tickling under your chin like you were one of his cats.

"And we're way better company!" Han declared, from his spot sat on top of Jeongin as he teased the younger and cooed like you all normally did with the maknae.

"I think Jeongin would disagree," you said dryly.

"I would!" the fox boy choked out, nearly sounding suffocated with distraught as he wrestled the older boy off of him.

"But you wouldn't, would you? Don't deny it, that song was for us," Seungmin pointed out.

"Mmm, sure, whatever you want to believe," you looked down at your feet shyly, knowing there was no turning back from here. They had caught you out. But you didn't mind anymore, you were happy because they were too.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @j-one25

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stellarsagittarius · 1 year ago

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🍁✨️ Mars in Natal Chart: The Men you are Attracted To✨️🍁

(Does anyone know the name of this turkish movie/drama, from the GIF.)

Mars in Aries

You love a man who is bold, and doesn't hold back from speaking up for himself. As an Aries Mars you have plenty of energy within you, and you move in a very direct manner regarding the things you want to have. So you really need a man who also has his own set of goals while supporting you as well, but not to the point that he gets in your way. You like a masculine energy that is sure of what they want to achieve and what they are going after. Someone who is very much in touch with their physicality and is always on the go. A person who respects, especially, the fact that you both are two separate individuals and both of your guy's desires matter. You like a masculine energy that can be physically playful with you. Someone who is very loud and clear with their actions, is really gonna give you the butterflies. This man is someone who feels proud when they see you succeeding, and someone who isn't afraid to lead you through life.

Mars in Taurus

You get butterflies big time when a masculine energy is stable and grounded. You value a man who is very much connected to his physical senses and enjoys a slow and steady lifestyle. A man who is also very much connected to his sacred femininity. As in, he has a healthy connection with the feminine aspects of life such as art or channeling his intuition. You feel energetic when the things around you have a solid future and that you know it'll give you much stability later on. So that's the same you look for in a man. His ability to plan ahead and tackle the physical aspects of life such as managing money or deciding on things like vacations or the home, it's all very important for you. You are also attracted to a man who is interested in the matters of your home, like making sure everything is good quality and that you are well provided for. Someone you can sit and simply relax with, either in a nice spa or baking something together.

Mars in Gemini

You like a smarty pants. Lol, I mean you love when a masculine energy is eloquent in the way they express their words and can explain literally anything in the world to you with extreme ease. Someone who is very good at regulating his words, and you really get the butterflies when a man can flatter you with his intelligence. Someone who is both quick to understand things and also someone who can take their time to strategically plan their way around getting things done. You like playful banters or atleast have this thing for having conversations with your partner in a way that looks like you both are fighting, but is actually very fun to do and is not serious fights at all. Because for you, you are bit of a conversationalist yourself even if you don't have any major placements in Gemini itself. You love a man with whom you can genuinely connect on an intellectual level. Also, I think Gemini Mars women are attracted to men who work with their hands in some way 👀.

Mars in Cancer

You like a man who isn't afraid to show his emotions, and talk about his feelings whenever it's needed. There is a strong sense of being comfortable with one's feminine side, as in him being connected with his nurturing qualities. You like a man who lives a more easy-going lifestyle, someone who is domestic and focuses more on bringing peace in his home. Now with Mars in Cancer, it's not a beneficial placement as the energies of Mars and Cancer contradict each other. So you can be a bit distrustful or closed off with the masculine energies and figures in your life. And with men who appear to be on the sensitive side, you can get attached very quickly. A masculine energy that is not only just a physical provider, but also an emotional provider is what you are heavily attracted towards. Cancer rules the chest and stomach, so perhaps men with a defined chest or a toned stomach can really get you attracted. In short, it's someone connected to his emotions and is much more on the gentle side of life.

Mars in Leo

You love a fabulous man. Someone who isn't just a plain old attention seeker, but someone who actually exudes confidence wherever he goes. You are attracted to men who are quite on the creative side of life, like someone who lives a colorful life, someone who isn't afraid to add their personal touch to things, someone who honors their individuality. Often times you can attract cocky men, or men who are super insecure on the inside, so be aware of that. With your Leo Mars you are quite stubborn and fixated towards the things you want to achieve, and you might move a bit slow, but you make those moves so loud. You need a masculine energy that can sustain this nonstop fire within you. You also like praises, so definitely a man who knows how to appreciate you well enough. You enjoy a power couple dynamic, so the masculine energy in your life should be someone who knows that you both add even more shine to each other's light. You also desire to be seen by your partner, so if a confident man does that for you, it's one major butterfly inducing factor for you.

Mars in Virgo

You love men who knows what they are doing. Men who mindlessly go about their days or don't even know how to do basic tasks, really turn you off. You love a man who is sure of what he is trying to do, while also being able to give you the practical knowledge about that thing. With Mars in Virgo you go about your life quite statistically by planning your moves, and you love a man who does the same. You really are attracted to a handy-manny type of masculine energy, that can make you feel physically comfortable by improving the way you live. Small practical gestures like holding the door open for you or bringing you a glass of warm honey tea at the end of the day, or something, it really makes you feel like you can rely on that person. You are attracted to witty and often sarcastic men. You also need a mental attraction with a person, while also being able to use all that exchange of information into some practical use. You are also pretty attracted to men who prioritize cleanliness and hygiene.

Mars in Libra

You experience a very dynamic yet subtle kind of attraction. By subtle I mean you aren't the type to directly approach the men you are attracted to or be very driven with your crush. Instead, you like the sneaky flirtations, the slow burn that slowly yet gently gets you to understand the other person. You are highly attracted to the classic gentlemen type. Someone who is a smooth talker, a man with a charismatic yet soothing demeanor. You can easily get turned off by men who are overly aggressive or the men who push other people around or the men who cannot hold a conversation without creating drama. With your Mars in Libra, you are attracted to a diplomatic masculine presence. Someone who knows the power of staying still, listening to both sides and knowing when to put their feet into the conversation. The quality of being able to carry oneself with much grace, is something that highly attracts you to a man. On a challenging note, you may happen to attract men who are all talk and no action.

Mars in Scorpio

The way you want a man to be with you is to be completely obsessed with you from head to toe. Honestly it's really that intense and possessive Christian Grey vibes. You love the intensity. You love it when a man holds a certain amount of mystery to himself which can allow you to be completely intrigued. You love to peel the layers one by one, all by yourself. So a man who knows how to keep you hooked, while also being able to reveal himself to you one quality at a time, it's very butterfly inducing for you. You love possessive men, like that's not even something we don't know. Men who are calculative, on the quieter side around people and slightly have a rbf. You are also the type to love the hot-cold dynamic, where there are intense arguments after a session of giving cold stares to each other and then even more intense make ups. Masculines who are in touch with their sexuality are sure to drive you crazy. Beware of manipulators or extremely closed off individuals.

Mars in Sagittarius

You love honest men. Honestly, honesty and being able to say things without sugarcoating it, is your best quality. You like a man who is on the same page of thinking as you. A man who has his belief systems in order, and a man who is good at understanding motives, intentions and meanings behind the things people do, is really someone you would enjoy spending your time with. Your choice in men is quite unique, because you want someone who has a rich way of thinking, a rich way of going about life. At the same time the masculine figures in your life need to be adventurous, both in the physical side of life and also mentally. Someone you can completely connect with on a mental level, and can bounce around ideas, discuss things like law or philosophy. You rarely like a boring man who is all about his boring life. You need someone to be your best friend, as well as your partner. On a challenging note, you may get attracted to men who are just too focused on their own freedom, not at all stable in life, and quite hard to open up emotionally.

Mars in Capricorn

You love when a man is the provider. Not because you can't provide for yourself or anything, but because you yourself are very much of a busy-body, and you know the importance of having a goal and stability in your life. You are immensely attracted to a man who has goals, whether big or small. An ambitious man catches your attention big time. For you it's very important for the masculine figure to be able to provide and be the reliable one. Men who has goals, has a plan, is ambitious, cares about providing for the domestic life. It's not a desire fueled by greed or laziness to achieve on your own, that you would want someone else to do it for you, instead, it's a genuine desire to partner up with a man who knows the importance of actions following his words. You also love to be with a man who knows how to appreciate himself for his work. On the challenging side you might happen to attract someone greedy, unproductive or someone with a directionless life.

Mars in Aquarius

Attraction for you is very much rooted in the fact that you can be yourself around a man. If he's comfortable, then it's super attractive. You love men who have a very intellectual and a forward thinking, open minded mindset. Because for you attraction is also very much rooted in the fact that you can connect on an intellectual level with that man. A man who has his emotions under control, who knows how to stay calm and see situations for what they are, really gives you the butterflies. On the same note, men who are unique, whether it's in the way they think or take action or dress, seem to catch your eye, a lot. Masculine energy that has a certain purpose in life, no matter if it seems childlike, and masculine energy that knows how to create a path forward, are very attractive for Aquarius Mars. On the challenging side, you might happen to attract men who are completely ruthless or emotionally closed off. You might be attracted to men who seem to keep their composure sustained for a long time without getting bothered.

Mars in Pisces

You like gentlemen. There is something so precious about a Pisces Mars, because they are just harmless. You really need a man who matches the same kind of vibe. You like sweet, gentle and easy going men. Because you really can get turned off by dramatic, aggressive and raging men who can't stay still for one moment. Men who are much focused on the pursuit of a deeper meaning in life, and men who are quite sensitive, really make you feel some type of way. You enjoy the presence of a masculine figure that knows how to cater to your emotional needs, and treat you like the soft princess you are deep inside. Someone who isn't overly critical of things, someone who contributes to things in a very creative manner, someone who knows the importance of being gentle with you whether physically or simply emotionally/mentally. On a challenging note you may attract men who are overly lost in their own worlds or men who can just never take anything seriously.

Thanks for reading 💕

#mars #astrology compatibility #astrology #natal chart reading #mars astrology #future spouse #natal chart #astrology husband

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euphoricimagination · 7 months ago

Text

Nostalgia

A sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past. Or, when the boy you fell in love with finally comes back, bringing a beautiful chaos with him.

Genre: Exes to lovers; fluff

Oikawa Tooru, famous setter for the Argentinian National Team, a Japanese man who became a citizen in another country just so he can make his dream come true. But to you that didn't mean much.

He was your first love. He was the person you love the most. He made your high school years amazing. He also was the one who broke your heart.

You met Oikawa in your first year of high school; as classmates, you were used to having a bunch of girls fawning for him, constant love confessions and soft rejections happening right outside your classroom. He was undeniably handsome, but also very smart and passionate for volleyball; it'd be a lie to say you didn't have a crush on him, but you were never one to want to confess. You became friends after partnering up for a project, he found it pleasant that you weren't constantly flattering him, in fact, he found your little remarks fun; you were nice but slightly sassy.

Soon enough you became close friends, and you end up spending more and more time in the gym to watch him practice. You weren't the manager, but you often helped them while doing other stuff, so you got close to them quite quickly; Iwaizumi particularly liked how easy going you were with his best friend.

You also were one of the only ones who managed to stop him from overtraining, always making up excuses so he could come with you without actually making him stop. He was perceptive, he knew you didn't actually need him to go home, but he liked your company and was more than happy to spend time with you.

It was thanks to his intelligence that he remembered everything about you, from your favorite foods and snacks to the ones that you couldn't eat; every time you and the team went to eat ramen he would always took the veggies that you dislike from your bowl almost unconsciously, putting them in his bowl as he gives you some of his in return. You had a bad night? He noticed as soon as you walked in the classroom, going to buy your favorite snack and drink before taking you away from the prying eyes, talking about everything and nothing hoping you would forget whatever was troubling you, or even better, telling him what happened.

So it was no surprise that you two ended up dating by the end of your first year.

Dating him was surprisingly easy, despite the constant love confessions, he never made you feel less loved; always making sure you knew that for him they were just his fans and no more. He always makes sure to hold you close, to spend time with you after practice, to take you out on simple dates, to make sure you know that he loves you and only you.

Your family adores him, and his family adores you too; staying in each other's house was never an issue, your parents knowing that you both know how to take care of yourselves. You two connect on a closer level a week into your third year, one weekend that you spend with him when his family wasn't home. It was clumsy, slightly painful, but full of love and care. You wouldn't have it any other way.

It was during the first interhigh, when Seijoh lost against Shiratorizawa, when he brought the topic up with you. He was talking with an Argentinian coach, one that he had admired since childhood, seeing if it was possible to join them after he finishes high school. The chances were high, really high, so he started learning Spanish to make sure he was ready. At the time you didn't think about it much, you were happy that he was having such a big chance with his love for the sport, you even started learning the language with him so you could help him out. But when he came to you after losing to Karasuno from a place in the spring interhigh telling you that it was confirmed, that he was accepted in the Argentinian team, it hurted.

It was a mixed of feelings; you were happy, happy that all of his efforts in the sport were finally being recognized, happy that he was going to be with his idol, happy that his dream was starting to become a reality; but you were also sad, not knowing what will happen to your relationship. You were selfish, you didn't want him to go, part of you wanted him to be rejected so he could stay; but you weren't that selfish to tell him, you knew that when it comes to volleyball nothing will stop him to make his dream come true, knowing him too well to know that he will put his pride and love for volleyball over everything else, including you. You didn't want to start a fight over this, rather spending that time with him than without; after all you fell in love with that determination of his.

You went to say goodbye to him at the airport, both of you had decided to break up, not because you wanted to, but it'd have been almost impossible to keep a relationship with such a time difference. With one last kiss you say goodbye to him, your heart breaking as he walks away.

Years passed, almost 10 years since you last saw him. You studied kinesiology since you ended up liking volleyball and helping the players; you had a boyfriend, a relationship that lasted a while before you broke up. You and Oikawa didn't keep in contact, but you both did follow each other in social media, so you knew the basics of what the other was doing; plus, Iwaizumi was always giving you small little updates.

“hey” he says sitting next to you after a while “wasn't expecting to see you here”

However, sitting in the bench of the MSBY Black Jackals where the Japanese National Team was practicing, was the last place you expected to see him again. He was walking beside Iwaizumi with a smile, a smile that seems to become brighter once his eyes found yours. His eyes went a bit wider as you feel your heart beating fast, were you happy? Confused? Scared? You don't know, but it definitely was something. Memories found their way to your head, feelings that you thought were more than forgotten seem to start surfacing again.

“I can say the same to you” you answer back “what brings you back?”

“My team was invited to practice here in Japan, i had the day off today, so Iwa-chan invited me over” he explains, making you nod

“I'm their kinesiologist, and since i worked with some of them before, it was easier to get the job here”

“Nice, maybe you can help me? My wrist is being weird lately” he says with a small smirk and a clearly fake pain expression

“Does your team not have someone or what?” You look at him with a raised eyebrow

Once they finished their stretches you began to put your things away, you noticed that Oikawa was talking to Iwaizumi, so you quickly went out of the gym before he saw you.

“We do, but i rather have a pretty girl look at it” he flirts with a wink. It makes you chuckle how shameless he still was with his flirting “I'm kidding, I'm totally fine…but maybe we can have dinner together?” At that moment someone from the team calls you for some help in his stretches, so you look at Oikawa with a smile before standing up to help them.

“Yn-chan! Want to grab dinner with us?” Bokuto asks, walking outside the gym and passing his arm around you alongside Atsumu and Hinata. As the door is closing, your eyes find Oikawa’s, a small frown in his face as he looks at Iwaizumi again.

“Sure, let's go”

“Did Shittykawa asked you something when he came?” Iwaizumi asks you, it has been three days since Oikawa came to the gym

“Eh…yeah, he wanted to have dinner together”

“And?” he asks

“I…well, I was overwhelmed. I didn't expect him to be here, so I didn't know what to say”

“Understandable…well, I kinda expected it. He hasn't stop bothering me to give him your number, I haven't done it though, you two have a lot to sort out”

“Thanks” he wants your number? Why, all of the sudden?

A few hours later he's in the gym, interacting with the coach, Iwaizumi, even some of the players right before he comes next to you once again.

“He's coming again today, so you might wanna talk to him” he pats your head lovingly “but also, he's driving me crazy, so please do” You chuckle, knowing how Oikawa can get and how much he can annoy Iwaizumi. You made a note in your head to talk to him.

“You left mee! So mean, Yn-chan” he pouts sitting beside you

“Sorry, i..i had to do something” you say to him. You had forgotten how much you had miss him and his whiny self

“It’s okay, you were with your…boyfriend?” he looks at you, an emotion that you couldn't describe

“Boyfriend? Bokuto-san? No no, we're not dating, Bokuto is just…Bokuto” you look at the owl boy, who's now excitedly jumping “what about you? No girlfriend missing you?”

“Nah, the only ones calling me from Argentina are, at most, the workers that are expanding my house” he says, a small smile on his face. You know him, and while so many years have passed, his eyes are still as expressive as ever: outside of his teammates, he was alone there.

“I know a good ramen place nearby, we can grab dinner there if you want” his eyes get brighter

“Sure”

“Haven't had tsukemen in a while, these aren't in many places in Argentina” he says as the server puts your food in front of you

“I imagine it'll be hard to find true japanese food outside of japan” you say looking at your bowl “so, trying to reconnect with your exes, Oikawa-san? I'm sure Iwa told you i was going to be there”

“Oikawa-san? Ouch, Yn-chan, ouch” he says, taking his chopsticks. He instinctively takes the fish cakes out of your bowl, just like he used to do when you were together “you still don't like them, right?”

“Thanks Tooru” the name still rolls out of your tongue easily, as if you were again the same 17 year old kids

“And yeah, I knew, i… I wanted to see you again” a rare blush spreads in his face “and for the record, you are the only ex I'm reconnecting with”

You chuckle and take some of his food, he smiles and whines, but he still puts some more into your bowl.

“That jacket looks awfully similar to Seijoh’s” you comment to the man who was waiting outside the gym, a white jacket with light blue accents; and it suddenly feels like high school all over again, him waiting outside the gym while you locked it up, looking at the sky before smiling at you. It's eerie how similar it felt, the only difference being his physique and the fact that his back had an ARGENTINA written on it.

“Take a photo, it lasts longer” he ruins the moment, noticing how your eyes are still glued to his body, a smirk appears on his face, smirk that disappears when you hit him “What was that for?!”

“Shut up, Shittykawa”

“Not you too!” He whines, but you can only see playfulness in his eyes as he extends his hand “mind joining me on a walk?”

You look at his hand, you want to hold it, see how it feels to hold it again, but you're still hesitant; so instead, you pass him your backpack and start walking. He chuckles, but follows right behind you.

You end up walking towards a familiar place, a park that was near Aoba Johsai, a park where you and Oikawa used to go constantly after school. It was involuntary, both of you were just walking without a destination set, a comfortable silence between you two.

“Remember when we made a study group in our second year?” He asks pointing at a tree

“The one where you refused to study and laid on my lap? Or the one where you “accidentally” pushed Iwa into the lake?” you chuckle

“It WAS an accident!” he says offended

You sit on a bench near said lake, your legs almost touching from how close you were. You notice him shiver, the night was getting colder and he only had the flimsy jacket on that clearly wasn't made for this temperature. You take your bag and took out a scarf you had, getting closer to him to wrap it around his neck.

“We can't have the most talented setter get sick, can we?” You say smiling at him, as you try to move away he held your hands

“I think my hands are slightly more important from keeping them from freezing” he says, looking directly into your eyes

“You just want me to hold them” you raise an eyebrow, but still give in, taking his hands and trying to wrap yours in a way so it can bring some warmth. He chuckles, moving them to properly hold them

“I missed you” he sighs after some silence “I thought I was over you, that I'd be able to move on and find someone else, but I couldn't. I tried, I had some girlfriends, but it never felt…right, and I didn't know why. Until I saw you in the gym again. I actually hoped that you would have move on, so at least i didn't have a single chance, but here we are”

“...here we are”

These past days, you also thought you were over him, that your feelings for him were nothing more than nostalgia, but this week you were so happy, so happy to have him again.

But the truth is, you didn't have him back. He wasn't yours again.

“But I'm not dating you again. After your training camp here is over, you're going back to Argentina, and I don't want to leave Japan; long distance relationships aren't safe either. I love you too much to hold you back now that you finally achieve the dream that you work so hard for, I'm not that selfish”

You barely can finish your sentence before you feel his lips on yours. You're surprised, but your body instinctively reacts to it, kissing him back. His lips were just as soft as they were years ago, and the kiss made you feel the same butterflies as if you were 16 years old.

“I have a week more, give me some time” he whispers, his hands cupping your face as if you were the most delicate thing he has ever hold “but for now, let me have this again”

That night you both end up in your house, making up for all the years you both lost.

A week later and Oikawa proves to be the same amazing boyfriend that he was before. He still manages to make you blush, manages to prove just how much he missed you.

Now you're in your apartment, he was talking on the phone, an important call that led him to your room -after giving you an apologetic kiss- while you were sitting on the couch. 30 minutes passed when he comes out again, a smile on his face.

“Hey princess” he calls you, pulling you closer as he sits “remember that I'm leaving tomorrow night?”

“Yeah…why?” you were trying to avoid thinking about it, knowing that tomorrow night your heart will be broken again

“Well, I know you said that long distance relationships are impossible for us, but…” he press your forehead closer “will you be able to wait for me every few months?”

“Eh? Stop going around the bush and say it” you hit him slightly, anxious to know what he has planned

“So impatient” he chuckles, kissing you again “tomorrow I'm signing an exclusive contract with Panasonic Panthers. I'm playing for Argentina for the important leagues, meaning VNL, the Olympics and such; but for smaller leagues happening within the country, I'll play here, meaning I can stay here for a few months and come back to Argentina for the rest”

You were ecstatic, shocked with the sudden news about it, you kiss him.

“But…but didn't you go to San Juan because of the coach? Don't you want to stay there?” you ask worried

“Yeah, and it was amazing to be trained by him…but coming here I realized that you are my home, that I want to be with you, and some sacrifices need to be made” he pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he looks at you into your eyes “i already sacrificed you for the sake of my dream, now that my dream became reality, I'm not sacrificing you again”

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n0tamused · 4 months ago

Note

Midnight thought that popped into my head… If you watched Spirited Away, do you remember a bunch of little black soot balls that carried coal around? What if the reader also works at the academy and has made herself a bunch of those little robots to fetch tools when she needs them? Imagine working on something with these little goofballs running around, making high-pitched robot noises and being useful at the same time, what a dream. The second part is, what if some of them started running to Xiangli Yao's office (and Academy too) to get tools (screwdrivers, hammers, etc.) because they couldn't find them in our office due to some errors (or some other reason)? Which led to a funny little investigation of missing items? Honestly saw it as already established relationship, but could be used as push-to-confession maybe? Can definitely see something like this: -My little babies would never steal! -Your… babies? -Erm, never mind…

Honestly, use this however you like if you do, the possibilities are endless and fun, no matter how you twist it, I have just come up with an example.

A/n: this was awfully sweet, but even with that I didn't imagine it would turn out this long. I do hope this is what you had in mind. I really enjoyed writing this. And hey, first Xiangli Yao fic! Yipeeee

Contents: Xiangli Yao x Reader, she/her pronouns, fluff

Words: 4221

Ko-fi

Steel Hearts

Little pitter-patters of feet echo down the empty corridor, the sound accompanied by the low mechanical buzz that could be said to be a coo or a call. Xiangli Yao had yet to get used to the new tiny companions around the Academy, although they made for an endearing sight when they got together to work. Xiangli Yao steps to the side of the corridor, slowing down his step as he notices a few Aideroids rush past diligently, carrying a few empty petri dishes, box of gloves and some unlabeled material samples. He tilted his head as they passed by, clicking and clacking without paying him any mind, like a line of ants as they made it straight for their queen - you. It would seem that the confusion of the recent incidents at the Academy have rubbed off on the Aideroids as well, otherwise known as Assistive Intelligence Droids, judging by how scattered they seemed after your own office has been subjected to a little... disaster, to put it plainly. It has pushed you to share an office with your colleague until the renovations are done, and while you had adjusted well, the little droids would always stop by the old office or by his own next to yours before finding you at last.

Xiangli Yao admired them and once he had run into a droid in the corner of his office that had gone down due to battery problems. He had fixed it up for you then. The droids weren’t admirable by looks alone, but by their design as well with their creator behind them. Although they seemed to be a nuisance of a sight for Mortefi, even he commented on their usefulness. The only thing everyone was against was to make them capable of flight. You agreed that the sight of so many droids buzzing about wouldn’t be quite comfortable.

He continued on into his office, looking over the report he had yet to finish, one he was looking forward to writing out. The half done pages reeked of promise and satisfaction, as they would come to represent the best part of the job in Xiangli Yao’s eyes. The end, the fruits of his labor. He hummed something low in his throat as he glimpsed an error in his grammar, making a mental note to fix it up later as he swung the door open and closed it behind it, failing to notice that the door had been creaked open already. Muscle memory brings his feet to his desk, and as he goes to put his papers down he is greeted by several singular eyes looking up at him, all scattered on and around his desk. He blinks at them in surprise, and for a moment they mirror his confusion and shock in equal measure, but as no command or response comes from his mouth, they swiftly return to their ‘work’ at his tools. One Aideroid was carrying the rubik's cube he liked to keep in his office, oftentimes fidgeting with it when he came into a slump during work hours. The Aideroid chucked it over the edge of the desk with a ‘kahooo’ and another similar sound came from below, where another droid caught the cube. Another droid was already halfway to the door with screwdrivers and small container of oil he uses to treat his prosthetic arm - had the door been unlocked, the little droid would have managed to escape the office with Yao’s belongings.

“Hey, hey, hey- now, little friend. It seems you have plans for my things-” he speaks to the droid with a light laugh in his tone as he manages to pluck back the oil and screwdrivers from its clasping hands before it could truly clasp down. “Has Miss. (L/N) been in such desperate need of oil that she sends you to take mine?”

The droid looks up at him and the lenses of its eye narrow and zoom in on the towering figure of Xiangli Yao, yet, ever loyal and determined to assist you, the droid lets out a disgruntled beeping sound, almost like a little howl. Its arms stretched upward, waiting for the tools to be given back to its hold.

“Ah, no, my friend. I’m afraid I cannot give you these back” he says and turns towards the desk just as the droid carrying his cube walks by, and Yao swiftly takes the cube back as well, and then the microscope from the next droid, and a few pencils from the next few. By the time he’s up to his desk again, he feels as if he went through an attempted robbery, his arms full of his things and behind him he hears several voices of dissatisfied and demanding droids. He holds onto his lighthearted demeanor, a gentle and amused smile plastered over his lips as he sets back his belongings on his desk and back onto the shelves. “Miss. (L/n) would not want you to rob her colleagues, would she now? I know you don’t like returning to her with empty arms, but I can’t be giving you my own research and tools so easily” he tells the droids as if they’re a bunch of kids and for a moment he expects to be greeted with more protests as the droids all but stare at him in grave silence. Thankfully they do not pose more verbal danger, and scatter to climb onto one another and skillfully open the door before moving out again. Xiangli Yao can only stare at the space they occupied, still trying to acknowledge what has just happened. He was about to shake the thoughts of before he remembered the droids he passed in the corridor, now realizing the tools and materials they carried were his.

______________________________________________________

Black bolded letters lined every page, and page after page you scanned the book for the chapter you needed to fuel your brain for power which you desperately needed for this experiment. You sigh in disappointment as you find the chapter of your favorite book ripped out, leaving the next chapter as some distant tale you were yet to understand. You close the book with a thump and push it aside, returning to another set of letters on your research paper and the propped up tubes and test tubes and cylinders before you. Testing biological matter and the effects of the Waveworn Phenomena on them came with its limitations, but for all of those you managed to achieve quite a few breakthroughs in the last few years.

You found yourself just short of other achievements, it was just an arms reach away yet you were stuck. Not understanding where you began to go over the same papers again, going through numbers, chemical formulas and the hypothesis at the start, but the important puzzle piece was yet to be revealed to your mind. The sound of small feet do not alarm you as they buzz behind you and move about the office. They came and went the entire day, bringing you your torn book and some other less important things at the moment, yet you acknowledged their need to be of help- it was in their code. Just like animals which flee or fight naturally when confronted with danger, the Aideroids wanted to help when confronted with your frown and furrowed brows. They knew something was amiss, so by bringing you all the tools and materials you previously praised them for, their droids’ minds hoped to see and hear the praise once more to know their daily task had been fulfilled. Yet, the last few days have been filled with your stagnant moods with not a sweet word in sight. The loss of the comforts of your own office was palpable even with the adjustments you’ve made - nothing can beat having your own space to do with as you please.

Your head hands low over the papers, forehead resting on your clasped palms as you let your eyes close. Searching for the answer deep in your mind, you fail to see the way forward and your mind swiftly wanders to imagery of the open fields, summer days and your favorite food stalls. Aideroids made their way up the side of your desk, carrying the microscope between them in their strong little arms, and as they set it before you with a small thump, you looked up to see it, a look of confusion falling over your eyes. “Now, why have you brought me this, AIDE?” you ask the droid group who coo at you in unison. “I already have a functional microscope..” you added, sighing at their attempt to assist you with no success. But before you can reprimand them and ask whose microscope they’ve taken, you see more of the droids climb up the desk with a glove box and unmarked materials sealed in small boxes. At that you were a bit more alarmed. Sitting up straight in your chair you feel a wave of anxiety come over you as you’re made to guess whose research they just snagged up with no pardon. “AIDE, where did you get this?” you asked as you took one of the sample bags one of the droids offered you. You carefully unpacked it and took a quick look inside, a bit more relieved to find it was only dirt samples from god knows where. But the other baggies held materials you weren’t trying to mess with, judging by their looks alone through the translucent bag.

The droids coo and click, and on your watch monitor you can see the transcribed text that they were trying to convey.

‘Xiangli Yao’s office, Baizhi’s office’.

You had to physically stop yourself from face palming at the sentence. Your little helpful companions resorting to stealing from your fellow colleagues, one of them a renowned genius? You thank god that most of them have already left the Academy for the day, and others were on break.

“Please, give the rest of those to me… I’ll have to give you another code input, this can’t happen again - you can’t just take other people’s belongings” you gently scold while the many pairs of eye just look at you, mechanically blinking and adjusting their lenses as they try to comprehend why you didn’t like what they’ve done. You have already gathered the things they took, carefully cradling the items in your arms as you tell them to stay in the office while you go and return them - hoping to also clear your mind with this brisk walk.

You turn the corner from your current office, closing the door behind you and your mind is running, hoping your droids haven’t done any damage, even if you have put all the necessary codes into their system that avoided damaging things, but who's to say they can’t malfunction or accidentally push somethin or-

“Ah! Xiangli Yao!” you nearly squeal as you run into him when you turn to go down the corridor leaning to his office, and like a kid caught with their hand in the candy jaw, you flush with items that are obviously his in your arms. You take a few steps back to put a more professional and comfortable distance between the two of you. You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping the warmth you felt wasn’t as visible on your skin as you imagined it to be.

“Ah, Miss (L/N), it is you, and with quite an interesting assortment of things in tow” Yao greeted back, his eyes quickly catching on to the items in your hold, a warm smile pulling on his lips. “I was just about to pay you a visit. It would seem your Aideroids have been up to some mischief as of recent”

“Mischief?” you countered almost instantly, and be it fatigue or the knowledge that the droids weren’t mischievous by their nature, you almost took it as an insult. “Oh, you misunderstand. They aren’t mischievous, Xiangli Yao. They just.. need some code tuning” you added with a stubborn shake of your head, holding the items closer to your torso.

“Oh? And is that why they have resorted to taking my things without being given permission beforehand?” Yao retorted, his voice a warm honey. Was he teasing you?

You couldn’t muster up a laugh, your lips pressing together in a tight line out of some nervousness for feeling so cornered. “Xiangli Yao..” you began, sighing as you nearly trailed off - he had his point, yet you couldn’t let your little droids be subjected to any form of insults, even in jest! “That doesn’t mean they’re mischievous. Although their objective is flawed in execution, something I’ll have to fix later, I assure you they did not mean to deprive you of your own ability to conduct your work. This is why I have come to return your belongings by myself and.. apologies on their behalf - although the fault is also mine own for not having foreseen such a thing happening with them” you told him, nearly rushing through the entire sentence. “AIDE has told me some of these materials are also from Baizhi. Do you mind taking back the ones that are yours?”

Xiangli Yao looks on at you, letting you speak and he nods at the question. Did this make you so riled up, or was it him? He had to admit, he felt rather weak in his word arsenal now. This has in no way ruined his day, nor has he meant any offense to you with his quips. The interaction it all led to between the two of you felt sweet to his heart, as most encounters between the two of you during the day felt almost artificial, all work no soul chatter which he found himself craving to have with you. And both of you needed solo time to recharge, but now it felt like there was emotion behind it, there was a heart. Yao wasn’t about to simply let it go to waste. But what does he say to make you more at ease?

“Of course. Here, why don’t you come to my office, I’ll also help you sort the other items out that belong to Baizhi afterwards” he offered as he took back his things, and also some more to lighten your load as some seemed at the point of slipping past your fingers. “Your droids are quite skilled to unlock doors previously locked - have you taught them to pick at locks?” he asked, his tone genuine as well as he recalled an occasion where he overheard Mortefi complaining to you about AIDE ‘breaking into his office’.

You sigh at the memory. “No. I have not taught them any of that. Their objectives and codes only revolve around listening to my orders and helping me work, I genuinely don’t know where they got it to pick locks..” you tell him as you walk side by side to his office. His presence felt as if he was pressed right against your side, even if there was comfortable space between you, or perhaps that was just you overthinking the situation. Xiangli Yao’s company was always welcome, you wished your paths crossed more often during work, but alas..

“Admirable, really” Yao comments, looking up ahead and hastening his step to open the door with his elbow, leaving it wide open for you. You walk in and you can already tell AIDEs has been through here. Xiangli Yao sets down the items he had in his arms, returning the ones that belonged to him to their right place.

“Have..have they damaged anything of yours?” You cautiously asked as you looked around, almost expecting to see broken glass or torn papers.

“Oh no, they've done no harm. They were quite adamant on taking my things, however” he chuckles. “The group that I encountered in my office even wished to scold me for not allowing them to take the items back to you. Kahooting at me and beeping, heh. They even picked up the oil for my prosthetic” he said as he turned back to look at you, noticing how your brows curled in a worried expression, the cogs and wheels turning so loud he could nearly hear them from where he stood.

You sigh for the nth time, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head. “I'm really sorry for this, they really aren't like this. I'm assuming that the loss of my office, which was coded as their own ‘HQ’ , impacted them more than I imagined. They wouldn't do any of this otherwise “ You adjust the few small items in your arms, the sample bags stacked on top.

Xiangli Yao hums in acknowledgement. “I understand that. Thankfully, that is an easy fix until your office is done and ready for use again. I often see the little guys lingering in front of the locked doors of the office.. makes me think they’re rather sentimental about the place” he nodded thoughtfully, and as he talked he approached you again, taking the items from you even after you tried to give a word of protest.

“Although, I also have a suspicion it is not just the loss of their ‘HQ’ that is making them behave like this” Yao added as he motioned towards the door again, having you walk out first. You did as he requested, but you closed the door behind him before he could try to. You look at him quizzically, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well..the droids’ objective is to help you reach an end in your research or daily tasks, yes? Have you perhaps not been able to reach an end of your work that the droids' could physically see? This is just my hypothesis but..uhh..” he trails off as he notices the weight of your stare, his eyes going back to the path ahead, focusing on going to Baizhi’s office. Was he being too prodding?

You couldn't deny that his words held some water, but a part of you wasn't ready to simply say what you thought. The AIDE were a bunch of robots you created, scraps of metals and wires, and giving them any form of sentimental intelligence aloud felt wrong. Even if you treated them kindly and softly like puppies and cats countless times, you weren't going to risk being seen as soft and fragile in your workspace, in front of Yao no less. He wasn’t cold in any way, or unkind to either robots, people or animals - but you felt silly in your treatment of your helpful companions.

“Are you saying that the droids may have a.. small flaw in their system? Their code could use some fine tuning, that's for sure…” you replied, trailing off as you thought about it, relieving him of your gaze in the meantime.

“Yes, that is what seems most plausible, although I do not know their code as well as you do”

You nod and just shrug, too tired to think of inputting more codes and numbers, but you knew the task was unavoidable. “Yeah…I'll take a look at the codes once I'm back. Uh, you know where Baizhi keeps her things?”

“Not exactly in the way she has her things organized…but, we can just leave them in an orderly place. I can explain the situation to her in the morning for you, no worries” Xiangli Yao is about to hasten his step again but you make it a point to beat him to it, opening the door for him and keeping it open. You hear a huff of a laugh behind you but you do not immediately turn around to face him and see his expression. Yet when you do take a look, your heart jumps in your throat as he passes by you, giving you another one of his warm smiles.

You feel stiff compared to him, he who seems so carefree and professional.

“You don't have to do that on my behalf. I'll just talk to her myself” you slide in next to him above Baizhi’s desk. It looks rather empty with how well organized it looks. Papers piled neatly on one end next to the simple lamp, pens in their pen holder, a few other things carefully tucked over the desk but besides that, there was nothing else on the desk. Everything else had its place on the shelves or in the drawers. You have to hold back your awe at it, remembering how much of an ‘organized mess’ your desk is.

“It wouldn't be an inconvenience, Baizhi and I have a task we have to do together tomorrow,” Yao said as he sat the sample bags down along with the little boxes.

You find yourself not knowing what to say, and suddenly you feel as if you're standing too close for comfort, your neck feeling too warm and you decide to pace away, taking in the office - one you have probably visited before but that fact wasn't important right now.

“Coohoo, clack?”

You both turn around and see several eyes staring back at you around the doorframe.

Xiangli Yao chuckles as he sees that the little droids have, once again, managed to snag something of his to bring to you - this time the Rubik's cube from before. They murmur among themselves when they see him, and one at the front almost hisses when he approaches. The others rush in with the Rubik's Cube in tow, rushing straight to you.

“Ah- not again…” you grumble as you crouch down to welcome your rowdy robot children in, taking the cube away from them as they crowd around your feet and tug lightly at the tail of your coat. “I'm really sorry, Xiangli-”

“No, no, please, no need to apologize. Now that I look at this, I have a feeling they're trying to lift your spirits. Surely, AIDE realizes a Rubik’s Cube has no other use but momentary play”

You look up at him, joining in the stare group made from your droids who all can't seem to take their eyes off of him.

“That…could be it. Hah, a rather cute thought, isn't it? I should give these guys a bit more praise, I think..” you feel yourself cracking slowly, the exhaustion and the weight of your unreached goals making your mind a fuzzy place. You feel your cheeks go warm again and cast your eyes down swiftly to take a look at your droids again.

“Quite so. Do you need help with the coding?” He suddenly asked as you rose to your feet, taking a careful step over the grouped up droids. You stumble and feel Yao grab onto your elbow to stabilize you. “Careful-”

“Thanks.. here's your, uhm, cube” you mutter as you hastily hand him the Rubik's cube even before you get to stand back properly on your feet.

The droids coo in unison, first in surprise and then in relief when you don't fall.

“And no, actually, I should be fine with doing the coding on my own. It will only take a bit, but anyway- I'd rather not be in your way any more than I already am.” You said as you found your feet again, the droids already gathering around your feet again and looking up at you and Yao unblinking.

“In my way? Miss (L/N), you’re not in my way. I am offering you my help of my own free will, not out of pity or anything similar” he assures you and soon joins you in looking down at your droids when you fail to respond. This time he can’t help but notice the flush on your cheeks, but he doesn’t comment on it for your sake.

“These little ones are.. quite something” you added as your eyes gazed over them all, listening to their lenses “blink” and observe.

The droids huddle closer, almost climbing up over the other to reach better heights to either of you. His words from before strike you once more in that moment, and you find yourself thinking deeper about the issue at hand - although can you really call it an issue? The droids have done nothing but try their best to be of use to you, and not only in your work but in your mood as well. Would it be so wrong to treat them with a little more humanity? The droids seemed to favor Xiangli Yao in some ways too, as most of the items they brought back to you were his.

“Xiangli Yao..”

“Hm?” He tips his head to the side, looking over at you as you still observe the little ones.

“Could you actually..help me with these guys a bit? I think I want to do more than just coding changes, I'd like to add some more features - and you have more experience in this field than I do”

Xiangli Yao feels his heart swell with something he can't quite describe coherently in that moment, but he knows it is making him feel fuzzy and energized. “Of course! I'd love to - spending some time with these droids is going to be a time well spent”.

Although he loved the droids on their own, he was more so looking towards spending time with you. And where the droids were is where you are.

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