#he Might go--if you can catch him! (spoilers: You Do Not) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mygnolia · 3 months ago

Text

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, action ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 17k (i’m sorry idk why either.)

⭒ INCLUDES -› SPOILERS FOR GREAT GATSBY, cursing, non-graphic injuries (reader discretion advised), yes i made the patching up with first aid kit trope SUE ME!! takes place in a busy city similar to new york never specified, reader is rich, jake and heeseung are seniors and riki’s a junior, is riki stupid? yes… jake reveals stuff because he is also a little silly, reader wears a red dress!

⭒ GREAT GATSBY -› basically jay gatsby has this weird amt of money but no one rlly knows how he got it (nefarious reasons) and hes been in love with this girl daisy for five years but then she got married to tom buchanan but he gets rich so he can get the house across from her and wistfully watch her and he pines after her like CRAZY but he dies at the end

⭒ REN SAYS...special huge fat kiss to thena @sensitively-taken you will be in the will when im a millionaire THANK YOU for helping me with so much of this I WUV U AND I WLL BE WAITING FOR UR HUENING FIC!!! | LIBRARY

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM PRE-ADULTHOOD STRESS, IF THAT’S EVEN A THING.

What exactly does Riki have to worry about as a seventeen-year-old junior in high school? Right now, his most daunting responsibility is catching up on the chapters of The Great Gatsby because the only thing Riki’s actually read from the novel is that the main character shares a name with his best friend and senior, Park Jay. His second most daunting responsibility is handling the fact that with the new seating chart in his Literature class, it means he’s sitting next to the object of his very subtle affections, you.

See, the problem with having a crush on you is that Nishimura Riki’s committed to thinking that you’re way out of his league, and unfortunately, the boy believes that almost too well. Not only are you minted beyond his wildest dreams (having seen your posts on social media), but you’re hardworking, helpful, and dedicated to your role as student body treasurer. He’s already understood that you’d never go for a guy like him. Maybe someone more like Park Sunghoon, whose parents’ salary matches yours. If Riki lived in a rural estate with generational wealth, handling the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing might be a bit easier for him, considering he wouldn’t have to try so hard in school. It might even change the fact that Riki dealt with some alleyway criminals last night and is currently catching up on lost sleep, as your English Literature teacher goes on and on about a project on the book you’re reading.

In class, and even sometimes outside of the classroom, your small tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings has landed you in some awkward situations—like now.

“I don’t really tell anyone this, but I hate Daisy.” And instead of getting a response, you glance over to see Nishimura Riki slumped on the desk. Without trying to make preconceptions about what could land him in a situation like this, you poke his arm, stifling a smile at how his eyes widen when you’ve caught him rubbing the very obvious sleep from his eye.

“Sorry,” he whispers, still fighting the post-nap grogginess, “Did I miss anything?”

(Nope.)

Shaking your head, you return your attention to your teacher as he continues to answer questions. The second Mr. Yoo assigned a report, you wanted to die even more considering the work you had to do on top of the impending due dates. But for it to be partnered? And for you to get seated and paired with the one boy who's known for not caring about school? Maybe things are a little stacked against you, but there has to be a reason why Riki’s somehow still passing all his classes…right?

Considering it’s the last assignment about the book, you’re glad that you already read it so many times to know what you want to put into words. And in retrospect, answering a few open-ended questions about it can’t be that hard—the hardest part would be getting your partner to stay awake in class.

A small tap at your side makes you turn to face Riki, who you see has frantically written a page full of notes about the project in the past three minutes and how he can succeed. “Can you go over the first part? Sorry…I was…y’know.”

“It’s a partner project. And we’re partners.” You wince at the awkward wording.

Great! Riki was caught sleeping and that was your first impression of him for your paired assignment? Riki feels so stupid in front of you right now—in front of your meticulous notes with annotations and proper highlighting. He wants to curl up into a ball when he sees you glance over at his haphazard attempt to look like he was paying attention when, in truth, he was trying to remember the dream he had just ten minutes prior. When you offer him a small smile and nod, leaning over with your notebook in hand, he sighs in relief, thanking whoever it was that let him get away with his naps without the consequence of irritating you afterwards.

The bell rings when Mr. Yoo stops talking, and you pause, startled by the sound. Instead of leaving, however, you pack your bag and shuffle to his side of his desk, continuing to parrot details about your report in hopes that it all makes sense. You need to make sure he knows what he’s doing.

“I think one of the questions he mentioned was like ‘Is Gatsby a good person?’ and do you remember how in Chapter Eight…” The rest gets zoned out and forgotten in the boy’s head, because he in fact does not know what happened in Chapter Eight. He doesn’t know what happened…in any part of the book. But he agrees anyway, pretending like he understands what scene you’re trying to explain. What he notices is how thorough and dedicated you are towards ensuring he comprehends what you’re explaining, and although it could be because you don’t want him to fail you both, he chooses to believe you’re doing it because you tolerate him.

You’re so engrossed in covering all the little details and telling him random tidbits regarding the book that you don’t realize your feet have made it all the way to the cafeteria. “But here, let me get your number. I’ll totally explain more over text.”

Riki is definitely not freaking out when he silently grabs his phone and hands it to you with the contact page, staring a little longer than necessary at the cute smiley face you added to your name. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the ten digits of your number, “For helping me with this, too.”

“Of course! The Great Gatsby is a fun read for me. A little hard to read sometimes because of some of the characters, but still easy to understand.” And Nishimura RIki realizes that he has to do well. He’ll read the book five times over if it means gaining your approval.

Jake notices something a little different about the tuft of black and blonde hair when his friend walks in. The first thing is that he’s actually here, and that you’re next to him, smiling. The boy rubs his eye to make sure he’s not dreaming somehow, but when he looks up again, you’re waving goodbye and joining your friends across the room.

“Did you get hit with something while fighting a villain that makes you more bold? I feel like I just saw you and ____ talking,” Jake starts when Riki finally joins him with his lunch.

Riki laughs, shoving Jake’s head out of embarrassment and opening his chips. “It’s just school. Got some project in English and she says we’re partnered.” He looks over at his friend chuckling, rolling his eyes at how Jake pokes at his side and wiggles his eyebrows.

“I better hear you two are dating by next week.”

“Who’s dating by next week?” Heeseung places his bag of food in front of them and takes a seat, opening the fast food he got last period and stuffing a fry in his mouth.

“Riki and ____. Let me have one,” Jake answers, reaching inside the bag.

Heeseung looks over at his junior curiously. “You asked her out?” And the two older students hear a groan from the boy in question.

“Me and ____ aren’t anything, for your information.” He prods at the vegetables on his tray and takes a bite before a look of displeasure washes over his face. “You’re both way too excited for two guys who do not have girlfriends.”

“Hey! You know the girl I’m always fighting with is the reason why I’m single. I have to focus on studying to do well in school to do better than her.” Heeseung’s whining falls on deaf ears as Riki smiles victoriously, seeing how defensive the former got.

Jake offers him a shrug of defeat. “I got nothing.”

The three of them fall into normal conversation and Riki finally explains everything that happened during English. “So you’re telling me your plan to ask ____ out went down from 18 months to 6?” And with a nod from the younger, they both groan once more. Heeseung exclaims, “We’re both going to graduate, dumbass. Make the plan go down to like…two months? Please?”

Jake cuts in before Riki has a chance to respond. “Make it one and a half, so we can see you with a prom date before leaving forever.”

“You act as if you’re going to die after graduation. It’s like you’re begging to be a super senior.”

And they’re silenced immediately.

“Do you think the guy I was with earlier hates me?” you ask on the other side of the room. Minjeong stares at you blankly, waiting for your explanation. “I don’t know if you saw when I walked in but I was talking to this really tall guy with blonde hair and black tips. He seemed really out of it, like he kept staring at me and nodding. I think I scared him off by talking about the book too much.”

Sunghoon, who is also listening in, opens his neatly packed lunchbox and begins mixing his noodles. “I think you did scare him off, ____.”

“Not helping,” Minjeong interjects, “Just talk to him more and maybe he’ll warm up to you. You two sit together in class anyways, so hopefully he’ll talk more?”

“I know him,” Sunghoon comments, “Well, sort of. I’m friends with Jake who’s friends with Riki, and it seems like all that boy does is sleep.”

“Maybe he’s really good at subconscious in-class comprehension?” you try, taking a bite of your sandwich. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere too much with treasurer stuff.”

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE IF HE SWINGS INTO ANOTHER WALL AT 100MPH LIKE HOW HE ALMOST DID TONIGHT.

All he’s had on his mind since school ended till now is how he should probably text you, if he really discarded the slimy acid monster from last week properly, and when the prom theme is going to be released, but there’s something amiss that confuses his spidey-senses and makes Riki much more alert.

He snaps out of whatever train of thought he had before, focusing on the situation at hand and looking around to follow his instinct. Riki cautiously plants himself on the side of a random apartment building to get a sense of what's going on. A tingle of some sort of in the air permeates the material of his suit and leaves him shivering from the cold.

He doesn't like it one bit.

Moving to the side of the building to the top, the boy finally catches a glimpse of something when he gets a decent view of the city and highway systems. Riki knows something’s wrong with the bridge the closer he gets. He zips from one side of the tall, metal tower to the other, crawling down on all fours making sure he isn’t caught. He feels the electric feeling once more, only amplified. It runs up his spine and he wants to slap it, almost like a frantic, summertime bug. The air around him is charged with something he has never recognized before. With a puzzled expression under his mask, Riki continues to investigate the surrounding area.

Riki finds a lone figure with some sort of attachment to his left arm, like a long glove made out of metal. The bulkiness of it seems to have no impact on his body as the man fiddles with the contraption, and the boy watches with bated breath as the machine fizzes and spurts with electricity. It begins to glow as power concentrates on his plated palm and the superhero sees it for the first time. It’s like a fizz, like a match striking at fire only to produce a quick burst of friction, but it almost feels liquid when he watches the person play with the flickering blue ball of electricity. It dances in the dark in a hauntingly beautiful way, with bolts jutting out from the metal as it spurts and buzzes with a life-like manner.

A spark.

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sound of Riki’s voice from the end of the bridge causes the stranger to look up with wide eyes. Although Riki fully expects it to simply enhance strength or block damage, the immediate strike of blue that flies straight towards him is anything but defensive. With a yelp, he jumps away, this time refusing to show himself.

What the hell was that?

He knows he should go back down there to change things and get the person and the metal pieces away before it escalates, but when he goes back down to watch, it's ten times worse. The bright blue illuminates the scarred face of the villain as he’s picked up the metal arm–but this time, it’s no longer clunky and sparking, but fused into his arm.

Riki’s face pales at the sudden change before his body acts on its own and he shoots out a web to stop the man.

The villain is shocked by the intrusion, but quickly yanks free from the webbing and flicks another bolt of electricity, one that flies much faster now that the metal flows into the arm instead of simply resting on the skin. It’s unlike something Riki has ever seen, something that is so controlled in motion and yet so erratic in nature, and it instills a deathly fear when it grazes his arm he hisses in pain. The sharp feeling springs Riki into action as he jumps away. He’s lucky another bolt isn’t sent his way, seeing how the villain’s too busy marveling at the power of his new gadget.

“You know that fucking hurts, right?” He yells out, cupping his wound. “Maybe leave the gadgets to the kids!”

The man scoffs. “It better have hurt. I sacrificed half my body for this to work.”

“But why?” All Riki wants is answers. Some sort of explanation.

The man charges up yet another bolt, almost like a laser gun is built into the machine. “Less talking, more running, Spiderman.”

That scared the shit out of him.

The boy doesn’t have time to think as he jumps out from the dark tunnel to the bridge and up the metal towers—he hates having to fight with people right below. The villain follows in pursuit, almost crumbling the metal with his engineered arm as he hoists himself quickly. Riki continues to jump between the structure to avoid the flashes, trying to get out and apprehend the man as quickly as possible. When he reaches the top, however, he feels death is near as he glances down at the villain below who’s quickly gaining on him. He shoots out webs to slow him temporarily, letting himself fall and swing from the side of the tower to escape.

What he doesn’t see on the way across the bridge is the flash that misses his cheek and hits his thigh instead. It burns, and mid-air, Riki gives the wound a quick assessment before he lands on the metal, immediately forcing his body to climb. While dealing with his wound, he fails to notice the villain swinging from the bridge support lines to meet him.

He needs to end this fast before he becomes burnt toast.

Riki doesn’t often rely on instinct to carry him, but he can tell that the villain he’s facing isn’t just a criminal.

“Land another hit, would you?” he tries to say, his voice strained from the pain in his arm and leg. It doesn’t do much to deter the man in front of him as the arm continues to destroy and bend the metal on the way up. “What are you going to do now, Sparky?”

The man says nothing, charging energy into his metal glove again before aiming and focusing on the target: him.

Riki jumps off, not able to properly land his web in the right spot as he goes from one section of the bridge to the other. The man behind him looks enraged at the boy’s attempt to escape—so much so that he reaches out with his normal hand to try to grasp the suit when Spider-Man swings past him. Instead of the feeling of fabric, the villain feels sticky spider fluid on his fingers. Riki shoots out a web, one that curls around the villain’s wrist and drags him off the tower. Instead of being able to launch him into the surrounding waters, the man slips from the poorly shot-out webs and falls from mid air into the sea of frantic cars, including one semi truck that collides directly with his arm. In the air, the boy winces when he hears honks and shouts from the impact, hoping it’s the last time he’ll have to witness it.

With his gaze trained on the falling figure, the weakly attached web breaks, and Riki all of a sudden starts falling down as well. He curls up defensively before bracing for impact, curling into himself when he feels the metal dent and the truck driver scream from outside of the parked vehicle, the body of the villain right in front of it.

Riki staggers, holding onto his arm and thigh the best he can before getting up. With wobbly steps and a small jump, he lands near the unconscious man, whose metal arm is cracked and fizzling—something that Riki knows is bound to leave more scars.

“Call the police. I’ll get rid of the pieces.” Although Riki wants to figure out who the criminal is and make sure he’s properly apprehended, the gashes in the boy's limbs leave him winded and exhausted. With hot metal scraps bound together by webbing in his hands, Riki swings out and dumps it somewhere rural, trying his best to cover the pieces with the pounding headache that

Riki revisits the secluded spot under the bridge, looking for clues to the man’s identity, and his expression falls when he notices a lanyard dangling near a trash can.

His name, his position, and the company. FLiGHT Corp. The company name caught the boy’s eye, and he pockets the item before leaving.

It seemed like he was a normal research scientist, but Riki’s recollection of the scars and tattered skin leaves him retracting his last thought. He heard something about the failure of a time travel machine at FLiGHT, and if the mass of the incident was anything to go by, he was in the center of it.

No matter how many times Riki tries to get it out of his head, on the way home, all he can think about is the inexperience he displayed and the lack of response he gave Riki during the whole time. But Riki can’t bring himself to really take away someone’s life—and maybe for that, he’s a horrible superhero.

He knows he should stop the man before it's too late, and especially with how many self-proclaimed villains there have been, it's not easy to see so many innocent people ruin their lives chasing a power that inevitably consumes them. He knows it’ll only get worse if he lets them run free.

And while the superhero has never been fully honest with himself, there are many times where Riki hates his role as Spider-Man, and wishes that he was just some teenage boy who didn't have the lives of others in his palm. He wishes he didn't have to sacrifice so much to stay behind a mask—and he wonders deep down if there’s anyone else who felt the same.

His swings lead him across the city above hundreds of lives he has to protect, and he tries to find some semblance of peace. He thinks about how he has his homework due despite having just risked his life, he thinks about how your project is going—and about you.

In the night under the stars, Nishimura Riki wishes for something just a bit normal. He wishes a good night for himself, but also for you, wherever you could be.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM TRYING TO READ THIS BOOK IN ONE NIGHT.

The Great Gatsby is exactly like how you described it; a little hard to get through but fun with the plot’s eccentric characters. He’s pretty sure he could’ve just used a detailed SparkNotes explanation for the book, but having a crush can make someone do weird things. And in Nishimura Riki’s case, his infatuation has got him reading a novel about morally-skewed characters and rich society to impress you.

When you come into class barely on time, Riki gives you a confused look when you sit down, but doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead, he takes out his book and tries to act like his eyes weren’t closing shut from exhaustion by the time Daisy was finally confessing how she loved Gatsby.

The moment Mr. Yoo stops talking, however, Riki isn’t asleep—much to your surprise. He has his book out, pages filled with sticky notes and a whole section of his notebook dedicated to characters (written in bright red to keep him awake) and their traits.

“I got it.” It’s the first thing he says when you two are left to do in-class work. It’s ominous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic in a high school literature class for a boy who doesn’t even care that much for school, but you’ll accept it with open arms if it means you get a helping hand on your project.

“Continue,” you tell him slowly, leaning back in your chair to listen to him. And you don’t know why, but a small part of you thinks that the boy who sleeps every period the book was discussed wouldn’t have much to say or contribute to such an open-ended prompt, but life is full of surprises.

What you fail to notice is how Riki is nervous and his stomach does at least twenty flips before he swallows dryly and starts rambling in hopes to impress you and redeem himself from his embarrassing slumber a few days ago.

“So you know how our prompt is based on one character and basically all their actions?” he asks, and you nod, absentmindedly thumbing a sheet in your journal. “I’m thinking we should talk about Jay Gatsby because so much is revealed to us about him that we might as well use it to our advantage. Y’know, talking about how the theme of exploitation and secrets is veiled under Gatsby’s desire for Daisy.”

“You don’t think Gatsby’s a good character?” Riki wants to tell you that Gatsby is more relatable than good or bad, but he shakes his head.

“I mean, not really.” He feels like with those four words, he’s completely changed the trajectory of his relationship with you from a positive slope to completely downhill—and a wave of panic washes over him. “Should I? I mean, I could see him as more redeemable if you gave me examp-“

You wave your hand to quell his worries. “To be honest, I don’t like him either. But he’s an interesting main character to write about, so I think we should go with your idea.”

To win your approval feels like he’s won at least three fights against a villain in a row without getting any bad injuries—it feels good. And for the rest of the period, you are able to finish a detailed outline of your work for the next few weeks, mapping out sections for each other, and he even gets to see a part of prom planning on a word document you had open. He considers your shared productivity a win when he packs up and bids you goodbye before leaving for lunch.

One wave doesn’t catch Riki’s attention from across the room. Not even two, or three calls of his name could get Nishimura Riki out of his thoughts, and Jake frowns before moving up in the lunch line.

“Something’s caught your eye again.” Jake feigns innocence and sighs dramatically as he places the food down next to Riki’s plate. “Could it possibly be our school treasurer?” Jake laughs, leaning over to catch a glimpse of what’s got his friend so entranced and non-responsive.

Riki scrunches his nose, annoyed, but never breaking his gaze from where you’re sitting. “We talked in class–like, a lot,” is all he says, paying his friend no mind. “She’s genuinely so understanding.”

“God, I don’t think you can be any more down bad for her than you are right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he notices you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last week. Let me have this before I die tomorrow.”

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair, “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response.

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.”

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.”

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.”

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.”

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up in my suit. Do that cheesy upside down kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spider-Man thing, but prom definitely.”

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“What’s your project about, anyways? Didn’t you tell me last night that she gave you her number? Must be pretty serious if she wants to text you.” Riki furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head.

“It’s just tying the theme of the book to one character and writing about how they show it. So we did the theme of money and Gatsby, because it’s easy and mentioned so many times.”

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

“I was planning to read it regardless of who I was partnered with.”

“Okay- that’s debatable.” There goes another one of Riki’s nachos.

“Gross.”

He thinks things are going pretty well for you two. The report is being written and your quotes are basically finding themselves, so Riki should give himself a pat on the back for pitching the initial idea for how to go about your assignment. Maybe reading the whole book offered him a few useful pointers, and he goes to sleep that night satisfied with your progress. Maybe Heeseung and Jake were right—maybe he could finally ask you out by prom.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO SAVE THE CITY FROM YET ANOTHER MONSTER TERRORIZING THE STREETS.

He wakes up the next morning, not expecting his alarm to alert his senses to danger. It rings in his head and makes him feel delirious, trying to shake sleep off as he looks out the window for any visible sign of what's wrong. If he could hear the danger in his head then that meant someone could be hurt, and he could go to school without a few hours of sleep if he worked fast enough, right?

Riki slips into his suit without much thought and goes to crack his window open, only to look back at his clock and read the horrific time of 6:23AM.

Who the hell picks a fight with a teenager at this ungodly time?

Then, he shoots from his wrists, once, twice, and suddenly, he's off, covering more ground through the air in just three seconds than he ever could while walking or running for minutes on end.

The source of his tingling spidey-sense is some large metal centipede creature that was setting off car alarms in a neighborhood near the market. Thankfully, no one was really awake to be caught in the crossfire, but he has to figure out how the hell he's going to catch that thing in...he checks his watch…twenty minutes?

Hopefully, his instinct will help him win this time—again.

The web he shoots out does nothing to stop the monster, and considering how it connected them both, the threads only drag the superhero to the edge of the building he was initially watching from. With some yelling and pulling, he finally detaches, and realizes that the odd sizzling feeling in his bonds must be from the same source as a few days ago; Spark.

He had this gut feeling that a villain as strong as him wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, but his wounds were so deep and the blood loss so bad from a few nights ago that he couldn’t have truly dumped him in the ocean without fainting or suffering something permanent, and although Riki hoped things in the universe would work itself out, the presence of the giant fifty foot insect alone is proof that things were not in his favor.

He jumps off the building onto another, working quickly as he strings up a few webs between the houses as a wall for the monster, watching it slide and knock over cars in its wild pursuit. The monster spends a few seconds breaking down the wall of webbing and climbing over it, the many legs easily breaking through. As the superhero jumps across buildings and keeps track of the centipede’s movement, he has no idea why it isn’t going for him, and that makes his job much harder without the attention of the monster. One glance at the direction the centipede is headed in sets off another ding in Riki’s head—but this time, it finally clicks why the centipede is headed away from the boy.

It’s attracted to the power plant.

Riki immediately jumps and swings off of a lamp post, using the momentum of gravity and the force of his swing to propel him faster than the slithering creature. Squinting, he holds out his fist and points his pointer and pinky out, following the movement of the centipede as he aims.

Bam.

He sends clusters of silky white threads down precisely at the first pair of legs to pin it down. The webs stop the creature momentarily, and Riki doesn’t have time to watch how the body shrinks up and fizzes out with blue shocks as it tries to wiggle loose and malfunctions. This fight would be over soon, and the boy smiles when he jumps down to shoot more webs to apprehend the centipede. It wiggles and sends electricity out through parts of its body, trying to pry itself out. He expects it to simply be a robot of sorts following a mission considering its avoidant behavior, but as he approaches the tail, the monster suddenly swings at Riki, and its mass and speed is incomparable to the boy’s reaction speed.

Riki lands into a tree and someone’s garage, feeling the crumbling wall falling all over him and the sudden pain blooming in his lower back.

This fight will, in fact, not be over soon.

With his superhuman abilities, Riki grabs onto the metal of the car beside him to hoist himself up, coughing from the dust, and jumping over the rubble to see how quickly the centipede creature can get out, without regard for his current state. The sound and rumble of the giant monster is all he needs to know that the traps are effective, but not at the previous capacity.

The plan is simple: apprehend the legs and crush the head, where Riki assumes the decision-making and programming is taking place. But the monster’s angry and erratic actions throw a wrench in his plan. Its legs move faster, digging into the cement and leaving ruin in its wake as it continues down the road. While both the villain and superhero are fast, the distance between the power plant is finite—and only grows smaller and smaller.

Although Riki can feel the bruises coming, he runs and swings, hearing the wind in his ears as he catches up to the centipede in no time. He tries the same tactics again–aim, shoot, stick, all the while keeping his distance. Although the monster’s body spans incredibly long, and should carry an immense amount of weight, the way it snaps at Riki’s flying body and sends shockwaves through his core leaves him shivering as his body slams into the ground, coughing. It hurts all over, and it feels like there’s weight on his eyes when he tries to open them and get up. His head is spinning as he staggers onto his knees, clutching his chest as he watches the centipede shrivel and crackle.

It seems like the voltage produced is a double-ended sword, one that burns up the centipede body as much as it deals damage, and with the way the mutant creeps towards the electricity of the plant, Riki gets the feeling there’s a magnetic pull that forces the mutant to continue to crawl even against its instinct to stop.

Despite his waning strength, however, Riki knows better than to half finish the job like last time. He creates a net from experience, weaving together the thickest and most durable threads to trap the entirety of the slowly approaching creature. It seems to crawl slowly up the makeshift barrier, knocking its head against the white and spreading the bright blue waves of its energy throughout. The boy watches as the thin white mass absorbs all of it and clings to the creature. It works, finally, after his attempts to nullify its movements, and he knows that despite the ache in his every step, the almost mummified centipede that hangs between several roofs for all the neighbors to gawk at is his sure sign of victory.

All he remembers is hearing a familiar call of his hero name before his legs give out and his head hits Jake’s chest.

Holy fucking shit is the first thing Riki thinks when he wakes up.

He’s not out of his tattered suit and he feels grimy all over, but his body has done wonders in reducing the otherwise fatal injuries he got. No human body should be able to withstand two energy-filled blasts, but his suit and superhuman healing are of greater help than ever in alleviating the damage from his wounds.

He knows why he’s in his bed with bandages thrown over his open wounds. He knows that every time something like this happens, it’s Jake who shoos away the concerned civilians, telling them he’s a medic. Jake is not a medic—rather, he’s a seventeen year-old boy who knows about his friend’s double life and with all the times he’s saved Riki, someone might as well dub him the greatest medic of all time.

The clock on his bedside table has only served as a bearer of bad news. He looks over to see how it’s practically midday, and he’s missed yet another day of school from fighting crime. He’s in no condition to get up or get his bag, seeing how his hair is frizzy and his cheek has a cut that would warrant questioning. It seems only fair that he stays absent, and before he falls back asleep, he only prays you aren’t too mad at him for leaving the seat next to you empty.

But you aren’t mad, just worried. The soreness in his muscles doesn’t go away though, and he groans when he sits up in his bed, with bandages around his arms and an ice pack discarded next to him.

He’s most definitely not coming to school like this.

While you bore holes into the clock hanging off the wall, that doesn’t speed up the time. Two minutes pass, then another minute. As your classmates find their partners and begin discussing, you notice how the room gets louder with the due date looming near. It’s the first time you’re alone without the familiar boy beside you, and something hangs low in your chest when you put in a pair of earphones and open your laptop.

Riki’s absence should have no effect on you. After all, you’re both just high school students who’ve talked once or twice, and yet you still look over at the empty chair. Staring doesn’t make Riki appear, though, and you return to your edits. It feels empty without his insight, or without him asking you to help him with a passage. Riki was your solution to all things boring. If he wasn’t doing his work, then you two were laughing at something on his phone. And if you agreed to both do something other than the report, then you could ask for an extra opinion when deciding prom details. There was something freeing about working with him that attracted you. Riki knew how to lighten the mood on days that weren’t so good for you, but he also worked hard and let loose at the same time. There was a perfect balance in Riki’s life that you aspired to have; it was a good mix of playful, dedicated, and fun all in the same vein.

The words blend together on your screen. Jay Gatsby this, Tom Buchanan that, it all looks monotonous the more you keep trying to read and comprehend what exactly you’re talking about.

Before class is dismissed, Mr. Yoo steps to the front of the classroom to gather everyone’s attention. He introduces your new novel for the next month, explaining yet another large assignment associated with the text.

Truth be told, you don’t pay attention to any of it.

The only thing you remember to do is to grab extra copies of the printed graphic organizers, as you get out of your seat and rush out when class ends in pursuit of one specific boy.

“Sim Jaeyun!” The call of his name diverts Jake’s attention from his phone to your waving arm as you weave through the students and finally reach him.

“You can just call me Jake,” he explains, “what’s up?”

You begin to reach into your backpack, trying to feel for your folder, and pull out a few sheets. “These are for Riki.”

Jake cheers internally for his friend who’s busy recovering at home. “What, you got a crush on him or something?”

He tries to play it cool by teasing you, but the smile you bite back leaves the boy questioning if there really is anything going on. Jake knows better than to tell you anything about Riki’s feelings, and opts to instead grab the papers and to thank you for looking out for his friend.

“Is Riki okay?” You have to know, just to make sure he’ll be here tomorrow to cure your boredom.

What Jake says is much different than the nonchalant wave and half grin he gives you. “He’s just bedridden.”

“That’s pretty serious! Did he come down with anything?” He seemed fine yesterday, so what’s the catch?

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.”

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up.

Your confusion and silence answers him far more than words ever could–he basically hears the gears turning slowly in your head.

Jake weakly defends, “His parents had a fight with him because he hit his head or something. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just bedridden from sadness, y’know?”

The look you give him is unconvinced, but when Heeseung pats him on the shoulder and waves to you, the boy realizes that maybe staying quiet would’ve been the better decision.

“I’ll see you later, ____.” And he’s off, waving half-heartedly and dragging a very confused Heeseung out of the cafeteria.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO WAKE YOU UP AS GENTLY AS HE CAN.

Ever since March started and flowers began to bloom, your energy seemed to do the opposite, dwindling until Riki catches you mirroring his frequent in-class action: sleeping. And it worries him beyond belief, because you’re not the type to fall asleep like… ever. However, Riki does not have the heart to wake you up, even if it’s with a little nudge that you probably barely feel with how light he taps. It breaks his heart to have to ask you to review what he has done, because the bell is about to ring and the teacher might just send you to detention if he catches you off-task.

The allergies always make Mr. Yoo irritable, and Riki knows not to get on his nerves.

Your eyes flutter open to the pokes and prodding from none other than Nishimura Riki, who gazes at you softly when you adjust to the bright classroom setting once more.

Panic settles in. “Wait- how long was I sleeping for?”

He shrugs and scrunches his nose, not giving you an answer as he finishes scribbling something in his notebook.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Your hand squeezes into a fist at the frustration that you’ve let your partner down.

And yet, Riki seems to be unfazed, frowning when he sees you stressing out. “Don’t ever sweat the little things, yeah? If there’s anything you ever need to talk about–trust me, I know what it’s like to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Smiling at him, you respond with, “Thank you, really.”

Being treasurer is daunting in the spring. It’s full of requests, forms, and small tasks that leave you spent by the end of the day. “But,” you glance at the clock to see just how much time is left, “how’d you know?”

He motions to your open computer with a now dark screen. “I saw your document pulled up. ____’s tasks or else she will be kicked out of student government,” he taunts, snickering when your eyes grow wide with embarrassment and you lightly nudge his shin with your foot in warning.

“It’s not polite to snoop,” and although you say that, you catch something in your peripheral vision. It’s a few drawings of a figure and gadget drawn, shaded from rigid shapes with small descriptions pointing to different places. You weren’t sure what was more surprising; how good the drawings were, or the subject of his imagination.

Weird. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with Riki drawing a villain, and you chalked it up to him being creative. Nothing more, nothing less.

He puts his hands up in surrender at your last comment, his grin showing anything but. Just one look at the boy makes you realize that everything you’ve just thought about is foolish.

There’s no way he’d have time to be a villain and a student. With one final thought, you let your raging thoughts rest and focus on the present; him. You’ve seen his hair messy, especially after his naps, but when Riki tries to style it like how he did today, you pay more attention to the streaks of blonde and how he often hides behind his bangs and scrunches his nose. It’s cute. He’s cute.

The truth is, you enjoy being around him like this, joking around and never worrying too much about your responsibilities and expectations. It’s refreshing. Being around Riki gives you the feeling that things will be okay in the end.

You snap out of your thoughts to see that his desk is empty, while your’s hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re going to sell prom tickets now, right?” He makes small talk before leaving for lunch, closing the notebook you were suspiciously eying before slipping it into his bag.

“Yup,” you answer, popping the ‘p,’ “I’ll see you later,” and you two part ways.

All the long lines and constant distribution of change doesn’t allow much wiggle room for you to daydream. As time goes on, the ticket-selling line grows smaller and smaller, but the only thing you truly care about is eating the lunch your parents packed you. Your sandwich is probably sad and soggy now that there are only a few minutes of lunch left. When you finally sign off one last time after triple checking the forms are all correct, you let out a sigh, leaning back and finally getting a break.

Then, it hits you that you’re not even sure if the boy you’re fawning over is attending the biggest event of the year, and you feel stupid for forgetting to ask.

Yesterday was a rookie’s mistake–today, you’d make sure you get an answer from him.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah, whatever confidence he had when convincing himself he’d ask you out isn’t serving him well at this moment. Quite frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?”

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes for the new book you’re reading.

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it carefully, really because you don’t have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to be someone I know—someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from over-thinking if he keeps on wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐ talk to ____ regularly

☐ don't make it awkward

☐ be..cute?

The boy decides that his superhuman responsibilities might be easier to complete than any of those three things.

He switches the subject to stop his head from hurting too much. “Did you finish the report?”

You still, and Riki’s question reminds you of the report looming over your head. In your defense, you two hadn’t brought it up much in the past week, and he didn’t seem to worry over how much of your time was spent emailing teachers or making spreadsheets. Although caught off guard, you’re quick to respond with, “What did we have to finish? I thought we were done since last week, but if there’s anything else-”

“Sorry,” he rushes out, biting his lip, “I meant, if you finished reading it.” And the answer is no, you haven’t read it since your last edit on it three days ago.

Within a few clicks, you find the document and scroll to the bottom, seeing the small note that Riki left that said ‘let me know how it looks.’ It’s sweet to know he thought about your input as much as you did his.

“While some can agree that Gatsby’s rise into high society was sketchy, Gatsby still retains the same reserved character from years ago, and doesn’t manipulate others into success or use his money for nefarious purposes. It’s not like he changed after his wealth, and it could be argued Gatsby loved Daisy until his last breath and was willing to die as long as she was happy, emphasizing the theme of sacrifice.

So, is Jay Gatsby a good person? The question targets the morality of a character who many can empathize with. Those who are charmed by his overwhelming love for Daisy would say that he’s committed textbook crimes, but focus more on the intent behind it. To pine after someone from a distance isn’t easy, but to pursue her after years of separation is even harder. It’s universally agreed, however, that love as a driving force doesn’t nullify what he’s done to others and the dirty schemes he’s enacted to gain the power he has. Therefore, Gatsby makes for an interesting main character, and highlights just how twisted a system around money can be.”

The last page is–for the most part–his writing, and your admiration for him grows when you finish reading and scroll to hit your Works Cited page.

“It’s good,” you tell him wholeheartedly, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Riki cracks a smile at your light teasing, soaking up your praise.

“Now you know.” He shrugs. And he can only hope that you like him as much as you like his literary skills.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE COMES TO THE REALIZATION THAT HE IS EXACTLY LIKE JAY GATSBY,JUST WITHOUT THE MONEY—DESPERATE FOR THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS, DYING YOUNG, AND A FRAUD HIDING BEHIND SECRETS.

Nevermind the last one, he has to hide when he has an identity to protect as the city’s only superhero, but Riki feels his heart sink to his heels when he read a few weeks ago how much Gatsby simply adores Daisy. When Gatsby died, he scoffed, closing the book with a sudden disinterest. If he were the male lead, he wouldn’t have been laying in a pool for target practice. Maybe being a superhero teaches you how to avoid being easy bait for all your enemies, or maybe Gatsby was too carried away with love to think straight.

Fighting crime gives you insurmountable experience with sneaking around, but it wasn’t something he could just teach to anyone. When he gets this horrible gut feeling that something’s happened to you, he just knew something was wrong. He might not be easy to catch, but for anyone else? Definitely.

For everyone else, prom was a month away, but for you, it was three weeks of talking to your advisor and president, arguing with your other board members, and sitting behind that damn money box for another five days to sell tickets. For you, it was realizing that you were supposed to buy streamers and balloons yesterday on your way home from school. It was the thinly veiled disappointment in your board member’s texts when they told you they were at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry, and I know you’re busy, but how could you forget? Prom is so important for all of us. What if they don’t have what you need anymore?’ It all repeated in your head as you bit your lip in frustration and slipped on the first pair of shoes you could find. Although it was dark and dangerous, you could care less if it meant avoiding the passive aggressive comments you’d get tomorrow during your meeting.

There it is again: that little tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings.

You yelp when you feel someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in, muffling your screams as he pulls you along. To see him on the news was worrying, but to see Spark in person with your life on the line is even worse.

Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle against the metal to no avail, and you curse every previous moment you spent worrying about balloons rather than your safety.

Spark suddenly stops, shoving you against the wall before his hand grabs a brick with his metal arm, beginning to climb. “Don’t let go.” And you don’t think twice before holding on.

The city view would be beautiful if you weren’t hearing your heartbeat in your ears or if you weren’t dangling from the railing of some company building, trying to wiggle yourself free of the rope around your wrists.

Spark speaks up, drumming his fingers on the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is, would you?” And you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely questioning for a moment if he really knew how the superhero operated.

A voice from across the street puts a temporary hold on your thoughts, and you glance up to see a flash of blue and red soaring through the air, followed by a groan and a beam of light next to you. Seeing Spark’s powers right in front of you spurs you into action, yanking at the rope and trying to take tiny steps away from where they were fighting.

“From what I’m seeing, you wanted to hold someone hostage because you’re not feeling too good, huh?” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out webs and blocks hits. You shake your head in partial disbelief of how unserious he is, but also how unbelievable all of this seems. “You tried to take a potion or something? I’m going to tell you this now, but these usually don’t work.”

Riki’s assumption is right, and considering how Spark now has a leg and arm from metal instead of just the arm, the procedure for the additional limb couldn’t have been easy. The superhero still proceeds with caution, making sure to pay attention to anything new as he dodges and fights back.

The villain immediately gets back up, stumbling for a moment before he regains his stance and runs towards the boy. You hear the clanging of fist hitting metal from their fight, and considering the difference in height and build, you’d expect Spider-Man to be easily flung to the side, but he holds his weight in battle.

Riki aims for around the left shoulder, where an abundance of stitches cover the skin and fuse the metal into muscle. He lands a hit, and almost another one, before a punch to the side knocks him from his momentum. The boy wheezes when his back makes instant contact with the ground, rolling and getting up before Spark has time to shoot.

He notices how quickly the gadget generates electricity now. Before, the beams took longer, and were easily predictable, but now, it glows bright for a moment before it fires directly in Riki’s path. The boy dodges the first, but the second one almost hits the top of his head before he ducks and creates distance.

From the roof-top, Riki scans his surroundings before making the split-second decision to jump.

He swings to the other side of the building, keeping you in his peripheral vision as he works on apprehending the villain in front of him. They spring into yet another fist fight, with Riki’s agility easily letting him avoid punches and land precise hits to make the previous injuries even worse.

You think Spider-Man has the upper hand in this, seeing as how none of Spark’s punches seem to slow down the superhero, but you hear something loud before you can register it.

You figure out what happened after Riki stumbles and suffers a blow to the stomach, sending him tumbling to the edge of the building. Spark knew that Spider-Man was avoiding his left arm—he knew that one wrong move paired with the tungsten material would have a lasting effect on the superhero’s fist.

Riki coughs from the impact before his spidey-sense rings, pulling him back into battle as he runs as fast as his body can take him.

You. He still needs to save you.

With renewed vigor, he continues to avoid the flying sparks as he ducks between structures and uses the terrain to his advantage. He can tell, though, that the villain is slowing down. The shots are less accurate–a telltale sign that the enhancer Spark tried is working against him.

Between all of the chaos, Riki finally lands a proper web, yanking as hard as he can to pull Spark to the ground. He stumbles, grasping at thin silk before Riki lets go on his side. The villain’s balance is off, giving the boy an advantage as he closes the distance, hopping over a thrown slab of metal and landing a solid kick into Spark’s ribcage. As he stays down, Riki continues to aim for muscle and flesh, his head spinning as he packs punch after punch to keep the villain apprehended.

Spark’s body–curled into itself to absorb the hits the best that he can– hides the growing blue flash that he’s slowly charging up with his remaining power. The moment it escapes from under his abdomen, Riki directs his efforts towards avoiding the electric glimmer. The villain rolls over, his body tattered from the consistent injuries, and he fires what seems like an intense bullet of energy. It zips by the boy’s cheek, cutting the mask and leaving blood to run down in its wake. Time slows down as the superhero tries to process the unlocked speed of the burst, and Spark loses focus marveling at his new abilities. Never before had either of them seen power so concentrated, and it inflicts both fear and excitement.

He lifts his arm, the other holding it up for support, and Spider-Man notices the fizzle of bright blue. Riki’s about to jump out of the way, preparing for yet another high-speed bullet, but before Spark fires, something clicks. The arm doesn’t directly point to Riki–but it skews off to the right.

Except, he’s no longer aiming for Riki in the split second that the boy blinks. He’s suddenly aiming at you, where your hands are tied to the railing and your feet are dangling from the bent metal that holds you precariously over the edge, leaving a fifty foot drop in its wake. When you see the blue energy in the villain’s palm growing slowly bigger, you pull at the rope desperately with zero regard to the tender rawness of your wrists.

In your attempt to somehow break the rope, your cry of fear snaps Spider-Man into action.

Riki pushes his sore body to jump as quick as he can, leaping across the rooftop to the building over. He easily avoids the metal railing, grabbing onto your arm as he yanks hard on the rope, the force of it separating a piece of metal from the railing. He immediately jumps, sending out a web to swing him back up. It all happens in a flash–first, you were bound to the edge about to fall to your death, and all of a sudden, you’re tightly pressed against Spider-Man’s chest with your bound wrists still attached to the metal. Shutting your eyes, you trust Spider-Man entirely, closing your eyes to avoid seeing just how far up you were. Wind rushes in your ears and leaves your stomach fluttering with butterflies until the superhero sets you down on a secluded rooftop.

“Please,” he begs, “don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

You’d be a fool to do anything but wait.

Riki checks on you one last time before diving down, springing himself back up with another web. The damage from the blasts is recognizable even from far away, and yet, he notices the reflective shine of a metal arm on the edge of the building before Spark lets go.

To Riki, Spark is dead after dropping from a fall having taken that much damage, but he hears no impact. Making haste, the boy fails to find any figure no matter how hard he looks, but Spark’s laboratory has to be here somewhere. The badge from a week ago was stuck on Riki’s mind, and he could only imagine the reasons why he pursued this life. Was he recreating something? If he needs to power some sort of machine, then the heart of the city is a perfect place to harness the electricity for any large scale project. As much as he wants to dedicate the rest of the night to searching the city for some sort of clue, the fact that you’re still stranded on that rooftop after having just experienced a life-changing event blares like an alarm in his mind.

He quickly leaves, returning to where you’re seated.

Without the fear of falling to your death from earlier, you were able to focus on undoing the knots from the rope. Red scratch marks and irritation bloom on your wrist, and the reality of it all happening still hasn’t settled in. Despite not being harmed once, the fear and incessant pounding of your heart overwhelms your senses, and it leaves you heaving with confusion.

A pair of footsteps only become apparent as Riki walks closer, taking a seat beside you and letting out a large sigh. He stares at the stars silently as if he doesn’t have a cut on his cheek and bruises waiting to paint his skin purple–as if he isn’t hiding his true self under a facade.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You shake your head, grateful that Spider-Man was the reason you got away without a real injury.

“Thank you, really, for saving me. I don’t know how you manage to do it.”

Riki chuckles under the mask. “Eh, you get used to it,” you hear Spider-Man say. “You fight a couple bad guys, get over a fear of heights and eventually you get the hang of things.”

Scoffing, you gently rub at your wrists to ease the redness. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t been taught a crash course on how to avoid being supervillain bait just yet.”

“Maybe you should learn it sometime,” Riki responds absentmindedly, “someone like you shouldn’t have been out so late doing whatever it could’ve been.”

Sighing, your mind drifts off to think about the balloons and streamers that are not in your hand. “I had stuff for my upcoming events.”

He knew about all of it when you’d explain your cryptic reminders and notes on your computer, but he still feigns curiosity. “What upcoming events?”

“Just prom,” and he hears just how strained it makes you.

Riki tilts his head in faux confusion. “What do you have to do for prom?”

He notices how you immediately slump, as if the mere mention of prom deflates your happiness. “It’s only a few weeks away, and I was supposed to get decorations for our venue yesterday. I just wanted to slip out before my parents noticed.”

Despite the fabric over his eyes, Riki’s expression shifts from surprise to pity when he understands your stakes. “You still need to be careful. Is your student council strict?”

“Not strict necessarily, but judgemental–I ran for the position because I thought I could help my school raise funds and find more opportunities, but it just feels like no one truly wants to try anything new.” You wave it off as if it’s not that important, as if it isn’t the reason why you find yourself stressed so often. “I just don’t want to disappoint or give people something to talk about.”

Despite not being involved with school the same way you are, the boy next to you resonates with the fear you currently face. The fear of letting people down was a large part of why Riki continued to put on that mask and step into the most dangerous situation of his life; he never wanted to sit down to hear the news that Spider-Man quit.

So he keeps doing his job, even if some days are harder and some fights aren’t worth winning–just like what you do.

“Yeah, I get that,” he tries to console, “You must be doing a lot for everyone around you, and I’m sure a lot of people appreciate what you’ve done. Don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah? You’ll always have me.” He smiles, but he knows you don’t see it. You’re looking at the stars, trying to calm your mind and return to your life before everything happened.

You glance over at Spider-Man, wondering if he’ll truly be around for you when you need it. “If I need to talk to you, should I step out of my house past 8PM again?”

Riki chuckles, watching clouds slowly dim the moon’s glow in their path. “If I’m not fighting crime, I’ll show up at a moment’s notice.”

There’s no way he means it, but you grin, feeling a lot of the pressure and stress of earlier slowly wash away. After all, nothing happened to you–Spider-Man made sure of it. Maybe things really were going to be okay.

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Don’t you have stuff to do anyways?”

You shrug, nothing really coming to mind. As you get up, you remember having to run a plagiarism check on your work, and how Riki told you to text him when you got home after your student government meeting.

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man.

“Wait,” you tell Spider-Man, sitting back down on the cement, “I need to talk to you about something else, too.”

“It’s not like my dinner’s getting cold,” the superhero mumbles quiet enough that you can’t hear.

“There’s this guy,” you start, paying no mind to how dirty your clothes are getting when you cross your legs.

Spider-Man scoffs, looking off into the distance, and it makes you believe he has to be your age or older. “You have a crush on him, or something?” And a whole tidal wave of deja vu hits you in the chest.

‘He must be badly hurt’ isn’t just something people say. People don’t just draw insanely detailed drawings of Spark’s arm and machines without notes to follow unless they knew. People wouldn't just randomly miss school without any impending signs. You’re sure of it–the tired naps in class, the random drawings of superheroes and superhumans alike, or how awkward he could act–it all makes sense.

Your classmate, aka Nishimura Riki, aka the guy who you’ve questioned if you had a crush on for the past few days, might be a villain.

The swirling feeling of trepidation in your stomach leaves three words running around your head.

What. The. Fuck.

Although you tried so hard to stop thinking about it, Jake’s comment from before rubbed you the wrong way. It was sometime last week where you couldn't get your mind off of the implications of his words, but that feeling was brushed underneath your responsibilities.

Until now.

“Yeah, there’s this guy,” you breathe, feeling your chest constrict, “Nishimura Riki. I think he’s Spark.”

His blood runs cold.

“You think this…why?”

You take a deep breath, trying to organize all your thoughts. “Well, first, it was his friend, Jake. He said that Riki was badly hurt, and I was really confused at first, but tried to let it go.”

Riki was going to strangle his best friend.

“And then, I was looking at him in class, right? And keep in mind, he’s pretty cute, and we sit next to each other, so I just noticed how good his hair looked that day, but his notebook was out, and I saw all these drawings of Spark. Like, the arms, the metal things, even the projectiles! Who would know the ins and outs of that thing if it wasn’t Spark himself?”

He didn’t know what to think about first; the fact that you gushed about him for the first time, or if he should even tell you that Spider-Man would know those things, too.

“And sometimes, I notice he’s a little awkward around me. I can’t explain it. It’s like he’s paying attention to me. That must’ve been why he captured me.” He wants to laugh at how damn close you are to figuring it out, but in reality, nothing is funny about the situation.

Nishimura Riki is actually listening to this, right now, as Spider-Man–not Spark. The awkwardness, though? It was his crush on you, and was not superhuman related in the slightest.

“I don’t know,” he attempts to divert, pretending to focus, “I saw a badge for FLiGHT. You know the company that’s been making time traveling machines? I saw a glimpse of his name and face. It’s not that guy you mentioned.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you haven’t gotten him caught?”

“Villains aren’t easy to find, y’know. It’s not like playground hide and seek,” Riki defends, crossing his arms.

You shrink in your spot, feeling sheepish for questioning a superhero so bluntly.

“Plus,” he continues, “Spark has never had a hostage. Wouldn’t it be pretty mean of that friend of yours to kidnap a girl from his class?”

“Yeah—that makes sense. Thank god,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily. “Then what do you suspect all that evidence leads to? Maybe he’s a secret agent?”

“I think,” Riki continues to keep up his clueless facade, “Your friend might just be clumsy. Or creative. I mean, maybe he went through a break-up?” Nice one, Riki.

You shake your head. “No, there’s no way he has a girlfriend. You’d think I like guys who are taken?” Scoffing lightly, you then remembered that Spider-Man really would have no idea who any of you are.

He shrugs and stands up stretching before motioning for you to follow him. “I have no idea what you high school kids do. Come on, let’s get you home.”

As you hug him tight, the cold air whips around your body and leaves goosebumps in their wake. You barely open your eyes from the fear of seeing yourself inches from hitting a building or up in the air. Spider-Man only yells his confirmation after asking how to get you home, finally placing you on the ground outside of your large gate.

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Anytime. Figure things out with that friend of yours, and don’t go out late, okay?” You nod and take his words to heart.

“Goodnight, Spiderman.”

—-

Nishimura might die. One, because he has this horrible guilty feeling in his stomach, and two, because of a villain.

Yesterday, he ignored the salmon and rice bowl that waited for him back at home, choosing to follow the coordinates he saved on his phone after he took you home. It led him to a seemingly harmless auto-shop, with an arrow on his GPS pointing to a garage that was shut down completely with nails and blocked with boxes. The exterior pointed to it being abandoned, but Riki suddenly saw some light coming from a makeshift above.

The boy scaled the wall as quietly as possible, glancing into the source of the whirring. He caught small glimpses of something–metal, glowing, blue.

Or at least, for a few seconds it was on until the power went out.

The voice that complained from inside the room sounded identical to the man Riki fought. Spark grumbled, turning on a flashlight and quickly waving it around. Riki ducked from the window and held his breath, waiting for the man to suspect something.

Nothing.

One lightbulb slowly flickered back on, and then the other dingy light followed. The space was cramped with the metal equipment in the middle, resembling what Riki had seen in the news.

He was right–it was the same time travel portal that was ruined from a few months ago.

Spider-Man continued to observe the man as he worked and drilled, plugging certain wires or pausing momentarily to read from a journal. To anyone, it’d seem peaceful, like some sort of renovation project. But in reality, it was so much more than that.

Riki searched for any sort of information about the machine, trying to see what exactly was left to do until his gaze landed on something.

There was some sort of date on a bright pink sticky-note, and Riki’s eyes widened when he finally comprehends it.

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow.

A street lamp next to Riki dies out—which was a clear sign that something was powering up. From the dark, he hears the metal from the same place as last night moving again, and he knows that Spark has left. His presence sends anyone down the street and immediately running, leaving the area for only them two.

Riki finally sees the completed metal build. Half of his body is wrapped in or replaced with metal parts as he sets down the metal portal, beginning to push it in the direction of the power plant.

A truck or car would make things much easier, but whatever.

Riki wants to cry from fear and run away. He wants to leave and pretend he never saw anything from last night.

He’s going to die fighting Spark and he will quite literally a) never finish highschool and get that stupid diploma, b) finish explaining how Gatsby is not a good person and is naturally selfish, and c) he’s never going to tell you how he’s had a small crush on you ever since he saw your cute campaign video as to why you should vote y/n l/n for student body treasurer last spring.

“You sure that thing works?” Riki asks, jumping into action as he sends webs to immobilize the machine.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Spark sends a projectile in the superhero’s direction, hitting the wall behind him instead as Riki jumps out of the way.

With another duck mid-air and the roof of a flying car dangerously close to his nose, Riki thanks the dance practice he does for his flexibility as he shoots another web and swings away.

Spark is uncontrollable by now, sucking the light from street lamps and fizzing wires in his wake. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get in contact with the villain like before. The body of his suit fizzes with bright electricity that sizzles and pops. It illuminates Spark’s figure, making him easy to spot, but not so easy to defeat. It’s an overload of power, causing the voltage to escape between the joints and gaps of the metal pieces in his suit. And Riki can feel it; the air is heightened and so are the stakes of this fight—and with how the man that stands in front of him looks upgraded and menacing, he knows only one person can make it out of this fight alive.

“You injected the city’s ‘Gas and Electric’ into your system or what?” Riki calls out, making light of the situation. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared out of his wits seeing the six foot figure with blue and white shooting from every crack, looking like a nightmare to touch.

Riki avoids a few more angrily thrown objects, using the momentum of his jump from the side of the building to zip from the top of a yellow fire hydrant to go from one side of the street to the other. “You’re slow!” He taunts, tucking in his legs to avoid a shot of electricity directed at him.

The screech of metal from the nearby hydrant can be heard as the top flings off, making Riki lose his anchor/ Before he can process it, instead of smoothly landing on the building, he crashes into it faster than expected, groaning when his back makes contact with the glass and he tumbles into the living room of someone’s apartment.

“Fuck,” he curses, fighting his aching limbs to get up once more.

And the solution hits him. Literally.

When he steps out and quickly attaches a web to the top of the building, he’s met on the way up with a splash of water from the hydrant to his face, and Riki splutters as he wipes his mask, regaining focus as he lands on the concrete and hides behind the ledge.

Water. If he can get it in contact with Spark and pour enough water on the right spot, the excess of electricity blazing from his mechanical body should work against him.

“Too scared? You should know better than to run away.” The superhero rolls his eyes, crawling away silently to avoid being seen by Spark. Riki does his best to look around for something, and finds a black flower pot in the corner, using a web to grab it before he scales the side of the building and runs away while Spark is distracted as the villain also climbs the wall to face him there. But when Spark climbs the ledge and scans the premise, Riki is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Riki swings across the street and fills the pot with water, heaving the extra weight as he shouts out from the sudden pain in his side. He stumbles on the pavement, crying out from the injury as the pot falls with his whole plan.

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies.

He sucks in a deep breath before rolling from his back onto his knees, ignoring the wound to pick up the flower pot. The hydrant still shoots out water, and the superhero rushes towards it, causing Spark to follow. He narrowly avoids another shot from behind him, reaching the yellow hydrant before dropping the pot on the ground. Spark is th

While Spark has always been intelligent, Riki could tell that the man didn’t fear the water, believing he’d be invincible to the elements now that his suit was perfected. There was something off, Riki could tell, and he would make sure to use it to his advantage. Spark was uncontrolled, and his powers drastically decreased the more he used them. There’s no way his body isn’t in overdrive with how recklessly he’s been letting himself get hurt.

Riki uses a web to get himself on higher ground instead of fighting, waiting for the supervillain to follow. If he could get Spark off the edge and fall into the growing puddle of water, it should slow him down.

Spark scoffs. “Run away, then. Like you always have.” Riki hears the wall crumbling under the villain as he climbs within seconds, immediately preparing to fight when he makes it onto the rooftop. But Spider-Man was also prepared, jumping from his crouched hiding position and attempting to catch Spark off guard.

All he can focus on now is pushing him off. There’s no way it’d be easy, considering he had to focus on his touching any of the electricity off of his suit. Riki delivers a kick to Spark in the ribcage near his heart, where he’s fused metal into flesh. The villain coughs before taking a step back, his metal arm reaching for Riki’s outstretched leg. He grabs it, twisting with anger before the boy meets the ground in a violent throw. Not only is the slam greater because of the enhanced strength, but the power seeps into Riki’s skin, leaving it hot from the energy radiating off of his palm.

The boy groans, flipping to his side to avoid a fatal hit to the chest. He reaches for Spark’s normal arm, swinging the villain’s body away with as force as he could to create distance between them.

Riki has been in enough fights to simply know when to run, even if he doesn’t know what’s coming. He could feel the tingle of the charge as it powered up, and with its energy so unrestrained and its user so unstable, the large attempt to hit Riki sends the villain stumbling back from the force. The more Spark uses his powers, the more likely he’s going to end up dead.

“Your skin can handle that anymore!” he shouts, getting ready to swing himself closer as a plan manifests itself in his head. “You’ll die like this!”

Spark seems to know that too as he wipes his mouth and recovers from Riki’s attacks.

“You think I care?” He shouts, desperately pressing his wounds to stop the bleeding. “You think I have anything else for myself?” The vulnerability of his character shines through as he clutches his bleeding wound without regenerative powers to help. “You think I didn’t know that when I did it to myself--what they did to me?”

Riki doesn’t respond, grimacing as he continues hand-to-hand combat. Although he takes a solid punch to his jaw that’s forming a deep purple bruise, he manages to trip Spark onto the ground.

The man stumbles back from the head injury, the pounding from earlier not letting him to think straight. Riki doesn’t try to injure him anymore, but he instead blocks an incoming punch and tries to force Spark towards the edge.

The villain barely notices how much space there is left, and the boy lunges with full force. They tackle each other into the ground, and Riki gets off after apprehending him once more.

The city's a mess, and Spider-Man’s eyes want to shut down so badly, but he takes a few steps in Spark’s direction, pushing him off the side of the building as quickly as he can. Riki hears the thud before he peeks over the edge, seeing the water erode all of the engineering from the machinery. He slowly descends from the rooftop.

“You were in the accident, huh?” Riki shouts on top of the plethora of sounds. Pain, buzzing electricity, splashes of water as he lands next to Spark; it all echoes in his ears as he pours the water from the pot on Spark’s body. “Why did you try it? Why did you want to go back so bad?”

“If I could go back,” Spark coughs, trying to get away from the large pool of water, “I could’ve prevented the accident from taking the lives of the people around me. I could’ve saved them.”

Spider-Man understands loss, and he understands the regret that comes with failure. He understands how the man in front of him feels after having everything taken away from him, but his emotions could never justify his actions.

“You know you can’t change things,” Riki responds, “You tried your best, Spark.” It’s the last thing Riki tells the villain before his body slumps and police sirens grow louder and louder. It’s the last thing that he continues to think about, even if the medic quickly assesses the severity of his wounds.

“I’m fine- really,” he pushes away the hands of a concerned woman as she holds a roll of bandages. “There’s something else I need to do.”

Riki knew he had to tell you about this–he couldn’t just let you confide in him about..well, him, without your knowledge. And Riki wasn’t morally perfect, but he knew an explanation would be the only way to fix things.

Your house looks different when jumping over the fence instead of standing in front of it. When he realizes he has no idea what room belongs to you, he racks his brain, suddenly remembering how yours was the only one with a gray balcony over the pool. And so he climbs, slipping from the exhaustion creeping into his body.

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right?

“____, a little help?” And what the fuck is Nishmura Riki doing outside of your door? You go to investigate the muffled sound, inching towards the curtains and pulling them back to expect him there. When you hear a half yelp and a hissing sound that follows right after, without a person anywhere in sight, your heart drops to its stomach.

Do not say it’s true.

“Riki, where the fuck are you?” you ask, traversing out when you don’t see him anywhere across the glass.

“Down here.” You run in the direction of the voice, and your eyes grow comically large and you gasp, staring down at the sight before you.

“Holy shit.”

There Nishimura Riki is, with his mask half burned off his face and his blonde and black hair messy and matted to his forehead with sweat. The suit is ripped in multiple locations with gashes and purple replacing the healthy skin underneath. His face is in more of a grimace, as he holds onto the web with both hands and one foot planted on the stone of your balcony—read; the bottom of your balcony.

“A little help?” And you see his sheepish emotion through the tattered fabric, embarrassed after you had to find him in such a compromising situation. “I’m a little worn out and I think my webs are getting weaker.”

You’re a little frustrated with him for being out so publicly, but more scared and worried for his condition. Your gaze narrows on the mask, tattered and covered with scratches, but clearly visible. It was Spider-Man’s mask. The material gives way to a familiar face, and your mind almost blocks you from putting the pieces together. It’s impossible, almost horrifying to think of the implications of what it means to wear the blue and red suit.

Instead of being the villain, Riki is, in fact, the savior.

The harsh truth is that your classmate, who you spent the last month working on a project with and suspected was a villain, is the same superhero that went out and risked his life every night fighting crime. It’s jarring to see him like this, breathing heavy and straining against the stone of the balcony, and his cough snaps you out of it. “What the fuck do I do?”

Riki tries to put his hand up in surrender and shuts his eyes at your harsh tone. “Okay, okay, I get-“ and he cuts himself off with a yelp as his footing slips.

He holds out his hand, and you immediately bend over the smooth railing to grab it, leaning back on the heels of your feet to help him up the most that you can. You’re filled with confusion when the boy hobbles over the cool surface of the balcony and lets his head rest on the stone, not saying much as he catches his breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and how his right arm goes to nurse the left side of his ribcage, wincing and sucking in a pained breath as he assesses the smear of red on his fingers.

Sitting there with your mouth agape, you’re not really sure what to think about first; to check if RIki’s alright, to think about how your city’s greatest superhero is your English project partner, to yell at him for going to your house instead of his house to fix himself up, or to think about how good his side profile looks in the moonlight. Maybe you should’ve just been relieved that the boy you started to like wasn’t a fear-inducing villain.

“Okay, first of all, we need to have a huge talk. But I’m not a medic Riki- I’m going into accounting for fuck’s sake.” He hears the amount of curses flying from your lips as you ramble, and sees how stressed you look watching him sit against your railing.

“I don’t know how to help you. And also,” you lower your voice and scoot closer, looking around at the large property to really make sure no one’s listening. “you’re Spider-Man?”

The information all hitting you at once is worse than when your history teacher told you your essay was horrible. At least then, in her office, you could process everything. But here? You’re about to faint.

“I’m pretty cool, huh?” And of course Nishimura Riki says such a thing, taking deep breaths as he shallowly presses on the blossoming bruises on his skin and wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Pretty fucking stupid is what it is, Riki.” You cross your arms and try to take a look at where he’s been hurt, hoping that at least he has some sort of regeneration ability that helps him heal much quicker—because there’s no way he could deal with all of this on top of school.

“I have my reasons,” he says, his voice quiet.

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “For coming here.”

“What could possibly make you want to come over to my house instead of the nearest hospital? What’s that important to you?”

“I really want to ask you to prom.”

You simply stare at him, surprised.

“You came to my house, even though you’re like, a punch away from passing out, to ask me out? And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, asked me anytime during the classes we have together?”

Riki somehow finds it in himself to frown and shrink from your angry piercing gaze. “I can’t because talking to you makes me nervous–so yeah, I’m sorry I’m half conscious on your balcony in my suit instead of at your door with a poster.”

You’re conflicted, your mind still reeling from the recent discovery and your flood of emotions. Ever since you questioned his identity on top of your feelings for him, you had a hard time really knowing if you could like Riki if he turned out to be a villain, so to know that he proved both of your theories wrong leaves you quiet as you think. If possible, the color in the boy’s face drains even more when you go back inside, but the door stays open, and he thinks he hasn’t ruined things after all. You emerge with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a bowl of warm water, and a pristine white towel.

“I’m not mad about that, you idiot,” you reprimand him, setting everything down as you examine the cuts on his face. You squeeze the towel and start to dab at his skin, avoiding the cuts as you clean it. “Who does this for you if not me?”

“Jake.”

“Seems like a pretty good friend.” Riki nods in response.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting up to properly address you, even if you weren’t able to meet his gaze.

“For what?”

“For putting this on you–all of it. Not just the whole Spider-Man thing.” He knew he’d have to tell you at some point, or else it’d eat him up inside to know he kept all of it from you.

“Look at you, saving me mid-air and talking to me as if you didn’t know who I was.”

You notice a flash of regret through his wince as you clean up a cut with antiseptic. “I meant it when I told you I knew what it was like to have a lot of pressure.”

“Guess I wasn’t so far off, then. If we never talked, would you have told me?” Riki shakes his head, and the simple motion leaves you somehow disappointed.

“How do you ever tell anyone you’re…y’know, Spider-Man?” Even if it’s a hypothetical, you shrug, not being able to answer.

“How’d Jake find out?”

Riki chuckles and hisses at the same time before trying to remember. “I think I just kicked his window in after a nasty poison got hold of me. He was a little too excited to have Spider-Man on his bedroom floor, and less excited to know it was me. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, though.”

“Then why’d you tell me? You could’ve just gone back to your friends.”

“I felt guilty–I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I’d definitely get my identity revealed at this rate.” You shake your head.

“Not stupid. Keep going.”

“I didn’t care that you suspected me, or if anyone else did, because I knew it was never true. But I felt so bad knowing you were sharing to me how you felt without even knowing it was me who was listening–like I was holding something from you.”

You admire his honesty, and when you look at his furrowed brows and his lip that he’s been gnawing from worry, you can’t even imagine what he’s had to hide and do for this. In a way, you look up to him more, for trying his best even if he’s gotten all odds stacked against him. Riki’s commendable in your eyes–he always had been, ever since you woke him up in class.

“I like those things about you, Riki. That you’re honest with yourself and the people around you as much as you can be, and you try to help others when you can. I’m glad we got to know each other more this past month.” Talking to him feels different than talking to Spider-Man from a few days ago; it feels raw, like you’re not just confessing something to a brick wall anymore. If none of this ever happened, you doubt you’d get the chance to tell Riki any of this properly.

The boy stays silent, taking deep breaths while processing what you’ve told him. “I’m glad I could help you out.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I hope you know I don’t like you because you help me out. I like you because you’re attractive, and because you’re genuine,” you blurt.

Riki laughs despite his ribcage hurting everytime he does so. Riki nods and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ also glad to truly get to know you. While his crush was more of an infatuation with your hard work and amiability, the past few weeks really opened his eyes to who you were. You never wanted to disappoint, and even if your recklessness left you in some dire situations, Riki could see how much effort you really put into things.

There wasn’t anything else he needed to tell you–you were smart enough to see how much he cared about you.

You’re so close, your lips glossy with lip balm as you watch him carefully. You hear and see it all; the heavy, labored breathing from his body healing itself rapidly, and the way his hand is full of rough cuts and calluses as his fingers intertwine with yours. But your eyes catch a glimpse of his mask tossed to the side, the blue shining in the corner of your eyes as you’re reminded of who he is right now, and what role you play. You are still ____ ____, but he’s a superhero.

It makes you momentarily forget whose suit you're peeling away, whose skin you're cleaning. It reminds you that he’s just the boy in your English class that you fell for. “What does that make us?”

“Prom-goers,” he answers with a slight nod.

You smile, wiping a cut before placing the towel back into the bowl for the last time and getting up. “We can be prom-goers, yeah.”

You’re not sure if you’re ready for anything, and you’re thankful that he understands that, too. As much as it warmed your heart to see him again and hear his confessions, the blaring truth still hangs over your head. You grab his mask, finally looking at him before handing it back and grabbing your things. His secret identity wasn’t something you could just ignore.

“Go home, Spider-Man,” you turn your back on him, and time slows when you falter before sparing him one more look. “I want you as Riki, not like this.”

MAYBE NISHIMURA RIKI DOESN'T NEED TO DIE–OR ALMOST DIE–ANYMORE.

He went home that night with his scars somewhat cleaned and his bruises miraculous healing on their own, and even if slipping through the window left him clutching his side in pain, Riki silently jumped up to celebrate his multiple victories before slipping out of his suit and finally getting some rest.

Riki’s scared of how he’s affected your relationship. He’s worried you’ll avoid him in the halls, and he’s worried you’d never want to see him again after putting you through all of it. As much as he'd understand how upset you'd be towards him, he hopes he did the right thing by telling you.

But you see him on your way to English, and you call his name. His eyes search for yours in the crowds, and you two see each other before you crush him in a hug.

Riki isn’t sure how to feel at first, but eventually wraps his arms around you as relief settles in his stomach.

“Thank you for saving me, Spider-Man,” you whisper, loud enough for only him to hear.

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair as you go to English together. “Anytime, ____.”

NEVERMIND, NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE SEES YOU IN YOUR RED PROM DRESS.

But first, he has to try something out.

He curses to himself when silently zipping from a tree outside your family property to the top of your house, staring past the ledge two and luxurious stories to your well decorated porch light and door. He just prays that Google Maps is right about how secluded the area is, so no one can see him pacing around your rooftop, with flowers elegantly wrapped in his hand (courtesy of your mother’s sleek envelope from a few days ago).

“Fuck it,” he says to himself, shooting a web and dangling himself down. Riki’s upside down figure watches swirled window frames and meticulously designed accents as he descends, and he wonders what kind of shady business your parents could’ve done to afford something so grand.

He faces your door—hanging down instead of rightside up, but he’s still here on time like he promised.

The door opens at 6:00PM like he instructed you to, but what he didn’t tell you what to do was shriek and slam the door. On his nose. With a loud yelp, Riki clutches his nose, rubbing the spot you hit and trying to apply pressure to alleviate the pain.

When the door slowly creaks open again, you face with the image of Nishimura Riki, aka your boyfriend, aka your English partner, aka Spider-Man, curled upside down in the fetal position as he cradles the sore spot on his face and swings slightly from the breeze.

“You scared me, dumbass! How was I supposed to know it was you? It was so hard to see!”

Although muffled, Riki’s able to mumble, “You have a porch light for this reason, _____,” and a jab at his stomach from you follows his sarcastic remark. Finally, his nose feels better, and he straightens out to finally look at you.

Pretty, pretty, pretty, and the boy wonders how you look even more stunning with a glittering red dress and perfectly done make-up. “I like the red,” he says, trying not to freak out over your beauty. “Reminds me of a certain neighborhood superhero.”

“I have some blue spider earrings to match.” With a beautiful smile, you turn to show him the little accent, and it melts his heart. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. I should’ve probably put more thought into that.”

You snicker, sliding into your heels and closing the door behind you.

“One of us is better at romantic gestures, it seems.” It warrants a scoff, and Riki brings a gloved hand to poke at your forehead teasingly.

“Let me have a do-over, then?” And the way your lips curl up into a bright smile leaves him quiet and in awe.

“What, were you going to kiss me? Very original, Spider-Man.” With the way the fabric shifts over his features, you can tell he’s pouting.

“I thought girls liked this.”

You shrug, pretending you aren’t swept off his feet by the effort he’s put in. Taking a step in his direction, your hands reach up to gently pull the mask over his chin, ears, and then his nose.

Whispering quietly, you ask, “You’ve kissed other girls upside down?”

Riki’s quick to shake his head. “You’re the only girl I’d withstand a head rush for.” And god, you just can’t stop yourself from grinning at his sweet, genuine words.

You lean in, placing a small kiss on his nose as a silent apology. Then, you close your eyes and lean into him once more, feeling his hands carefully holding the side of your head and his lips on yours. Your kiss with Riki is saccharine and slow, making you pull away when the urge to beam at him is too much. Your cheeks definitely hurt by how romantic he’s being, and you can’t resist kissing him once more.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he starts, finally letting himself down, “It feels weird.”

“You ruined the moment.” And he really didn’t, but you enjoy his subtle reactions to your light digs at him.

“Whatever.” Riki laughs. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You nod, sitting down on the porch and dragging a manicured nail over your lips with the ghost of his affections, thinking about how you literally just kissed Spider-Man.

Riki comes back, dusting off his suit and smoothing out the wrinkles, with a large bouquet of red roses and one blue one snuck in there. Your lips stretch into a grin and you accept the bouquet, keeping a mental note to read the card in there.

“You never cease to amaze me, Riki.” It’s the last thing you mutter to the air before you loop your arms around his neck, urging him to lean down as you kiss him once more—this time rightside up, but still as sickly saccharine as the one before it. Your heart is fuzzy with fondness and your eyes glitter with adoration.

“So, which kiss was better?” he asks when you pull away, a little breathless and dizzy.

You swat his arm and walk past the gates, seeing the sleek limo waiting by the curb. “I don’t know, Spider-Man. Maybe show up in your suit and we’ll try it again.”

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

RIKI FIC DONE!!!! ngl y/n u were right there how did u not know riki was spiderman but whatever idc she's a hard worker not smart LMFOAOAO. my first ever action fic so i hope you enjoy! also i hate the ‘oh he pined after her for 4 years she liked him for 2 months’ bs because I WAS IN IT. and it sucks so i tried to deviate from it :)

꣑ৎ permanent fic taglist (TAGGED IN TEASERS, FICS, HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES, ETC.): @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog @suneng @mavlogist @sensitively-taken @sumzysworld @simpjay @moons-v @riksaes @txtari @jungwonscatcus @tya0 @sasfransisco @woorcve @shypen @pinkriki @rikisluv @saranghaohoshi @lilifiedeans @wonmyheart @k1ttyluvr @nikisgfff @ramenoil @laurradoesloveu @lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me @ikeulims @missychiefs1404 @qwonyoung23 @yangjungwonnie @onementally-unstabel-kid @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @blooqz @anormieee hi permies hope u enjoy! kith

2K notes · View notes

grugruel · 8 days ago

Text

Can you do that for me?

Pairings: ruined!Jayce x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

Wordcount: 4.2 k

Warnings: Some canon stuff (beware spoilers), pinv sex, angst, fluff, fingering, slight handjob, choking, biting, creampie, doggy, missionary, cowgirl (a lot of positions), sub/dom/switch!Jayce, power struggle, fight for dominance, praise (f and m recieving), spanking, overstimulation, "I love you", difficult feelings, hot depraved Jayce.

AN: Not proofread, I intend to make a few changes to it later but wanted to get it out. Might be spelling mistakes. I tried to fit a bit of everything into this. ENJOY GIRLIES🎀

Having pulled the curtains aside, a vigilant man inspects the dark streets below. "He's almost here, ma'am," the man says, eyes following the subject. There's a slight stiffnes to his stance, as if he's readying himself for a fight. "What do you want us to do?"

"Let him in," she smiles at him faintly, attempting to reassure the large man before returning to her paperwork. "Dont give him trouble, there's nothing to fear."

The guard nods slowly and crosses the room to leave, he knows she's right. Yet, he stays in the doorway, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.

Warm light creeps in through the entryway, contrasting the faint light that Zauns streetlights provide for her otherwise gloomy office.

Noticing how the strong wash of light remains, she looks up at her guard to find another question lingering on his lips. "I've know you long enough to tell when something ails you." She leans back in her chair.

He catches her gaze reluctantly, facing away before he speaks. The man clears his throat, he knows he's crossing a line. "He's trouble, if you ask me. The boys and I-"

The woman pulls her glasses of and sighs, done with her work for the evening. "Im a big girl, I can handle myself."

The guard leans against the doorway and shrugs in reluctant recognition. "We're worried for you, ma'am-" but catching himself on his words, his hands gesture to remedy his meaning. "Respectfully, of course," he ads quickly, aversed to insult his employer.

The woman stands slowly, walking around her crammed desk to casually prop herself next to him. "I know," she reassures, placing a soft hand on his chest. "But I'll be fine, send him in."

The large man huffs. "We'll be outside then," he begins, but as the next words begin to form on his tongue, he decides against it, solely out of trust for his employer. If he could, he would've added 'when you need us'.

She doesnt doubt it, nor does she take offence. They're a tight knit family down here, she cares for them as much as they do her. But this would be an interaction no family member should hear. "That won't be necessary, keep to the foyer . . . Now go," she hurries him, careful to keep an understanding smile on her lips lest he changes his mind.

With a heavy breath and one last glance, the guard reluctantly closes the door and heavy footsteps recede.

She sighs, moving to brace her hands against the desktop and preparing herself for whats to come, for what she suspects.

She lights the lantern on her desk and waits. Only a moment later the same warm light creeps into the room. She twitches, unprepared for his arrival inspite of her efforts as the squeaking door slices through the eerily silent space.

In her peripheral, a fallen man stands. He's tired and dirty. Cut up and run down. There's a moment of contemplation between her and the newcomer, she does not move and neither does he. It's been a long time.

Squeak, thump, click . . . Pause. He's locked the door. A heavy thud between metal and wood sounds next, there's a faint sound of coarse skin sliding along fine metal before the familiar vibrations of hextech dies out.

All that exists between them now is heavy breathing in two parts, laboring against their own minds and bodies.

The floorboards begin to creek, irregularly, as if the weight placed upon them has not yet decided it's course of action. She grips the desktop harder, fingernails burrying into fine wood. She can only guess why he has come. "It's Viktor, isn't it?" She breathes, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

She gets no response, the only answer she recieves is the creeking of floorboards as the uncertain weight shifts back and forth. But that is all the answer she needs.

Having seamingly made up his mind, determined footsteps approach her in a sudden haste. Srong arms wrap around her body, pulling her toward a hard chest in a tight, tight embrace. His head collides with her shoulderblade as he burries his face in her scent. Muffled by her body, strained breaths blow welcome warmth onto her skin.

"What's happened?" She whispers, not entirely sure she wants the answer for she can smell him now. Metal and gunpowder. But it's not the type raw metal used for smithing or creating, it's not the metal she's used to. No, this is pungent, corporeal. It's blood. "Jayce, please . . . " She begins, 'talk to me' her lips shape, but no sound comes out. Unable to muster the strength.

"Cant- I cant . . . talk about it. Not now, not yet," he manages, voice rough as if he has fought and damp breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "I just . . . Needed you. I need you."

A strong hand slides higher, knuckles intently brushing the underside of her breast. "Can't think anymore."

And inspite of her better judgement. "Ok," she agrees, whispering, as if her consience wouldnt be able to hear. She's missed him, worried for him. So, her body betrays her.

Laying her hand on top of his, she guides him over the hill of her breast.

His breath hitches while his other hand move downward, tracing her ribs, down her waist, stopping on her thigh and squeezing tenderly. Soft flesh dimpling beneath the force of strong fingers. "I've been lost, " his voice breaks. "Missed you." His hands slide further down to slither under the slit in her dress.

"No feelings right now, Jayce . . . Please, just-"

Two fingers slip inside of her and she gasps. "No feelings," he assures, placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Good, good . . . " she moans.

While massaging her breast his thumb finds her clit and tongue her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the crook of her neck. Her body grows to weak to hold itself upright so she puts her weight on her arms. Noticing, he holds her tighter and pushes her weight against the desk. "Already?" He whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear as his fingers steadily thrusts in and out of her. "You're making it too easy for me."

A breathless chuckle leaves her, crammed between heavy groans. "You work with your hands . . . Mmmh, unfair advantage."

He bites her earlobe, tugging, teasing. "So do you, if I remember correctly." A grin twists her lips as her hand reaches between them and palms his enlarged bulge. He hisses as she begins to stroke it, heat immedietly surfacing as the friction between fabric and skin grows. "Mhhg, that's what I thought," he groans. "Good girl."

He pushes a third finger inside off her, curling them at just the right angle.

"Fuck!" Her free hand curls into a fist, joints having nothing better to do than occupy themselves in anyway they can. He puts more focus on her clit, rubbing dutyful circles into and and finally pushes her over the edge. "Mhh, shit-"

His fingers slow down as she hits her high, gently leading her through it as he supports her weight. "Just breathe, that's right . . . "

Her breathing has become a mixture of moans and wheezes, the pleasure stimulating every nerve in her body. "Did you . . . ?" She asks, suddenly remember her hand on his clothed member.

"No," he whispers and kisses her temple. "Theres time." He tries to turn her around. But fear grips her. "No-" she stops him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself in place. Seeing the changes up close would make them real, would make whatever he has come from, real. "I can't look at you . . . not yet." She reaches over her shoulder to cup his jaw, and just like that, their bubble of reminiscence bursts. They arent colleagues anymore and havent been for a long time. Nor is their third party longer there to rationalise with them. A shrap jab strikes her heart. "Give me time, and just," her other hand reaches behind her, grabbing the fabric on his hip to pull him closer, pressing his erection against the curve of her ass. "Like this for now, Jayce. Please . . ."

His head lulls against her back, pushing his forehead firmly into her spine whilst releasing a big, shaky breath. She can feel him bare his teeth, silently working through the consequences of his actions.

He doesn't answer, he only obeys.

It goes silent for a short moment, until the warmth on her hips disappear and the metal clanging of a belt buckle sounds behind her.

Quickly, one hand returns to her thigh to pull her dress over her ass.

"Dont hold back," she says.

There's a pause in his movements. "Are you certain?"

She nods and he wastes no time. Pushing himself against her, his knees spread her legs efficiently, just liked they've practiced many times before. With mo further warning, he sinks into her. One hand crossing over her waist as the other grabs her shoulder, then sets a ruthless pace.

Somehow she knows he needs to get this out of him, the pent of fury and need. But she doesnt complain, he always knew what he was doing.

The sound of slapping fills her office, while the lewd squelching from her previous orgasm further spurs them on. He bends over her, changing his grip. Fingers snaking around her throat as his knee and free hand work together to fish one of her legs onto the desk, hitting her deeper, harder. His thrusts are no longer about speed, but of that one special little spot.

He puts pressure on her throat, almost painstakingly so. But it feels heavenly and she wouldn't have it any other way.

With each rut, his members perfectly fills her. His face is next to hers and he kisses had bites around her neck and ear, making sure she knows how good he makes her fell by grunting and moaning right into her ear. It makes that pulsing in her core worse, and he seems to notice.

"Yeah, you like that?" He groans, kissing her soft skin right behind the ear.

"Mmmhmm," she hums, voice vibrating with the bumping of their bodies. Doing her best to keep silent, afraid that one of her guards suddenly decides to check up on her.

"Let me hear you, use your words," he breathes, flexing the fingers around her throat and biting her shoulder.

"Fuck-" her knuckles and nails take turns in destroying her desk, scratching and denting the expensive wood grain. "I like making you, mmh . . . feel good." She manages, words stuttering between thrusts.

He gently pulls on her ear with his teeth. "Good," he whispers, then releases her throat and places his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her against the desktop.

Slap. His hands comes down on her ass, then gripping the plump flesh hard to lessen some of the stinging. A jolt of electricity shoots through her and her insides clench arouns him.

Jayce whimpers from the sudden, godlike pleasure. "Wanna hear you, honey, don't be shy." His hand comes down again, harder this time.

She squeezes around him, nerves on fire as she feels her second climax building up inside her. She moans as tears run down her face, happy pleasurable tears only Jayce has been able to produce.

"That's it . . ." He slaps her ass a third time, and the wall inside her core crumbles. With a whimper, she comes. "You did so good, lovely, im almost there," he assures her. Tears stream down her face as his thrusts grow irregular, but continues to pleasure her body. "Fuck," she cries, squirming from the drawl iut orgasm. One hand holds her steady at the hip while the other slides up her back, rubbing her tender body until he brushes away stray hair from her profile.

"Hold on a little longer, just breathe, baby," he comforts her, such a stark contrast to the rough thrusts he's been dealing her body. Her fingers are jittery from the overstimulation, they aached to touch him, pull his hair, anything. But she cannot reach, so she presses her palms against the table to keep them occupied.

As he sees her tear streaked face, one last blow lands on her ass and he too, comes. He collapses on top of her, they attempt to regain their strength as their sweaty bodies lie flush against eachother.

After a few moments of breathing heavily together, Jayce wraps an arm around her torso and splays his hand over her rips, pulling her with him as he straightens out.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns around. Hands finding his face, guiding her lips to his.

"Please look at me, my beautiful girl. Look at me," he pleads, murmuring the words against her lips.

She opens her eyes and his breath hitches. Yellow, brown irises meet her won. They're the exact same ones she knew not too long ago. Except . . . Haunted.

His fingers brush along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. She winces at the soft touch and his brows furrow in confusion.

Capturing her chin, he tilts her head back.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she whispers, assuring him as she sees his expression. Pure shock animates them.

"I don't-" his fingers trace the red marks running around her throat and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. "Im so sorry." He falls to his knees, hands resting against her chins as he hides his face between them. "I don't know-" he chokes and kisses her legs with remorse. He pecks her delicately, trailing his lips over her knees and up her thighs, hands following behind, tracing the outside of her legs until they reach her waist and encircle her. He hugs her tightly, knees sore against the hard wood. "Im not right," he breathes, head lulling into her lap. She can feel wetness coating her skin, running between her thighs.

She exhales heavily and slides down the desk until the hard wooden floor welcomes her thighs.

They stay like this for a good long while, she's in no rush and neither is he. Over and over again, her fingers comb through his overgrown and unpreened hair while the sensation of his seed drips out of her. Sharp nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck, they trace his bonestructure and play with its halls and valleys. The back of her fingers caress the length of his nose and sharpness of his cheekbone.

All the while Jayce lays wordless, occasionally squeezing her thighs, her hips. Occasionally trailing featherlight touches along her legs, watching with wonder how goosebumps rise and fall.

She chuckles beneath her breath. It's the same expression he used to get when making progress in the lap, just like when they first cracked the hextech runes. "Jayce," she says, attempting to grab his attention.

Crouching beneath her, he looks up from her lap, chin resting on the softness of her flesh. His face glistens and eyes plead. He looks at her with fatigue, wordlessly asking for her forgiveness.

"What happened?" She asks, her voice soft but words demanding. She's not getting dersuled this time, she needs answers.

He shakes his head, reluctantly drawing his lips into a thin line as he breaks away from her gaze.

Her eyebrows twist together. "What have you done?" She asks, anger laces her tone now. But he closes his eyes, the corners of his eyes gleaming again. The fingers burried in his hair curl into a fist and she pulls his head back, forcing him look at her. "What. Have. You. Done?"

His eyes shift between hers, uncertain, unwilling. "He's gone . . . " He begins. "I had to, I had to–the hexcore, it was poisoning him, spreading like a disease." His voice is coarse. "I had to stop him, there was no other choice."

Her eyes grow. Viktor . . . Gone? She could only assume when Jayce suddenly pays her a visit, but never dared believe.

"I never ment to leave you," he says, hand reaching out to grab her waist. "You have to believe me." He rouches the fabric at the waist, white knuckling it out of desperation for an ounce of u derstanding. "Hextech isnt what we thought it was, not anymore. Viktor couldnt see it, he was infecting the undercity, it would've spread to Piltover, the rest of the world if I didn't stop him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "But he was saving them, freeing them of shimmer."

"No . . . they weren't themselves anymore. I've been away, lost. I've seen–" She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. "The hexcore mutates them, changes them. I had to stop him. It, the core."

Her eyes drift the Jayce's hammer posted by the door. "Like your hammer?" She studies the now misshapen weapon, once crafted with obsessive precision. Her eyes drift lower along the neck and over its face, blood splatter.

She looks away, closing her eyes to recollect herself. Remembering to strongly the smell of blood Jayce had arrived with.

"Yes," he says. "Like I did." His hand reaches up to loosely cup her face. She notices how the crystal from his old bracelet has fused with his skin. Her fingers run along his arm and slides along the crystal, feeling it, inspecting it. "I didn't chose this," he murmurs. "I didn't chose to leave you . . . I love you." His hand falls back to his side.

She's taken aback. Its not something they've said before, not while still partners, not before all of, this . . . But despite herself, she believes him. They were colleagues for a long time and affection had always kept them together. He wouldn't hurt Viktor without reason.

With hooded eyes and parted lips, he studies her, waiting for her judgement.

"You had to," she nods, seamingly decided.

Relief and disappointment floods his face all at once. He'd expected an 'I love you' back.

She leans in, kissing him for the first time since he disappeared. Finally reunited. "We'll get through this, ok?" her voice is uncertain, what's happened has not been fully processed.

"Ok," he agrees and straightens his back, carefully placing small kisses along her abdomen as he does so, afraid he'll scare her away. "I've missed you so damn much." He levels his head with hers, meeting her gaze head on.

"I've missed you too," she responds. "But I need you now, Jayce. Can you do that for me?" She places a soft kiss on his lips.

"Certainly," he murmurs against them.

She stands, slinding his hand into hers and leads him to the bed. With his back to the bed, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him into sitting at the edge of the bed.

One leg over the other, she straddles him, standing on her knees so he has to look up at her. His she brushes the hair away from his eyes and lowers her lips to ghost over his. Their scared and quivering, needy to be on hers.

His hands slide up her sides and curves around her back, coming to rest in the arch above her ass. Gently, he massages circles into her skin, tickling her intentionaly.

She squirms beneath his touch, luring a satisfied grin from him. "You look good like this." Her fingers run through his beard, tracing his new scars. "Dangerous." Reaching down between them and into his pants, she pulls Jayce's member free and lowers herself just enough to tease his tip.

With a hiss, he locks his thumb over her hipbones and wanting to guide her onto him.

She shakes her head, a smirk playing in the corner of her lips. "My turn," she whispers and pull the straps of her dress down, letting it gather at her hips. Jayce's eyes immeidetly fall as his hands slide up her ribs with a specific destination in mind. "Dont touch," she warns. "Now look at me, Jayce." Her chest is inches from his face, but unallowed to look and unable to touch, his eyes appear like that of a wounded stag.

Her nimble fingers work on the buttons of his shirt and quickly slides it off of his shoulders. "Ive missed this," she purs, dragging a finger down his torso, her nail leaving a white scratched up mark behind it. "But this is new," she refers to the chest hair she's never seen before. "I like that, too." Her lips meet his jaw as she leaves kisses all the way down to his collarbone and shoulder. Her continues down his abdomen and below his v-line, then there's a sharp intake of breath as she stokes his member, circling the leaking pre-cum around his tip.

"Devil woman," he groans, but there's a twisted smile to his lips.

She returns it and takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely as if wanting to prove his point and oh, how she revels in the desperation on his face.

Her gaze fixes on his hands, clenching and unclencing in his lap, knuckles white from the strain. She bites her lip. "You look good like this," she repeats. "All, fallen apart . . . " She steps closer, placing herself between his legs. "Bloody and broken."

Never has he taken his eyes off of hers, and as she lowers herself onto his lap once more, she finds his member and lines him up. And finally, she sinks onto his thick inches. Still, he does not touch her. There is only a desperate whimper leaving his lips at the much needed pressure. Obedient, or respcetful? Either way, he deserves his praise. "Good boy. Now, touch me," she whispers and topple them over.

He twitches inside her at the words, but before she can react he's upon her. Fitting one breast into his mouth and the other in his hand, he licks and spits and squeezes. Sucking the entierty of her tender, plush flesh into his mouth.

"Ooh," she braces herself, strings of pleasure and heavy breaths return to them. "You liked that didn't you, pretty boy?" All she gets in response is humming between the lewd, obscene slurping.

Alright, then. Putting a hand on his chest for support, she begins to move, rocking back and forth just watching his expression of pleased torture.

Moving his hands to her hips, lips tear free from her breast for some much needed air, only to replace them upon her lips and kiss her with fervour.

She sits up, getting a better vantage and he follows not long thereafter. Unable to sit by and let her do the work. Leaning back on one hand and wrapping the other around her back, he helps her rut against him while he can't softly thrust up to meet her. "Fuck me- Jayce . . . " She gasps, hardly able to get enough air to moan.

He grins against her lips, sharing their breaths. "You liked that didn't you, pretty girl?" He mocks her.

She laughs breathlessly and digs her nails into his biceps. "Naughty," she murmurs and bites his lip, drawing blood. Again, she feels his member twitch amidst all the rocking between them. Their eyes meet and share a knowing glance. She cocks an eyebrow, he blushes. "That's what I thought," she smirks. It's her win, for now.

Unable to let it slide, Jayce takes the reigns. Flipping them over, he pins her beneath him without missing a single thrust. Amidst the confusion, he interlocks their fingers and pulls her arms above her head, stretching her out and limiting her movement.

She squirms against his restrains, testing the limits but he's rock solid. With her legs around his waist, he thrust perfectly into her and she cant help but roll her hips. She can feel the knot tightening in her core and she furrows her brows with displeasure. Missionary always did her in, he'll win. "Unfair," she moans, throwing her head back as waves of pleasure wash over her with every movement of his hips.

He moves one pair of their locked hands down so ha can stroke her throat with his thumb, placing soft kisses on the damage he caused.

His tenderness alone could cause her to crumble. "Put your back into it at least," she whines, realising she only had her pettiness left. Being beneath him, in his control feels way better than any win she could earn.

A breathless chuckle leaves him. "Yes, ma'am," he grunts, releases her and pulls out before he hooks her legs over his shoulders and thrusts back in. Hands finally free, she cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss concealing the cries bubbling up in her throat. For as it stands, he moves expertly and he's deeper–better than any man ever has been. "Fuck me-"

He smirks. "Tell me I'm good, again . . . " Shes uncertain if this is his ego talking or- "Please, please tell me im good," he whimpers, kissing her inbetween every word.

Without warning her third orgasm washes over her, back arching and nails digging into Jayce's cheeks. "You're so good to me," she sobs. "Such a good boy."

His thrusts falter and then he too, comes. Filling her with his seed, once again.

With shaking limbs he falls to her side, one arm draped over her chest. Both breathing heavily as they regain their senses.

"You win," ge admits and kisses her temple.

Yes she does. "I love you, too," she smiles, heart and teeth achingly sweet.

#arcane #arcane smut #jayce smut #jayce talis #jayce talis smut #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #arcane x reader #arcane jayce

1K notes · View notes

deadsetobsessions · 8 months ago

Text

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 5

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“So you’re that dead kid everyone’s talking about.”

Danny smacked a trash bag into the purple clad vigilante. “You can pick up the glass.”

“Wait, I’m just here to-”

“Bother me when I’m working? At least the litterer brings me cash. You can help clean or you can leave. Plastics go over there.”

Danny pointed at a pile of plastics, ignoring Spoiler’s bemused look. Hard to tell, really, considering her mask.

“I’ll help clean if you answer some questions!” Spoiler chirped, already moving to pick out the glass in the general trash pile Danny’s managed to gather. He nodded.

“Alright. At least you’re helping. The other one just bothers me and leaves his stuff on the beach.”

Spoiler snorted. “I’m Spoiler. Is the litterer Batman?”

“Sure. I don’t really care what his name is,” which was a complete lie, Danny was a fan. It’s just that messing with Batman (especially after he couldn’t clean up after himself, honestly!) overrode his fan behavior. “But if I catch him leaving shit in the waters again…”

Danny frowned, eyes glowing. He could feel- even with his partial tangibility, the muck of Gotham's waters seeping into his boots. It was not giving 'Live, Laugh, Love' to Danny, and he needed it gone.

“Whatever. They dropped a lot of guns down here. You can deal with those too, yeah?”

“I'm pretty sure that's evidence?!”

“If you could call it that.” Danny plucked away the Styrofoam and the hazardous (more than regular, anyways) materials away from the trash pile so Spoiler could dig through with her gloves without contracting sixteen different sorts of illnesses.

“So, what brings you to Gotham?”

Danny pointed at the water. “Came for school. Stayed because you losers polluted the water with dead bodies and gross chemicals.”

“You go to school?”

“Hey, that’s discriminatory.”

“Oops! No, sorry! I meant-”

Danny waved her off, irritably separating a bottle cap from the crushed bottle. Seriously, what’s the point of putting the cap back on if you were going to throw it in the bay anyways?

“It’s fine. How else am I supposed to learn about the advancements made in the scientific industry otherwise?”

Even if Danny wasn’t too sure that science could sure stupidity, but a halfa could dream, right?

"So... do you just... listen in on lectures?"

Danny stared at her. "What else would I do in a class??"

"Oh. I just thought since you're dead and all, you'd do something more... fun?"

"I mean, I could terrorize the local villains for kicks, if that's what you meant."

Spoiler brightened. "Actually, yeah! That would be helpful! If Mr. Freeze keeps bringing the cold during my latte Thursdays, I'm gonna snap and wring his cold little chicken neck."

Danny snorted. "Alright. I will keep an eye out for this Mr. Freeze." Danny paused. "Hey, tell your friend to come down and help us."

"What- oh. Black Bat!" Stephanie waved her partner down. Black Bat gracefully slipped down towards the bay, casually knocking out two goons gunning for Spoiler.

'Careful,' Black Bat signed.

"Thanks!" Spoiler bounced on the heels of her feet. She swept an arm out. "Wanna help?"

Black Bat tilted her head and, after placing Danny under quick but thorough scrutiny, nodded.

'You can get the salvageable stuff. Anything you can't lift, leave to me.' Danny signed clumsily, placing emphasis on can't.

"You know sign language?"

"I'm not too good at it, I just learned this version."

He knew ghost-sign first, after all.

"Chop, chop. I don't have all night."

----

Danny learned that Black Bat had the skill to knock cans into their designated piles if he threw them in the air so she could kick at them.

"You two can come back anytime."

Spoiler whooped while Black Bat leaned back, smug.

"Wait, tell the litterer he owes me $200. He was short last time."

"...Are you telling me Batman owes you money?"

"Yeah. He might be in financial straights, so I gave him some lee-way."

Black Bat and Spoiler looked at each other.

----

"Hey, so guess what I learned about sea boy!"

Bruce's head swiveled to her with startling intensity. The rest of the clan tuned in.

"He knows sign language! Maybe he even knows ancient sign language! And goes to school, but since he's like, dead, he could only listen to the lectures."

"Bruce, Bruce, do not start a ghost-education plan. Stop. We don't even know if he even-" Dick tackled Bruce, who was already writing a petition as Bruce Wayne to give partial credit to students that diligently goes to class.

"Oh, yeah!" Stephanie shouted over the unraveling chaos. "He promised to fuck with our Rogues for a bit so we can get a break! And we also got a bunch of guns!"

"Where? Gimme!" Jason demanded.

"Do not give Todd more firearms!" Damian cut in.

"Also!" Stephanie grinned as Cass shook with laughter. "Batman's a debtor! He owes Phantom $200!"

"Ain't no fucking way." Tim cackled. "Hear that Bruce? That's karma! For not defending me when he called me broke!"

#batman #danny phantom #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #bruce has already adopted this kid #just not with paperwork #but that's a trivial matter for BatDad #he's also going to adopt both tucker and sam #dcxdp #sea cryptic! danny au

3K notes · View notes

tonycries · 9 months ago

Text

Dream A Little Dream - G.S.

Synopsis. For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. fem! reader, established relationship, implied sex, fluff, soft and sleepy Satoru, very slight manga spoilers, just Satoru loving on you and your future together.

Word count. 0.8k

A/N. Probably gonna delete. Art by @_3aem on X.

It’s times like this - when the quiet morning sun is just peeking in through your window, in the still haze of your naked body peacefully intertwined with his that Satoru allows himself to dream.

He dreams of everything - from the strawberry lollipops he snuck into the Gojo Estate as a kid to the time when he forgot Megumi at the mall.

But mostly, he dreams of you.

Eyes still veiled with sleep, wandering the expanse of your face, a hand tenderly running along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Thumb softly catching on the corner of your mouth, slightly quirked up, he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

Do you dream of him too?

Because Satoru’s favorite dream will always be the one with you.

Your laughter in the morning light as he smothers you in kisses, how it rings in his ears and carries through his day. If there’s one thing Satoru knows, it’s that he would burn this entire godforsaken world down to keep it there. Even in the face of violence, his favorite song.

Reaching out to softly kiss your fingers, the hands which hold his heart and his future.

Unhurriedly, he caresses that empty spot on your ring finger. Soon.

Little black box burning a hole into that hidden corner of his dresser, Satoru absentmindedly wonders whether you would go for a flowing gown or more of a sleek design? He dreams of the delicate lace under his fingers, the gentle sway of the fabric and the blue bouquet to match his eyes.

A huff of laughter, followed by a melancholic twinge of his heart, finds its way into the still morning air as he imagines the way Nanamin would have been crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Long fingers deftly run along the expanse of your body, drawing patterns on the marks he’s left to remember him by, resting on your stomach. He dreams of a world where he is there to see you run around with a few white-haired bundles of joy. All of them with your personality of course - he couldn’t handle having to fight with some mini versions of himself over you.

And they may be closed for now, but he dreams of the twinkle in your eyes as they meet his, the promise of a beautiful day ahead.

He can only pray that they always look at him that way. Even when the shine of your eyes dim with age, the chapters of your story showing on your face. The dream where you two complain about your first gray hairs - him cackling about you finally joining the club.

It might not seem like it, but in the blood and merciless gore of jujutsu, a part of the strongest always thinks back to the heaven he’s found in you.

The heaven where you both cry over your kids leaving the nest, and later he’d fervently deny his teary eyes - secretly wiping the tears off his glasses.

Where you spend quiet evenings on the porch, wrapped in blankets and reminiscing about the adventures of your youth. Did he ever tell you that story where he lost the tickets to a movie and had to sneak into the theater with Shoko and Suguru? Boy, did he get an earful from Yaga that day.

The dream where he’s surrounded by you and all your warmth. In the cold pain that comes with being the strongest, he can only hope that a day will come where his strength - rather than being used to kill - holds your future with ready arms.

Ripping his eyes off of your face, they wander the room bathed in the soft morning glow. Mapping the empty spaces which you two would fill with pictures. The walls which would echo with laughter and whisper tales of serenity.

First days at school, graduations, all the friends and foes lost along the years - and one big picture of you in that beautiful white dress, right in the middle. All beauty and grace. His beautiful bride. A dream where his last name is a melody not a death sentence.

He dreams he’s there to fetch your walking cane to stroll through your little garden with a cup of his famous morning tea. He’d hold your hand as he always does, both trembling and frail with age. He dreams he would kiss the beautiful wrinkles on the corners of your eyes, only for you to push him away bashfully complaining about the grandkids seeing.

Blue eyes faded and the joy of the years showing on his face, not as strong or as vibrant as he once was, limitless nothing more but a trick to make his grandkids smile. Not a weapon, but just your Satoru. He hopes you’ll still be there to love him.

And he dreams he’s there.

He wants to be there.

“Satoru?”

Satoru’s heart lurches as those beautiful eyes crack open, still foggy with sleep. A glimpse of that smile he found heaven in, and you pull him closer. Understanding. Skin heated against his, no one but you two in this quiet world.

All is well in your little heaven.

Today, the strongest will face Ryomen Sukuna, the fate of the world burdened upon his shoulders. But for now, Satoru is held fragilely in your arms.

For now, he is yours.

He only dreams he can be forevermore.

A/N. Tony writing something that isn’t smut??? The world is coming to an end.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

4K notes · View notes

innocent-artery · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober 5th: Goldmine

aka hair pulling with Rodrick Heffley

2k words

Summary: Rod learns something new.

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to the altar is my hips, a spotify playlist by me!

"Y'think I should get a leather jacket?"

Your shoulders shook under the weight of Rodrick's arm as you chuckled. "Why, you get an idea for a costume?"

"Absolutely. Even got the name for it." You could see the familiar smirk he wore even as your eyes remained on the screen. Smoke billowed in your peripheral, the smell of his near-finished cigarette long since clung to your clothes.

"It'd be a cute couples costume too," he continued, "you could be Tina Gray."

You turned to look at him. "Oh could I now?"

"Yup." He grinned as he put his cigarette out. "You've got the bedroom personality for it too."

You swung a pillow at his face, but Rodrick easily caught it and tossed it behind him. You huffed in false annoyance, falling back into your spot curled up under his arm.

His hand fell absentmindedly to your hair, gently twirling strands around his finger. The sensation makes your eyelids heavy, getting sleepy as he continued to soothe you.

Until you felt a sharp tug. Your eyes flew open, and you audibly gasped. Your entire body froze, and you curse yourself when Rodrick turns his head. A soft "oh?" leaves his lips, which are curled up into a curious smile. It had only been playful tug, but that was before he knew you'd react like that.

"That's not how you do it," you breathe, ghost of a grin teasing your lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was a condescending lilt. "How d'you do it?"

Instead of speaking, you take hold of his wrist, pushing it towards the back of your head. His fingers thread into your roots and he takes a fistful, tugging slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a deep sigh.

Before your eyes close, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend's reaction. His eyes are wide and full of amusement, and he's smirking incredulously. His brows raise, and you can see the gears turning in his brain.

"That's interesting," Rodrick mumbled, almost more to himself. "I wonder..."

He climbs up over you, legs caging in on either side of your hips. His foot kicks the TV remote onto the floor but Elm Street is long forgotten. His hold on your hair returns, the tingling in your scalp pulling a weak noise from your throat.

"Now, what would happen..." Rodrick's thought trails off as his fingers ghost over your throat, touch only featherlight until the pads of his fingers find your pulse points and press. Your breathing is shaky and your vision begins to blur, but your hands still fly to his shoulders. You might have even been a little embarrassed at how your hooded eyes began to cross if not for the fact that it just felt so good.

"Aw, y'like that?" Rodrick lilts, his face pulling closer to yours. Heat creeps up your neck.

"Y-yeah," you attempt to nod, but you aren't given much room for movement.

"I like that too, baby." He murmurs against your mouth before he kisses you slowly, tasting of nicotine and gum. They were gentle, teasing kisses, but quickly gave way to a more desperate rhythm as his tongue glided over your lower lip. He hummed a deep note when you let him in, when you whimpered as he started sucking on your tongue.

You let out a disappointed noise when Rodrick lets go of you, rolling back to sit but it's forgotten when he pats his thigh. You quickly oblige, skin heated and brain frazzled.

As soon as you're sat on his leg, the friction to your clit has you gasping into his mouth. Almost involuntarily, your hips began to roll against him, so slowly but enough to make your head swim and heat boil in your gut.

"Oh, sweetness," Rodrick murmurs in between kisses, "so needy already? I've barely done anything."

He knows he doesn't need to do much. Just a few words- or a tug of the hair- and you'd be turned into a pile of mush. He knows you too well, and he loves having that effect over you.

Even though he's teasing you, you can't be bothered to care, muttering an mhm and rutting your hips faster. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest, then trail to his thigh to ground yourself.

"Atta girl, keep goin'." Rodrick murmurs in your ear, licking a stripe down the shell of it, planting soft kisses wherever his lips wandered. "'M right here baby, that's it, yeah, good girl."

Rodrick's encouragement was sweet honey to your ear, and a sickening contrast to the hand that hand re-found purchase at your scalp, tilting your head back so that he could teethe at your neck, soft plucks of skin turning into bruising. Deft hands made work of your top, leaving your chest bare.

Your rutting became increasingly frustrated; your thighs burned and you weren't getting any closer to your high.

"Rod... need..." your words were mumbled and breathless, and your brain was too cloudy to be fully coherent anyway.

"Hm? Couldn't hear you, bunny, say that one more time?"

"Need more," you cried, hands pushing into Rodrick's hair when his tongue laved over your nipple.

"More what, baby?" He lilted, cupping and pinching your other tit lovingly. He groaned when your fingers clutched his hair tighter.

"Need you, Rod please..." you sighed, tugging at his wrist.

Rodrick chuckled. "Baby, I don't think I can do that. Might hurt you if I don't get you nice and prepped, yeah? How about we start with fingers?"

"Anything, please," you babbled, nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I got ya. Let's get these off, hm?" He tugged at the belt loop of your pants. They were off in record time, along with your underwear, leaving your entire body bared to him. You felt naked, more than just literally.

Once you were situated on his lap again you tried pulling on the hem of his shirt. "Off," you mumbled. Happily he complied, and you took the opportunity to lean forward and plant loving kisses to his neck, his collarbone.

You didn't realize when you'd risen up off your behind that it gave Rodrick the space to slip a hand between your legs, pulling a squeak out of you, muffled against his jaw.

"Aw, so messy baby. A little hair pulling did all this?"

You knew that it was a few other things, but you were so far gone you gave him a whiny 'yeah' anyway. Rodrick's fingers massaged your entrance, gathering slick and smothering it around your clit, making obscene noises- probably on purpose.

"So fuckin' wet, sweet, y'hear that?" Rodrick presses kisses to your pulse point, up to your jaw, then kisses you deep. Swallowing your moans into his mouth as the kiss turns messy.

"Please, Rod..." you're breathless and your pleas are barely coherent, but Rodrick knows exactly what you're asking for. You keel when you feel a finger glide into you, curling up towards your stomach.

"Yeah, good fuckin' girl." Rodrick's grin widens at your reaction when a second finger joins the first. "Always so eager, hm? That's my girl."

"Yeah, 'm your girl," you pant, hips canting to meet his hand.

"That's right," he coos, thumb tracing wide circles over your clit. "So proud of you, my girl."

"Rod," you whine, "need you."

"Hm?" He hums between nips to your collarbone. "You have me."

You shake your head vigorously. "Need you inside."

This gets Rodrick's attention. His fingers slow, while his free hand moves from your hair to his pants. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock out from his boxers. You watch as he takes his fingers, soaked from your cunt, and wrap them around himself, stroking slowly. His head falls back against the couch, lips hanging open and you feel the sudden urge to bite them.

Before you get the chance, however, Rodrick is pulling you forward, lining himself up to take you. Slowly, so slowly, he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick around. You jerk when his head catches on your clit, sending electricity shooting up your spine.

"Rod..." you whine against his neck, "please."

"Please what?" You want to slap him for the knowing glint in his eye, but that was for another day.

"Please fuck me."

And who was he to deny you? Guiding your hip, Rodrick eased you down on him, guiding you but letting you set your own pace. The stretch set your loins on fire, but it was heaven.

Your head kicked back, and you let your voice have a mind of its own as you sunk down on him. Long and pornographic, and Rodrick matched it. You felt him throb inside of you.

"Fuck, sound so pretty." Rodrick started rolling his hips into you, and you cried out at the sensation. "Yeah, that's it. Moan like a fuckin' whore for me, c'mon."

And who were you to deny him? You had the house to yourself, and the name alone sent your brain into overdrive. He filled you up so nicely, and the drag of his cock inside of you made your skin tingle with delight.

"Rod, yeah, oh- just like that, ohmygod-" your voice was caught in your throat when Rodrick, with the usual knowing twinkle in his eye, takes a fistful of hair and tugs you forward into a sloppy kiss.

All of the sensations- that Rodrick was giving you- were sending you closer and closer to tumbling headfirst off of that ledge. The sting in your scalp, his tongue sliding against yours, the sounds of wet slaps and your combined moans. The smell of cigarettes and the heat of his skin under your fingers. The head of his cock piledriving into your cervix again and again and again.

"Rod I- oh god, I'm gonna- oh, so close- Rod please," you pant into his mouth, fingers raking down his chest and leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"I gotcha," he grunts, hand snaking between your bodies to press circles over your clit. You can hear it in his voice that he's holding back. You don't want him to. "That's it, baby, come for me. Make a mess on my cock, c'mon."

That extra pleasure is all it takes to have you diving headfirst into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your eyes screw shut, and all you can feel is Rodrick. Shaky hands rest on his shoulders, holding on for dear life as hot pleasure courses through you.

You're acutely aware of the hot spurts hitting your cervix, and the fluids seeping out of you, but your body is still tingling all over. Your voice has long since become scratchy, but that doesn't stop you from whimpering and crying as he coaxes you through it.

"Good girl, did so good for me, yeah?" His grip on your hair is no longer a grip, but gentle, soothing strokes, almost as if to apologize.

You hummed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder as you breathe. The smell of sex had permeated the air around you, and you were suddenly very aware of how sweaty you'd become.

"Think we need a shower, baby, c'mon." Rodrick nudged your head.

You wanted to, you felt sticky, but your body was on fire, this time with a less-than-pleasurable ache. Begrudgingly, you lifted yourself off of his now soft dick, hobbling down to reach for your clothes and then to the nearest bathroom.

The shower was peaceful, and the water was soothing on your muscles. You both worked in a comfortable silence.

"Well, I was right." Rodrick finally said.

"About what, the hair pulling?"

"Nope."

You turned around to face him, head tilted in confusion. His mouth was curled upwards and his eyes were lifted in a smile.

"You do have the bedroom personality of Tina Gray."

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick heffley smut #rodrick heffley imagine #rodrick heffley fanfic #kinktober #kinktober 2023

4K notes · View notes

hotshotsxyz · 7 days ago

Text

too little, too late

(8x08 coda) (buddie) (1.2k) the episode chose violence and so did i :) spoilers for 8x08, and hey, guess what? this is my 100th 911 fic! it feels right that it's an evil one <3

The real estate agent has an irritating voice. It’s pitchy and run through with vocal fry, and if Buck has to listen to her talk for another second, he might actually tear his hair out. And it’s definitely about her voice. Nothing to do with the largely helpful information she’s handing over to Eddie like candy on Halloween.

“Anyway, we can touch base again once you’ve had a chance to look over those listings. I’m sure we’ll find something for both of you to love!” the realtor says.

Buck smiles. It feels brittle and fake.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says with all the sincerity Buck can’t quite muster. He ends the call and sits back against the couch.

“That, uh—that went, um—” He’s choking on the positivity he’s trying so hard to exude. “—well,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Seems easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Easy.

That’s—

Yeah.

“You know you—you don’t have to buy straight away,” Buck says as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“I know!” Buck says, throwing his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Just—maybe you want to make sure, you know? Before it’s—it’s permanent.”

“I can’t keep missing out on his life,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck swallows. He knows. He knows! Knows it like he knows there’s going to be an Eddie-and-Chris shaped hole in his heart for the rest of his goddamn life.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck says, and it’s maybe the first honest thing that’s come out of his mouth since he sat down on Eddie’s couch.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he realizes this might be one of the last times he gets to sit on this couch, in this house, with this man.

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Have you told Bobby yet?” Buck asks. His breath catches.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Buck says in a rush of air. “That’s—” He wants to say good. He can’t say good. Eddie needs—he needs—

Eddie lifts his head from his hands and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “I thought—”

“That he’d want to come back,” Buck supplies when Eddie doesn’t finish his thought.

He nods.

“He still—he could still—” Buck starts.

“He’s not going to change his mind.” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t hate me. It’s worse than that. He doesn’t care.”

Buck’s chest feels tight. “He—he loves you, Eddie,” he says weakly.

“Maybe before, but—”

“He does,” Buck insists. “And—and if this is what you have to do to make sure that stays true I—I get it.” He does. He gets it. He’d do anything for Christopher. He’d—

It’s the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, but he’d give up Eddie for that kid. Is. Is giving up Eddie for that kid. A sob jumps up in Buck’s throat. He fights it back.

“I want to believe you,” Eddie says.

Buck knows that he doesn’t.

“Have you, um. Have you talked to Chris about this yet?” Buck asks, feeling a little bit like he’s just laid his neck across the base of a guillotine.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—I’ve got to do this, whether he wants me to or not.”

All at once Buck’s angry. Angry at Eddie, angry at his parents, at fucking Kim, at himself, and maybe even a little bit at Christopher.

“Eddie, you—you told him he could come back!” He says, a little louder than he means to. “Doesn’t he deserve to know that’s not going to be an option anymore?”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s got—he’s got friends here, and—and Carla, and—” He can’t say it. He doesn’t have the right to say it, doesn’t have the right to feel like he’s already lost a limb and now they’re taking a lung, but— “and me,” he finishes quietly.

Something like devastation flashes across Eddie’s face. “Buck, I—”

“No,” Buck says quickly, standing up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have—I’m not—”

“Buck, wait,” Eddie says, following him as he retreats toward the door.

“I, um—I forgot, I have to—I promised Maddie,” he tries to lie.

“Please don’t go,” Eddie says, and god, how many times in Buck’s life has he yearned to hear someone say that to him and mean it. How many nights has he driven home from Eddie’s wishing he’d been asked to stay.

This thing building in his chest, this thing of anger and grief and regret—it hurts. Every breath he takes is a little more constricted, a little less effective.

Eddie looks at him, and Buck sees it. That thing he’s always wanted to see. That thing he didn’t even know he wanted from Eddie until right now and it’s—

There was a small, naïvely hopeful part of Buck that really still believe that if someone loved him enough, they’d stay. Eddie loves him, looks at Buck like he’ll break his heart when he walks out the door, and it still isn’t—

Eddie loves him, and it isn’t enough to make him stay.

Buck is in love with him, he realizes, and it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s leaving. Like Abby and like Tommy, except Buck didn’t know how much hurt he hadn’t even discovered yet, because this isn’t Abby or Tommy, it’s Eddie, and Eddie—

Eddie’s supposed to be the one that stays.

Buck shakes his head and shuffles back until the doorknob is digging into his spine. “I have to,” he breathes, a grossly distorted reflection of what neither of them has quite managed to say.

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to ask again, like he’s going to beg Buck to stay, to show him all these awful pieces of his heart that he’s just found so he can remind himself that it’s not too much to leave behind.

Buck’s out the door before he can say another word.

He throws himself into the Jeep and all but fishtails it out of Eddie’s driveway. He makes it three streets away before he has to pull over.

The first sob surprises him with its softness; the second with its violence. He wraps his arms tight around his stomach and, god, he tries to breathe. But there’s not—there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to make up for the way his lungs refuse to expand in the face of this loss.

He has to—he can’t—Eddie needs him to pull it together. To—to help him. To support him, and god help him, Buck will. There’s nothing Eddie could ask of him that he wouldn’t give. Nothing Eddie could do, Buck’s realizing, to make him love him any less.

Hot tears spill down Buck’s cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and wipes them away. His vital organs are crumbling, so what?

He’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to keep Eddie warm.

#911fic #911 fic #buddiefic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #fic #911 spoilers #coda #abbie writes #abbie commits to the torture nexus <3 #i have lighthearted ideas but that's for Later

517 notes · View notes

deerspherestudios · 3 months ago

Text

Short Break and To Dos!

Hello all! 🍄🍄👻 I'm glad to see people enjoying Day 3 so far! I was so nervous about showing another side to Mychael in the update I thought people wouldn't like him as much but plenty have reacted positively! ❤️

I'll add a TLDR; above the read more, but if you don't mind my ramblings and want more details about everything, I'll write everything below! Light spoilers ahead!

I'll be taking a short break from MO development until 28th October to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Regarding the feedback on Day 3, I'm glad people aren't as averse to the new side of Mychael, in that he isn't always soft and sweet. I want people to fall in love with a person after all, not a yandere caricature, and that means that person can get upset, angry and sometimes irrational when we don't know what's going on in their head even towards the subject of their affections. While some (understandably!) were shocked about his reaction to the mushrooms, it'll be clear as to why (hopefully!)

Some of you have given incredibly accurate theories, and I'll take that as something I've done well in building up the mystery!!! I'm excited to share more in the next update, but for now!

1. I'll be taking a short break from MO development to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

What I have planned for Day 4 of MO might be the biggest update so far, since one route will lead to a few official BAD ENDINGS as opposed to 'dead ends' like the current demo has. To those who really want to, you finally get to see Mychael at his worst. As usual, writing the script takes a few months with plenty of changes in between, and I don't wanna bulldoze ahead and rush the story when it's getting to the climax!

But before I jump into all of that I just wanna give myself a creative exercise and try exploring a different theme, style and setting with a fresh new character for the jam! Since I'm a sucker for the trope... yes, the new blorbo will also be a yandere, sorry, I'm predictable.💔 The jam ends on October 28th so development on MO will continue then!

The last time I wrote something remotely sci-fi was in high school, so this will be fun to try!

2. Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

What it says on the tin! If you've already played Day 3, rest assured there's no significant story changes. Just an updated credits list, three extra sprites for one route and a small fix in the code.

3. Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Plenty of people have sent such sweet and encouraging messages to my inbox on what they thought of the update and I cannot thank all of you enough for the support!! I can't wait to post them out to archive them on the blog and answer all your interesting theories and queries in my queue!

But for now I'm due for a short break from my socials and to catch up on my Patreon sketch requests haha. I also plan to release cut content from Day 3 for my Yearling and Deer patrons. Plus, I'll be working on some written prompts for extra lore so that's something to look forward to!

I'll be back soon! Take care, fireflies!! ❤️

#mushroom oasis vn #bts #cheea chatter

561 notes · View notes

motherlvr · 1 year ago

Text

3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader

SPOILERS FOR ATSV

read part 2 here!

3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.

Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)

A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out

Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.

"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.

Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.

"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.

After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.

It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.

After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"

Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.

You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.

Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.

Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.

While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.

"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."

Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"

Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.

You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.

You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.

If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.

"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.

"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.

"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.

You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.

The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.

You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.

Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.

Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.

Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.

As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.

Oh, great. It's the Prowler.

This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.

As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.

I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.

"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.

You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.

The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.

"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.

He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.

His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."

Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.

"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.

His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.

Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.

“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.

"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.

"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.

When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.

Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.

"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.

Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.

He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.

Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.

---------

part 2!

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #into the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman #prowler miles #miles morales spider man #spider man #spiderman into the spiderverse #jealousy #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

6K notes · View notes

heegyukeluv · 2 months ago

Text

If love was a battlefield…

pairing: heeseung x afab reader x jake

synopsis: If love was a battlefield, could there be more than one winner? In which Heeseung and Jake work in the same company as you, both of them sharing the same position and the same feelings: their huge crush on you.

my's note: i had so much fun working on this plot honestlyyyy and it was a bit of a challenge (in a good way!!!) since i had to learn a bunch of terms in english to write it and also my first love triangle 🤭🤭 THANK YOU SO MUCH ANONIE FOR THE REQUEST!!! also wanna thank mika for helping me brainstorming! a few scenes from here came from our talks 💘🤭

warnings: office workers heejake, y/n is in a higher position than them (manager), miscommunication to some extent, love triangle (but she does chooses! [spoiler alert] maybe both? hehe), hee and jake doesn’t get along too much at first (ps: they DON’T hate each other) but they come around!, quick mention of hee having a tattoo, there’s fluff, reader blushing/turning red! and SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, protected sex 💪🏻, unprotected sex (please, don't!!!), oral sex (f. receiving), quick handjob, sex in the office, the smut is jake x reader and heeseung x reader, there's no threesome!, jake has praise kink, hee is lowkey into degradation (receiving). LMK if missed anything!!!

request: an office or work space love triangle of heeseung x reader/oc x jake (you can pick which one the reader leans more towards or not✨or both✨) either way!!! (request here!)

wc: 24k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers

Of course the printer would select that very specific day to malfunction, jamming the paper with its irritating noise that signaled another reset was needed, despite all your attempts to fix the problem.

A wave of frustration washed through your body as you stepped back, taking a deep breath and fluttering your eyes shut in order to find any inner peace that might help you go through a simple routine task.

It wasn't just the clients pushing your buttons with their impossible deadlines, the entire work environment seemed to be against you, targeting you with its devilish plans. Everything that could go wrong, did.

You had little to no hope of getting better until your head rested on your pillow later that day. Unfortunately, there was still a whole six hours waiting for your irreplaceable presence. Being a manager had its perks, nonetheless, the down sides haunted you even in your dreams.

“Tough day?”

You startled at the sudden voice beside you, opening your eyes just to catch Jake sending you a curious glance, layered with a hint of comprehension. A ghost of a smile adorned his plump lips, his demeanor showed helpfulness, ready to assist. As usual.

“Some clients make the worst decisions and I’m the one cleaning their mess.” You began, exhaustion lacing your voice. “And some printers just hate me.” And then you shoot Jake an unamused smile.

Jake chuckled, his eyes turning into small crescents as he did so.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing towards the printer. You nodded, stepping aside to give him space to work. He began with the basics, checking for any simple errors. “It’s not running out of paper,” he pointed out quietly.

“Yeah…” You sighed and rested your body on the wall nearby. You had gone through everything Jake was doing.

“It doesn’t seem to be here. The problem.” He remarked, slightly confused.

You took a moment to observe how Jake’s concentrated frown deepened while he typed something on the computer, searching for the cause of the error. He nonchalantly played with his lips, wetting and biting them as he focused, his sharp eyes glued to the screen, slender fingers dancing across the keyboard.

You never paid close attention to how attractive Jake looked, especially while working – his light blue dress shirt and mandatory tie enhanced his pronounced features, complemented by his everyday black specs.

Of course you thought Jake was handsome, any person in their right sense would. And his beauty was accompanied with his remarkable personality. He had a genuine, warm, prestative soul, ready to lend a hand whenever people needed him, and it was clear there was no expectation to receive anything in return as he did so.

Jake had unmatched intelligence and quick senses to discover easily what went wrong, and even his clumsiness, constantly dropping his pile of papers or having his glasses misplaced on the top of his nose’s bridge had its charm.

You never considered the possibility of Jake’s charming side. Nonetheless, there you were, unprofessionally checking out your colleague while hoping for a miracle.

“There you go!” Jake’s cheerful voice brought you back to reality, your heart racing in surprise.

“Did you fix it?” You questioned with a hopeful tone.

“Let’s see.” Jake replied and then pressed a few buttons.

To your surprise, the printer emitted its usual sound instead of the annoying one, smoothly pulling the paper and delivering it back, fully printed with your work’s documents.

“Jake! What the hell!” You exclaimed, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment, a bright and genuine smile started to creep on the corner of your mouth as you looked back and forth between Jake and the printer. “What did you do?” You asked under your breath, still astonished with Jake’s quick and excellent skills. It felt like you could finally breathe again.

And it was just a malfunctioning printer.

“I just–”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” You waved it off, too relieved to finally continue with your very busy day – the few minutes the printer had stolen from you would certainly be missed. “Thank you so much.” You flashed him a sincere smile.

“It was nothing, really.” He chuckled at your overreaction, in no position to admit out loud he was loving to be the cause of your sudden euphoria. Deep down he was fighting the urge to blush, fluster before you.

“How can I properly thank you for saving my day?” You joked with a grin, thrilled with the small victory as you took your papers in hand.

Your demeanor had lightened, and you couldn't quite tell if it was due to the relief of the printer working again or Jake's presence beside you. Either way, you felt a pleasant warmth spreading in your chest.

However, to receive Jake’s silence, widened eyes and cheeks with a faint blush as a response caught you off guard, along with his sudden nervousness as he fidgeted with his fingers, as though he prepared himself during his whole life for that exact moment.

“So, uh…” He began, voice shaky, fingers trailing its way towards his nape to scratch it while his eyes avoided yours.

“Yeah?” You prompted, curiously waiting for his words.

“I've been waiting to tell you something. I–I know we have a policy about it, and you're the last person I’d expect to break it, but–”

“Oh, hey Y/N!”

You turned to see another colleague of yours approaching with his characteristic bright, enchanting smile, carrying a cup of coffee in his hand, a sharp gaze never leaving yours as he confidently brought his strong aura closer to you both.

“Hi, Heeseung.” You greeted with a smile, oblivious to the subtle change in the atmosphere between them.

“Jake.”

“Heeseung.” Jake’s voice was dry when he replied and a thick silence lingered for a moment before Heeseung flashed you an adorable smile and walked away without any other words.

You barely noticed Jake's clenched jaw and fists, or how he seemed ready to throw punches right in front of you if Heeseung didn’t return to his desk quickly.

“So you were saying..?” You asked, innocently drawing your attention back to Jake’s and consequently bringing his own towards you; his puppy eyes softened when they landed on your pretty features.

Jake’s heart immediately faltered a ton of beats as if he was about to collapse; having you looking at him so attentively was making his circuits crash, sending his brain into overdrive.

All the courage he reunited to confess to you vanished in a snap.

“It was nothing, don't worry about it!” He forced his best cheerful smile. “You seem to have a lot to do! Fighting, Y/N!”

You giggled at his choice of terms, tapping on his shoulder slightly before you started to head your way back to your office room.

“Thank you again, Jake.”

You offered him another smile, filled with genuine gratitude since he truly helped your day not to fall in shambles. And apparently, not only by helping your beef with the printer.

On the other hand, Jake’s day just started to collapse.

He headed back to his desk in the space he shared with a few co-workers and Lee Heeseung, one of the best employees the company had ever had since they started. The problem solving efficiency increased enormously during his time working there, and Jake had a not-so-soft spot for him in his heart. Jake viewed Heeseung as one of his greatest rivals. Not exactly in a mean way, but as a manner to motivate his improvement and outsmart himself each day, ensuring that his presence was felt just as strongly as Heeseung’s.

In Jake’s eyes, Heeseung had an annoying vibe, overconfident with his work and himself, although he knew Heeseung wasn’t an asshole at all. Deep down, Jake harbored a certain envy of how easily Heeseung seemed to connect with people; his charisma shone within every word, his confidence made others feel secure – and, depending on the context, a bit shy.

On that day, nevertheless, a nagging doubt about his co-worker motives during their earlier interaction was swelling in his chest. If he stayed quiet, not confronting Heeseung about it, he wouldn’t be able to focus on doing his job adequately.

“Ok, so what was that about?” Jake finally asked with a mild peeved voice.

“What was what ab–”

“Don't.” Jake's fierce eyes shot Heeseung a warning while tilting his head. “Don't mess around. Just spill it out.”

Heeseung quirked an eyebrow in amusement after seeing the so said calm guy acting a bit off.

“I was saving your ass.” Heeseung replied, a casual grin on his face as if he had just shared the most mundane, obvious fact.

Jake rolled his eyes, sighing and definitely not buying the nonchalance while turning his rolling chair towards Heeseung.

“And how exactly my ass needs to be saved, Heeseung?” he pressed, his voice low and serious with an elbow propped on the edge of his table.

“You seemed to be in trouble.” Heeseung shot back immediately, shrugging, avoiding Jake’s intense gaze.

Heeseung wasn't too open about his reasons because, honestly, he was still unsure of what had compelled him to interfere in the conversation, since you seemed to be beaming with happiness and Jake was just his normal, awkward self talking to you.

Something itched at the back of his confused thoughts, so he had to take action.

“I wasn’t.” Jake murmured, his jaw clenched as he turned back to his computer, fingers furiously typing on his keyboard. “Next time, ask beforehand if I really need your savior's help.” He said mockingly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was just about to confess and you totally screwed up my chances.”

Heeseung blinked a few times, immediately freezing in his seat, utterly flabbergasted. He had a faint, minor suspicion hinting that Jake was onto something he couldn't quite grasp. But this? This was the last thing he expected at all.

Heeseung had to bite back his own sharp and far from nice words in order to maintain a good relationship with Jake – and, consequently, with you.

“I mean, we have policies and rules...” Heeseung managed to say in return, ignoring the bittersweet taste on his tongue going all the way down his throat to sit uncomfortably in his chest, swallowing it whole in a suffocating way.

“I know about them.” Jake smirked, leaning on his chair with a cocky, relaxed demeanor as he side eyed Heeseung. “And I found a loophole in it.”

Now Heeseung's curiosity was piqued, heart racing fast as he leaned closer. “Oh, really? And how's that?”

Jake chuckled, shooting Heeseung a skeptical look. "No way I'm telling you, man."

Panic filled Heeseung’s vein, a cold feeling spreading within his chest as the realization hit. He could lose the chance of his lifetime; it felt like you were already fading away from his touch without even giving him the chance to make a move. The new information that Jake and he shared a common interest in you and Jake seeming to have an advantage on his game triggered his worst side.

For the purpose of keeping on the war’s lead – the war that just got instaurated by his fantasy –, he decided to play dirty.

“If you don't, I'm gonna snitch on you.”

Now it was time for Jake to paralyze in his tracks, just to let out a soft laugh before saying. “You would not…” Jake squinted his eyes in disbelief.

After reading Heeseung’s expression, Jake realized he wasn’t bluffing. The slight raise of Heeseung's eyebrows, coupled with a hint of challenge and his annoying grin demonstrated it clearly.

“Try me,” Heeseung struggled a bit to maintain his confident facade, the slight tremor in his voice betrayed the underlying tension.

But Heeseung had an advantage that outshone Jake's, one that could potentially lead Jake to be in a very unfortunate position, and if that meant Heeseung getting his chances with you, he would do anything to keep the fight.

Jake leaned back further, the playful smirk fading as he studied Heeseung with a calculating gaze.

“Seriously, you’d snitch over this?” Jake muttered in disbelief, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t entirely convinced Heeseung would go that far, but his colleague's persistence was throwing him off. And for what? To steal his chances with you just for fun? Unless…

“If it gives me a fair shot, yeah.” Heeseung’s grin widened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He was pretty chill about it, after all, you always seemed unattainable to anyone around you. With an unmatched beauty, an assertive mindset, and a captivating yet humorous personality – when necessary –, not to mention how understanding you were.

Everyone's dream.

And until that day that’s how Heeseung had you, only in dreams. But now reality had knocked on his door, and it knocked close. He knew there was competition, a strong one. And much to Jake's misfortune, Heeseung was highly competitive.

There was a brief pause for quite long, painful seconds. Jake’s frown deepened as he finally understood Heeseung’s motives, clarification hitting instantly. They were on the same page.

Although it sent his brain into malfunction, especially because he feared Heeseung’s would be winning – just like he always did, the fucking annoying ace of the company –, Jake kept on the confident behavior, not showing his hesitation right in front of his, now unspokenbly declared, enemy.

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “You really think you stand a chance?”

Heeseung’s expression faltered for just a second, but he quickly masked it.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “But I won’t let you get ahead without a fight. A proper one.”

A heavy silence settled between them again, Jake processing Heeseung’s words, the tension palpable as both of them knew they were walking on dangerous ground. It was the company field with you being the final prize.

And right at that point, neither of them cared that much about their reputation within the workers if it led to having you at the end of the day.

“Alright then, let’s see who wins this.” Jake’s voice filled the dead air.

Heeseung blinked, momentarily taken aback by Jake’s sudden shift in tone, overconfident with his decision. However, he nodded and shook Jake’s hand in a wordless deal.

“Let's see who wins this.”

A gentle knock on the door interrupted your focus as you organized your table for the day, still standing up.

It was common sense within your employees that if you didn't answer right away, they were not supposed to open it until you reached out yourself. However, the chaotic pile of papers that had overtaken your workspace had momentarily distracted you, and you were taking your sweet time organizing it all.

Just as you were about to call out, the door creaked open cautiously, and a familiar pair of eyes peeked inside.

“Hey.” Heeseung greeted you with a tender smile. “Mind if I come in?”

Without fully drifting your gaze away from the documents on your table, frowning as you found yet another mistakenly placed in between your sheets, you gave a brief nod.

“Sure.”

As Heeseung approached, a bit hesitant, you didn’t give him time to say a word as you shove the paper on his face. “That’s definitely not mine.”

Your deadpan expression was enough to make anyone sweat, and you knew it well – sometimes using it to your benefit purely for fun, especially with someone like Heeseung, who was susceptible to falling for it easily.

Heeseung momentarily blinked, stunned, before tilting his head to the side, uncertain. “I’m… Sorry..?”

You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped, enjoying his reaction far too much; his confused, scared bambi eyes widening with the fear of a reprimand. You shook your head, biting back your smile while lifting one eyebrow.

“Relax. It’s not your fault.”

You saw Heeseung’s shoulders loosening visibly, and he released a long breath he didn’t notice he was holding, relief washing over his body.

Behind his easygoing, self-reliant and confident persona, there was a huge layer of self-doubt blended with the concern of letting the company down – letting you down. He carried the weight of wanting to be perfect at his job, especially for you. He was proud to admit he barely made any mistakes during his years working there, let alone to incorrectly put important papers in wrong places.

“So, what brings you here?” You finally gave Heeseung your full attention, leaning one hip against the desk, watching him with curious eyes.

Heeseung cleared his throat before setting down a steaming cup on the wooden surface. “Thought you could use this.” He offered with an awkward grin. “A coffee for my favorite manager.”

You quirked an eyebrow, suspicious over his sudden decision. Of course you were aware of Heeseung’s kindness towards you, always trying to ease your overall work under his possibilities with his teasing blended with his gentlemanliness. However, something felt strangely off, different, weird even, and you struggled to pinpoint exactly what it was.

Maybe it was the way his two orbs seemed to drown you in a pool of affection and attention, almost expecting something in return.

“Oh, yeah?” You picked the coffee nonetheless, taking a sip and almost closing your eyes as the sweetness of it melted in your palatar. “And what’s the catch?” You smirked as you propped your free hand on the table, supporting your weight in it, eyes never leaving Heeseung’s sudden flustered self.

“No catch!” He urged to say, raising both hands in defense, bambi eyes widened more as if he just got caught in a compromising situation. You tilted your head, not buying it. “I swear,” he chuckled awkwardly, feeling small under your intense staring. “I just thought it could be a good idea. You’re fighting against demons with this desk today.” He pointed out to the said space and you actually laughed out loud at his words, painfully agreeing with them because it was your reality that day.

You studied Heeseung for a moment longer, trying to read his underlying true intentions. In doing so, you couldn’t help but observe his charming features.

His impeccably styled hair revealing a small portion of his forehead, enough to showcase his adorable mole, became a signature aspect of his daily appearance. His clothes were always neat, seamlessly placed and yet stylish. His lips seemed to be constantly nibbled or maybe he had some chapstick on, because it had the color of cherries, giving it an inviting glimmering aspect.

He exuded a natural flirty aura that effortlessly drew people in, especially those he had a genuine interest in – you heard some of his stories before, when you weren’t in your current position. For some inexplicable reason, you found yourself wondering briefly what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his playful and certainly captivating advances.

“Thanks, Heeseung. I appreciate it." Your voice softened, and you gestured to the chaotic desk. "But next time, maybe help me with this instead of just getting me coffee."

Heeseung laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Noted.” Then he shifted on his feet, clearly trying to maintain his cool, but the slight fidget in his hand suggested something else. “Just wanted to make sure you’re taken care of. You know? You’re the head of our department.” He nodded to himself, letting his genuine, but appealing words come out of his mouth spontaneously.

“Thank you again.” You smiled, feeling his gratitude, still not really accepting it as a normal behavior.

You kept on watching him nervously acting out in front of you, so obviously apprehensive, however, fighting the pressure of dropping down his mask. You almost laughed at it, endeared by how entertained it was to be on the viewer’s side.

“But really. You’re doing fine. And we all need you to keep on being fi– Doing! Doing fine.” Heeseung fumbled in between his speech, stuttering because he wasn’t expecting you to go full silent-mode out of nowhere, leaving him with his messy, and in love, brain, enough to make him act awkward.

You let out a small chuckle, the way Heeseung was being so out of his normal was so funny to your eyes, never in your life you thought of seeing him in such a manner.

Then you stood up only to gently guide Heeseung towards the door, grabbing the handle to signal it was time for him to leave your office. Somehow you had a feeling that if you let him, Heeseung would keep on talking and complimenting you for hours.

“Ok, now you're just flattering me for no reason. Go back to your work.” You softly pushed his back, still smiling.

“You know me too well,” he smirked and then threw you a cute wink before walking away, now apparently back to his regular demeanor, leaving you alone in the midst of your chaos – both in the room and in your mind.

Before you closed the door, the phantom of your smile lingering on your lips still, you heard someone calling your name.

“Oh, Y/N! I was looking for you.”

Jake met Heeseung in the middle of the hallway. His subtle, yet triumphant smile radiated a confidence that triggered Jake’s desperation, so he had to come up with a quick plan to gain some extra points with you and, maybe, with luck, surpass Heeseung.

Your eyes tracked Jake’s motions as he approached you, looking flustered with papers messily stacked in his grasp, his glasses unevenly on his face as though he had been in a race against time. He had a small pout decorating his plump lips, and his hair was a mess as well, strands poking out everywhere. Even so, he looked cute.

Cute?

“What's all that?” You nodded to his papers, sipping on your hot coffee.

Then you locked your gaze with his. Jake gave you a soft smile, as though he saw a cute puppy and you tilted your head with curiosity, waiting for his response.

“Uh.. I went over our latest reports,” he started as he clumsily handed you one of the documents, your fingers subtly brushing against the other’s in the process – while you barely noticed it, Jake winced, a jolt of ecstasy rushing over his body by your simple touch. “And there were a bunch of errors. I corrected them…”

You slowly blinked, eyebrows furrowing, utterly surprised by Jake's decision of reviewing the reports, and not enough, giving it the proper adjustment as you meticulously re-read the paragraph he pointed out.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly after your silence. “You seem to have a lot to do and I know you'll have to revise it all again.”

“Jake.” You called out, a serious, focused expression still settled on your face. Jake straightened his posture, ready for the reprimand he was sure you would give him, already thinking about the hours he would spend overthinking it. However, you were far from being mad, so you softened your eyes after finishing reading, smiling and looking back at him. “Come in.”

Jake had dumbfounded eyes shooting your back when you turned on your heels after inviting him to your office, his foot glued on the ground unabling his movements. Nonetheless, the feeling of a small victory tasted addicting, and now he yearned for more.

Just before fully stepping into your workspace after calming down his racing excited heart, he glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Heeseung giving him a death stare.

Jake simply smiled coyly, as if he had won the round of a game he never intended to lose, although his adversary offered a strong amount of threatening.

Heeseung darkened eyes watched Jake’s fading away after closing the door, poking his inner cheek with his tongue with his breath hitching. Right when he found the perfect opportunity to prove he would be a great boyfriend by looking out for you, Jake stepped in, robbing him of the chance to be the only one in your thoughts.

Inside the room, you now sat on your chair while Jake kept on standing after putting the pile of papers on your desk. He was trying to suppress the adrenaline bubbling inside his heart, the thump-thump almost dizzying echoing inside his head, and the fact that your office was permeated with your scent did nothing to help to decrease the intoxicating, entrancing feeling.

“Sit down, don’t be awkward.” You said nonchalantly, yet comforting, pointing to the chair in front of your desk without necessarily looking away from the words you were reading rigorously.

“Sorry.” He chuckled nervously, quickly sitting down as his fingers twitched on his lap, fidgeting out of tension.

The lack of acknowledgment about what your reaction would be was aching in his every pore; biting the sensitive flesh of his lips wasn’t enough anymore, so he glanced up at you, stealing a rapid moment to admire the way you were scanning the reports. Your mild concentrated frown and how your hair cascaded down your face almost made him melt on spot.

The silence wasn’t comfortable at all, not hostile either – even so he was afraid of getting scolded.

“So, what made you decide to do this?” You finally spoke, your words aiming for one simple answer, nevertheless, your tender and still steady tone made Jake shift on his seat, breath getting caught on his throat.

“I just thought I could help you,” he answered, a bit quieter than his regular self. “I–I know you have a lot to do lately, and I always revise our main reports.” He explained, not watching you anymore because you lifted your eyes to give him your full attention; your gaze weightening on him. “And I noticed those errors. Didn’t think it would hurt to re-make those parts based on your pattern of writing.”

You nodded softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Jake was adorable with his cheeks painted in slight blush, fixing his glasses on his nose’s bridge, running away from your staring, unable to sustain eye contact. He was being his normal self, however, just like with Heeseung, something felt off.

“That’s really considerate.” You said, tilting your head slightly to the side as you added. “I really appreciate your effort, Jake. But I’d like to be aware of the changes before you make them. Okay?”

Jake eagerly agreed, nodding at your soothing words. He was relieved to hear them instead of harsher ones, even though there was no bigger reason to fear, after all, your reputation for handling things with grace and kindness mingled with your astute assertiveness was well-known.

You had a way of giving feedback that felt constructive, always leading with gratitude before addressing something more incisive, and your scoldings were far from being sharp like a retaliation and more striving for lightening the load for everyone involved, without leaving room for big mistakes.

But at that moment Jake held a very intimate, personal secret, and your sharp eyes seemed to read his every thought, so he expected the worst.

“So, what exactly did you change in the report?” you asked, leaning slightly forward in your chair, genuine curiosity lighting up your eyes.

Jake swallowed, feeling a familiar nervousness creep up, though it was softened by the warmth of your kind eyes. He smiled and tried to quietly shake off the warmth spreading on his cheeks before explaining every line he had modified and the reasoning behind it, his typical clever outstanding trait showing off within every word that flew from his mouth, walking confidently on the ground he built himself in.

As you nodded along, due to the small proximity, you also silently struggled to maintain your focus on what Jake was verbalizing instead of his refreshing perfume and his gorgeous, slender fingers, to which traced the paper as he kept on talking. Not to mention the motion of his lips, how his tongue would wet the flesh of it every once and awhile.

“You did a good job, Jake.” You said at the end of his analysis, lifting your eyes to meet his. A subtle smile adorned your mouth, and Jake felt a surge of pride bloom in his chest.

He could shamelessly admit – not to you, though – he was devoted to hearing your every praise. There was no aim to his work other than receive your compliments about him doing good. Being good for you was enough to pay his bills, he would even dare to say.

And of course that had nothing to do with his praise kink, buried in the depths of his mind.

“Thank you.” Jake mumbled shyly, feeling the heat lingering on his cheeks, a light ton of red tinting them. “I really like being noted by you.” As soon as his words blurted out of his mouth, he rushed to backtrack himself with widened eyes. “I mean– I appreciate being recognized for my hard work. By any superior, of course.”

You leaned back on your chair, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow, studying Jake’s demeanor shamelessly – his nervous stuttering, his choice of words, his sudden overwork. Going through documents already approved for submission was nothing but a hellish task, nevertheless Jake seemed to be willing to give you that break without you asking for it.

Something odd was happening. It was way out of your regular routine, flooded with awkward situations and words that you weren’t sure you were supposed to overhear. And coming from two different people.

Another knock on your door interrupted your session of trying to read Jake’s hidden intentions, just like you did before with Heeseung. And as if your thought had summoned the said man, he appeared at the entrance after you allowed him to enter.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Heeseung asked innocently, his eyes darting briefly from you to Jake, acknowledging his presence – the thought of you and Jake being alone in a room weighed in his chest since the moment he saw his colleague entering your office, and increased with every heartbeat.

Heeseung couldn’t bear the idea of Jake claiming a larger area of their shared battlefield, and his only remaining option was to figure out methods to interfere in Jake’s progress.

Jake didn’t buy Heeseung’s feigned naivety, narrowing his eyes in disbelief without making it noticeable to you. It was a subtle exchange, a fleeting glance that only Heeseung was able to catch as he swallowed hard to suppress the pressing need to spill the truth beneath their actions.

“Seems like my office is the party room today,” you joked lightly, shaking your head. “You didn’t. I just finished with Jake.”

Unaware of the silent tension unfolding between the two men, you draw your attention back to your laptop, quickly logging into your work apps as if the world wasn’t burning with unspoken feelings right before you. Yet, the awkward silence persisted, prompting you to glance up at Heeseung again, who seemed to be deep in thought.

He faltered for a second before realizing he was the one in the spotlight, snapping out of torturing thoughts, rapidly regaining his composure.

“I, uh… I just wanted to remind you that your meeting is in less than an hour,” Heeseung’s voice was steady, but the quickening beat of his heart betrayed his nerves, especially with his brand new makeshift excuse. “I was wondering if you want me to set the room for it. I’m quite chilling with my work today.”

“I can help!” Jake was quick to interject, almost lifting his hand as if he was a middle schooler, looking at you with gleaming orbs filled with expectation.

Your inquisitive eyes flickered between Jake and Heeseung, your serious facade sharpening as you sensed the shift in the air. It made them both shiver in place, sharing a secret wordless connection.

It was almost undeniable that the whole situation was affecting you in an unknown way.

You were aware of your position and fought hard for it – being assertive and resolving conflicts was your greatest work quality. Separating work from personal matters was also a point you vigorously defended and explained to many of your colleagues, especially since being the target of their flirtations was on your list as well.

Despite your efforts to maintain those things rewinding on your mind as a reminder, the way both Heeseung and Jake were acting sounded more than just strange to you – it was intriguing.

You felt an almost unbearable desire to investigate further what was the motive behind their sudden offers for help and the respective compliments that came with it.

At the same time, you wondered if there were layers of the situation you weren’t quite seeing correctly, having just one piece of the ongoing puzzle so far. So you decided to let it be for now.

“What about you both help each other?” You offered a solution while smiling, indirectly using it as a method to gather more explicit information. “I’m sure you can work well together, right?” You tilted your head with a challenging voice, to which didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Sure.” Heeseung smiled in agreement, and you straightaway noticed he was masking his real reaction.

“Sounds amazing,” Jake, on the other hand, was obvious with his discontent, sounding explicitly unhappy and sarcastic.

Either way, you opted to ignore it and move on with your work as soon as they left your office. It was just the morning and you had a lot to catch up with.

And besides your efforts, you failed to catch the palpable tension between Heeseung and Jake.

Your following days seemed ordinary enough, until Jake or Heeseung – eventually, both – crossed your path.

They shared a constant odd behavior around you, whether proposing countless solutions to existent and mostly nonexistent problems, demonstrating an exaggerated level of proactivity, or complimenting your appearance, emphasizing details that surely hadn’t changed overnight – like the time when Heeseung asked if you had trimmed the ends of your hair, as if he was trying to impress you with his incredible observation skills.

At times, you were astonished by their creative ability to come up with lame excuses just to approach you, many of which were completely inconvenient and more of a distraction than a help.

You couldn’t help but wonder what triggered this new shift in their attitudes. What has switched inside their brains to overwork themselves just to make their presence noticeable?

Even your superior questioned about the employees' demeanors under your management, overdoing tasks and spending more time in the company than normal. You struggled to wash it off, because you also had no proper answer to that question.

Besides the chaos they implemented within their constant battle for something you quite couldn’t pinpoint precisely, it was somewhat adorable their attempts to get your attention. Also, you wouldn’t deny that the small perks they provided – like free coffee and lunch nearly every day – were more than welcome, allowing you to buy new decorations to your house, for instance.

Your first theory was that both Heeseung and Jake were working together to get a raise. But you quickly discharged it when you realized they were fighting against each other, not for each other. So for now, your main theory was they were still trying to win a raise, flattering you personally as a way to get it as if you held the key for their promotion as their manager.

Although excessive, they always respected your personal boundaries, giving your space when you demanded it. They quickly understood your disapproving looks whenever they crossed the professional line as well, avoiding furthermore conflicting situations in the workspace.

However, even with their sweet personalities and kind, heartfelt gestures, the constant tension, battelish vibe they carried alongside each other was getting on your nerves to some extent. Especially because you were growing attached to some of their behaviors and constant presence.

While Jake would quietly offer assistance with your workload, subtly proving his reliability and cleverness to found solutions with ease, following you around like a lost puppy, Heeseung would choose a different approach, very likely to his personality, showering you with compliments and attempting to charm you with smaller favors, focusing more on your overall health and in making you a bit flustered.

You got caught in a dilemma.

Jake and Heeseung began to build a soft spot in your heart, making it hard to ignore your pulse quickening in certain moments, like when Heeseung bought you some snacks because you skipped your lunch hour, showing his concern within a flatter – “A beautiful woman like you can’t go too longer without some proper food”. Or how Jake’s eyes brightened while you explained a new easy method to do spreadsheets, giving you his full attention, hyping you and adding to your idea – “You’re brilliant! And if we add this other option as well… Wow. How do you manage to be amazing like this?”

How Heeseung would rush over the entire floor just because you requested, jokingly, a coffee, even with him being loaded with work – “Can’t never let my favorite manager down, yeah?”. Or when Jake's fierce senses quickly noticed your struggle with a presentation and leaned over to offer you support and an alternative suggestion – “You’re doing great, Y/N. If you don’t feel like it, you can try explaining the third part, the one we talked about before.”

And the bolder, touchy ones; when Heeseung wiped the corner of your mouth because it was stained with sauce, when Jake fixed a strand of your hair that was misplaced, when Heeseung’s arms involved your shoulders in a subtle, comforting hug after a meeting with an inconvenient client, when Jake scooched closer while sitting next to you during a workshop-lecture, his lips almost touching your ear as he whispered something about the topic.

Other than all of that, you came to notice how Heeseung’s eyes radiated with a brighter glow and how his lips curved into a gentle, gorgeous smile every time you were speaking, as if he was daydreaming. And also how often Jake would turn into a fumbling mess, blushing and biting back a grin every time you complimented him, and eventually just the fleet meeting of your eyes became enough to send him into that flustered and adorable demeanor, your heart faltering some beats with the sight.

You were feeling over appreciated, and it was concerning, mainly because you were enjoying it.

Your eyes started to drift briefly, but frequently to their lips when they were the ones talking instead of listening to their words. A knot on your stomach would form as you anticipated their presence in your office every day, sometimes even placing internal bets on who would be the first to knock on your door. And there were times where you found yourself nervously adjusting your hair or smoothing out your clothes before they walked in, hoping they would notice.

You expected your workflow to feel enjoyable not because you liked your job, but because at the end of the day, Heeseung and Jake’s frequent proximity would ignite a brand new nuance of sentiments inside your chest towards them – an excitement, the usual anticipation, some eagerness.

Nonetheless, despite their courteous behavior and the subtle change in the air whenever they were near, there was something tingling, lingering in the back of your mind.

It became increasingly obvious with every interaction that Jake and Heeseung shared an unspoken rivalry, and if you had to guess, you were the prize they were competing for – the idea itself was enough to send shivers down your spine, especially since it left you facing an impossible choice, one you couldn't imagine yourself ever having to make.

Whenever Jake came into your office to discuss work, Heeseung would conveniently show up moments later, knocking on your door with an offer of assistance.

If Heeseung sat with you during lunch, Jake would immediately find a seat at the same table, causing the air to grow thick with tension.

They were constantly interrupting any moment that had the potential to evolve into something deeper, leaving you frustrated, as if you were only getting fleeting glimpses of who they truly were when the other wasn’t around.

To think like that – hoping that your interactions with them would develop into something more – wasn’t professional. It didn’t fit right to fantasize about the possibilities beyond a simple work dynamic, no matter how much the tension made you feel otherwise.

You were a manager, their manager. With a lot of responsibilities; Heeseung and Jake being one of them. Still you were already far intrigued and involved with your feelings in this triangle, and to just forget it and act like nothing was happening slowly became an impossible mission.

“This isn’t right.” You murmured, frowning at the vending machine that decided not to give you your snacks. Your phrase, however, wasn't only about it. “Come on…” You rolled your eyes, impatience swelling in you.

“Sometimes you just have to punch it.”

You almost jumped in shock with the sudden presence of your fellow manager and friend, Sunghoon, carrying his usual cup of steaming coffee, wearing his typical full suit and showing you an adorable smile.

You chuckled at his solution, “I don’t feel like punching a vending machine today.”

“You look angry, though.” He quirked an eyebrow at you, casually sipping on his coffee. “It could help.”

You wetted your lips before answering. “Yeah, kinda,” you shrugged. “But I don’t think punching a vending machine would help my angryness at all.” You shot back with a cynical smile.

Sunghoon laughed with you before approaching the machine and analyzing it. “Let me help you then.”

He did two or three taps on the side of it and within seconds it threw out the snacks you had selected before. You glanced in disbelief at him, mouth agape as you tilted your head and grabbed your food.

“What are you? A charmer of vending machines?” You asked with amused eyes, smiling bright before ripping open the cookie package, eating one and offering it to your friend.

“Definitely not,” Sunghoon also curved his lips into a grin, taking one of the cookies and then leaning closer while fauxing a flirty gaze. “But I would love to charm you into a project of mine.” His eyes were glazed on yours, taking in how bright they shone as the excitement bubbled inside your chest when you heard his proposition. “Not all of you, because I know you already have a lot to do.” He added, offering comfort and understandment. “But I think your method could help my supervisors and their respectives team leaders to do a better job.”

“And by my method you say my incredible way of dealing with people or just the new thing I developed with my incredible, amazing, wonderful supervisors?” You wiggled your eyebrows, teasingly, with a mischievous smile and nudging his shoulder playfully.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes and put on a smirk on his lips as he straightened his posture. “Whatever.” He chuckled. “Send me a text if you’re down for our date,” he said, his tone teasing as he lifted his cup of coffee and an eyebrow, starting to slowly walk backwards toward the elevator.

You widened your eyes, glancing around to see if anyone overheard your conversation, embarrassment washing over you and going straight to your cheeks, especially after the last remark.

You slapped Sunghoon’s chest as you contained a laugh, giving a last feigned disapproving look while shaking your head in disbelief. A quiet snort came out of your throat before you made your way back to your office.

Your relationship with Sunghoon was anything but new. You both entered the company at the same month, and you practically leveled up together – on your last promotion, you became a manager just days before him.

So far, you had shared a solid friendship that extended beyond the office, even if your growing responsibilities had limited the hangouts you used to enjoy between spreadsheets and meetings. Those carefree moments had become rare as the workload piled up, so the opportunity to work together with Sunghoon thrilled you.

Just the thought of the brainstorming sessions filled with laughter and playful jokes, a perfect blend of professionalism and friendship, sparked your excitement at most.

Many assumed that your relationship was more than a simple friendship, and Sunghoon's shameless flirting while using working terms didn't help at all. In fact, he had a boyfriend, and the reason you two constantly flirted was purely for fun and to stir up others' curiosity and laugh about it afterwards.

On the other side of the floor, meticulously dodging from your sharpened gaze, Heeseung watched the bold interaction between you and Sunghoon unfolding. He had narrowed eyes and head slightly tilted as he tried to eavesdrop on your conversation. He got himself wondering why were you laughing and smiling so much, with an excessive amount of unnecessary touches and flirty eyes.

“We should unite forces.”

Heeseung nearly jumped or had a heart attack – or both – as Jake appeared out of nowhere beside him, whispering closely in his ear. He looked like a deer that had just been caught doing something wrong, with widened eyes and lips parted.

“Fuck off, Jake.” Heeseung dramatically placed a hand on his chest, as though to calm down his racing pulse, eliciting a genuine chuckle from Jake in response. “And what do you mean by that, huh?” Heeseung frowned, eyes flicking between Jake and you as you walked away.

“I don’t know.” Jake sighed deeply, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks while watching you disappear behind your office door, his head angling to the side to keep track of your movements until you were out of sight.

“So you have an idea, but not a plan?” Heeseung asked while side eyeing Jake, who was now biting his lip, clearly trying to swallow down the bittersweet taste on his tongue.

And Heeseung wasn’t too different; when he heard people saying jealousy is a disease, he didn't think it would make his heart shrink and ache that much.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Jake nodded with a pout, starting to walk towards his desk, with Heeseung trailing behind him. “I just don’t think Sunghoon is a good match, y’know?” He remarked, trying to sound casual about it, but his words felt like a bullet going straight to Heeseung’s gut, curving its way back to hit Jake’s chest.

“Yeah,” Heeseung agreed, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “He lacks a lot of things.” He added with a dry, nearly mean tone.

“Not in looks though.” Jake pinpointed, earning another judgmental side eye from Heeseung. “What? He’s good looking.” He said nonchalantly with a shrug. “I have eyes. I can notice when a guy looks good.”

“Whatever you say, nerd,” Heeseung voiced with an unfazed chuckle.

Jake rolled his eyes in annoyance, and even with them glued on the screen in front of him, numbers and words on display for him to analyze, his mind was long gone far away from the office.

“But listen,” he continued after seconds in silence seeking for the right way to verbalize his thoughts. “Don’t you feel that sometimes we’re kinda… Pushing her away instead of the other way around?”

Jake’s question hung in the air for brief seconds as Heeseung tilted his head, carefully contemplating it. Jake watched his colleague's face falter in realization.

You seemed mad and somehow frustrated whenever they interrupted you, massaging your temples while closing your eyes, taking deep and long breaths, playing with your lips using your tongue and teeth… As if you were trying to contain yourself.

Not to mention that he started to draw disapproving stares from you during meetings or at times when he interfered with your workflow attempting to help. And Jake's side wasn’t different either.

“Yeah.” Heeseung finally nodded after concluding his chain of thoughts. “None of this would be an issue if you stepped aside, you know? I could take care of it.” He teased, gazing at Jake with a cocky expression.

“No way in hell, man.” Jake scoffed with a laugh, but then his facade softened, his feelings for you overwhelming his chest. “I only want what's best for her.”

Heeseung flashed Jake with an understanding glance, blended with seriousness and a hint of affection, as if the new reminder of his real main objective littered his whole world.

You littered his whole world.

And after all, to make you happy was the final goal.

“Agreed.”

While in a brief pause, Jake and Heeseung reflected how deeply involved with their feelings for you they were, an unexpected, yet genuine connection maturing as they did so.

Work had become fun and enjoyable simply because you were there, being an important part of their routine. Your nuance of smiles – the bright ones, the skeptical ones, the awkward ones –, your subtle jokes and lowkey acid humor that eased the atmosphere, your serious and confident decisions, your confused grimaces whenever someone said something absurd, your habit of biting your lip and furrowing your eyebrows while absorbed in concentration.

They drank in every single detail of you, falling more and more in love, as if you were the sun, and they were mere planets gravitating in your orbit, waiting, fighting for your attention, for your decision.

Jake sighed, lowering his eyes while remembering all the moments he made you laugh with his silly and awkward jokes due to his nervousness, stumbling into his own words before your beautiful presence.

Heeseung pursed his lips together, nearly feeling the phantom of the slight bumps of your shoulders when you both sat next to each other, your body leaning just enough to whisper something important in his ear.

“We both want what’s the best for her…” Jake muttered under his breath. Heeseung glanced quickly at him, who immediately reciprocated – a silent dialogue being transmitted in their gaze.

Then they both said simultaneously, a shared realization hanging in the air.

“That’s why you should leave her to me.”

“And I am the best for her."

Apparently their alliance would take longer than anticipated.

After everyone settled into their chairs, you took a deep breath and stood at the head of the table, commanding attention. Your gaze swept across the room before you spoke, your voice firm and steady.

“So, our meeting today is crucial. These clients are incredibly high maintenance, and they chose our company to lead their main projects. I need everyone to be extra focused and serious, no slip-ups,” you emphasized, keeping on drifting your eyes through your colleagues, pausing for effect. “I expect nothing but professionalism.”

Your words hung in the air, and while the room nodded in agreement, both Heeseung and Jake had their minds far from there.

They were seated across from each other, however, both sets of eyes softly and attentively tracked your every move, as if the project was about you and you only.

Jake’s focus wasn’t on the blueprint details, let alone on the company's reputation; it was on the way your hair cascaded over your shoulder as you turned your head slightly, or the confidence you radiated as you spoke, so naturally drawing people in. Your voice was as soft as a cloud, and still precise with your every word.

It was hard to remember the last time he had paid that much attention to a meeting, and there he was, mesmerized not by the content, but solely and exclusively by you. His heartbeat raced with every second, almost echoing louder than anything in the room.

Across the table, Heeseung was no different.

His usual composed demeanor during meetings faltered just enough to make his hands sweat nervously. He was sure your makeup looked extra perfectly placed that day. Every time you said something, his gaze flickered to the slight upward curl of your plump, soft colored lips, or how your jaw clenched with seriousness, together with your sharp, incisive eyes and slight frown, adding to your charm. You were shining on your element, controlling the whole room with your assertiveness and, for him personally, attractive demeanor.

Both of them were caught in similar states – wondering what it would be like if your eyes were solely on them. Would they light up? Would your lips curve into an adorable smile? Would your head cock to the side as you paid deep attention to them?

The silly battle between Heeseung and Jake only grew stronger as the minutes passed; the previous talk had no purpose at all, besides light one’s own weight of being misinterpreted, proving their worthiness to you.

As Heeseung leaned slightly forward, crossing his hands on the table’s surface, the shifting in his seat made his presence briefly more evident. Your eyes instantly darted towards his direction, catching his bambi-eyes fixed on you, wide and attentive. An almost instinctive smile crossed your lips after reading his expression that showed a perfect blend of genuine pride and a layer of lovestruck admiration.

For some reason, Heeseung quietly showing you support made your heartbeat steady, filling you with a warm sense of reassurance.

Jake clenched his fists under the table, his competitive side sparkling up after noticing your wordless interaction with his rival, flickering his gaze between the two of you. He pondered how he could stand out, and his whole body was stiff before he leaned back on his chair, relaxing, as he cleverly remembered the times you complained about the lack of sincere reactions or motions during meetings like those.

Again, just the movement was enough to catch your attention, since the rest of the room was completely still, deeply concentrated on your presentation.

As you approached your computer to pass the slide, you flashed Jake a quick recognition glance about his unspokenly intentions as well, smirking smally in gratitude before continuing with your script, feeling your breathing getting a little better, lighter.

One thing you absolutely hated about those kinds of meetings was the participants’ rigid presence, the high level of responsibility tensed your nerves – unnecessarily, in your opinion.

You utterly understood the scenario’s nature, requiring a certain posture from you that you very much knew how to offer. But nothing stopped you from protesting every once and a while about the tension on your shoulders whenever you had to wear that facade.

So you appreciated Heeseung and Jake’s effort in making your body loosen momentarily, carrying through with your words, and unfortunately oblivious to their real reasons.

Of course Heeseung’s eyes registered the subtle exchange between you and Jake, automatically igniting his desire to reclaim your attention, as if your work was just an excuse, a battlefield to their competition.

His jaw clenched and his gaze sharpened when Jake shot a small scornful smirk at him, almost like he was showing off his brand new victory, taunting.

That simple gesture fueled Heeseung’s instinct to jump into action without much thinking, so he blurted out, intending exclusively to demonstrate to you how involved in the topic he was.

"And what about the user experience data? That’s going to be key for the next steps, right?"

You paused on your tracks, momentarily thrown off by Heeseung’s sudden, unexpected voice interrupting your thought process. Your eyes faltered in confusion for a brief moment before you opened your mouth to say something that didn’t come out right away, because in your mental script, that was the latest part of your presentation.

Jake threw a shocked glance at Heeseung after noticing your slightly baffled and hesitant face, then he added, trying to settle down the ambiance to something less chaotic – his attempt failing as much as Heeseung’s, since it sounded like he was over-explaining your tactics into that project.

“Right, but let’s not forget how crucial the user feedback is for improving our mechanics.”

Your eyes darted between the two men fighting against each other and then to your client, who had a disapproving grimace.

As you took a deep breath to collect your thoughts, you could feel the tension in the air between them and the rest of your colleagues, including your client. The underlying competition became far from obvious at that point, you could practically hear them both thinking ‘Who would win your attention this time?’, and it was so annoying.

You hollowed your cheeks in order to calm down your frustration and angriness, sipping on your water before concentrating back on your presentation, determined to deliver your ideas without letting their stupidity get in your way.

And a single serious glance was enough to shut Heeseung and Jake up for the rest of the meeting.

“Close the door when you leave.” You instructed, gesturing to a colleague that was heading out the meeting room. You focused back on organizing the papers sprawled across the table. “Heeseung and Jake, you two stay.”

Your words filled the space as sharp as a dagger, leaving no room for argumentation – and neither of them would dare to challenge you in this moment, so they sat in silence, a palpable tension hanging in the air.

Half expecting your own anger to diminish and half aiming to toy with their overwhelming emotions, you didn't lift your gaze until you had quietly finished your notes, feeling the atmosphere shift as the door clicked shut. The silence was loud, you could almost hear the rapid beat of their hearts as they anxiously waited for your next move.

Finally, you looked up, intercalating eye contact with both men. You wetted your lips before standing, placing your hands firmly on the table and leaning slightly forward, radiating an air of superiority. Your gaze deepened in reprimand, your jaw clenched and your breath was feeling heavier each second.

Jake avoided keeping looking at you for too long, distracting himself with a cup placed on the table instead. The room seemed to shrank around him, his air ways seemed to close little by little and breathing became a hard task. The weight of your piercing stare and your painful silence made him feel small, ashamed, inadequate. His chest tightened with a growing sense of nervousness and self-doubt.

Jake hated being scolded, it triggered a wave of reflections about his abilities and intelligence, intensifying some of his insecurities, and mostly, it amplified his longing for validation that only praises could fulfill.

What Jake cherished most about you was that you never reprimanded without eventually offering a compliment, skillfully highlighting a person’s strengths while still putting them in their place; your words healed wounds instead of opening them.

But right now, that reassurance felt impossibly distant, leaving him to accept the weight of his fate resting in your hands.

Heeseung, on the other hand, harbored a hidden secret that was significantly distracting him at that moment. He was lowkey into receiving degradation to some extent, so he shifted uncomfortably on his chair as he watched you look down at him, because there was no way he could allow himself to get hard right at the moment.

He swallowed hard, casually placing his trembling hands on his lap in order to try covering up any possible bulge surging on his crotch area, attempting to seem indifferent or just the normal amount of being affected by you.

“I think you both are intelligent enough to realize that your behavior today is inadmissible.” You started to say, voice laced with disappointment, firm. “This is not a playground. This is a workplace. A serious one.” You paused, straightening your posture before starting to walk slowly towards them. They choose to sit at the end of the table as if they were avoiding your close presence. “And I won’t, under any circumstance, accept this happening again in my leadership. Not again.”

As you passed by them, your perfume traveling along within each step, you analyzed how Jake and Heeseung were reacting extremely differently from each other.

Jake looked like a child being scolded by their parents, sinking into the chair with a small pout, his puppy eyes lowered in pure guilt. Whereas Heeseung was agitated, legs bouncing anxiously beneath the table, his fingers fidgeting his rings while his eyes seemed to be in an internal battle between whether to glaze on you or not.

“Am I making myself clear?” you asked, your voice cutting through the silence with authority, your hands now grabbing the back of Heeseung’s chair. He shivered.

Jake nodded quickly, still avoiding your sharp eyes.

Heeseung, however, didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell slowly, his breath visibly heavy as he tried to maintain composure. He wanted to act indifferent, to pretend that your words weren’t having such an intense effect on him, struggling to halter his mind from drifting far away from that context, but the tension in his body was far too obvious to ignore, especially when you positioned yourself behind him, noticing his shoulders stiffening.

His whole body has heated up.

You arched an eyebrow, leaning your body enough to scan his side profile with your head slightly tilted, your curiosity piquing stronger with the lack of response.

“Heeseung?” you prompted, voice dropping an octave.

For a split second, he hesitated before nodding as well, afraid of his voice coming out as a moan.

“Yes, I understand,” he finally said, voice soft, nearly wavering as he did so.

You straightened up again, now walking back to your initial position.

Jake and Heeseung shared a common and painful thought; you held the weight of their fate in your hands, having the power to release them from your management at any moment if that sounded right to you. Given their trail of missteps they had, it felt almost inevitable that your final word would be anything similar to that.

The idea alone made their hearts ache in despair.

“I expected better from both of you. And I know you are capable of doing better.”

You casted a last warning stare and Jake fluttered his eyes shut instantly, waiting for the harshful words, the one that would tighten the knot in his stomach. Heeseung clenched his fists, gulping. You noticed both right away.

“Besides, I don’t have time to babysit your egos,” you paused again, this time just for an extra drama, because you would never dismiss their incredible skills due to simple and solvable mistakes like that.

Knowing your workers' behaviors, you had faith they would find a way out of their messy situation – and you expected yourself to do as well. Also, you couldn’t deny the sinking feeling in your chest of giving up on them, the flashing red lights screaming in your head about how deeply invested you grew into their beings, surrounding you like magnets.

No matter how tangled it appeared, your fondness for them remained. For both of them.

Yet, occupying a higher rank in the workplace meant you had to keep up the appearance of superiority and remind them of their positions, of their responsibilities.

“Let alone time for your silly little games.”

Jake's face flushed an even deeper shade as the realization hit him. You were, now, fully aware of their competition.

However, a hint of relief began to wash over him as you wrapped up your speech, signaling that you weren't dismissing them away from your management.

“That’s all.”

Heeseung, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting.

Although his heart raced now comfortably with your unspokenly reassurance about their destinations in the company, it was so fucking hard to concentrate in anything other than how hot you were right at that moment with your dominant stance.

Your sharp words and bossy demeanor talked down on him and all he could think was how desperately he needed you.

He shifted in his seat again, the discomfort in his pants growing with each agonizing second.

“You’re not kicking us out?” Jake was the one bold enough to voice out a nuance of their river of anxious thoughts, his slightly trembling voice filling the room.

Heeseung glanced briefly at his colleague and then to you, waiting for your answer.

“No, I’m not.”

“Thank you.” Jake urged, almost desperate as his shoulders loosened visibly.

Even with your heart pounding in your chest at the thought of their main concern being only that, you maintained your firm demeanor.

“Don’t see it as a favor, ” you said.

Your gaze was unwavering, challenging them to meet your seriousness. Heeseung swallowed hard, because he felt his dick literally pulsing as you glanced at him; his blushed cheeks intriguing your curiosity once again, since that kind of reaction was unusual from him.

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

“Sorry,” he finally managed, his eyes darting between you and Heeseung, who seemed to be struggling with his own internal conflict; his forehead was pure sweat at that point, and he questioned himself when the room turned into hell.

“You’re good to go,” you concluded, watching as both men relaxed just a bit, the tension easing, but the air remained thick with unspoken feelings.

Your eyes tracked their steps until they reached the door, both sharing a glance before darting their eyes back to you. You offered a little nod of reassurance and they flashed back a small smile before closing the door behind them.

"Oh my god, you're nasty.” Jake whispered a little too loud as soon as they left the room, shooting Heeseung a look of mock mixed with repulse. “Did you really get turned on just because she got mad at us?"

Heeseung smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Why? You didn't?"

“No!” Jake shook his head, acting like Heeseung said the wrongest thing in the world. “That’s gross. You’re disgusting.”

“Please, don’t act like you don’t run to the bathroom every time she gives you a compliment.” Heeseung rolled his eyes, a cocky grin creeping onto his lips. Jake widened his eyes, stopping in his tracks.

“You’re seriously saying that?!” Jake exclaimed, incredulous, fixing his glasses on his nose’s bridge.

“You’re always wagging your tail around Y/N, waiting for some praise like a little puppy, Jake,” Heeseung said, still smiling teasingly.

“Shut up, Heeseung.” Jake quickly glanced around to check if anyone was eavesdropping, shoving his colleague's shoulder. “You’re still disgusting, kiss-ass.”

Heeseung chuckled, unfazed. “Whatever.”

And then he headed to the bathroom, because this time, he was the one with some other problems to deal with.

The next day felt a bit odd. In every nuance possible.

Jake couldn't shake the weird sensation that you were actively avoiding him, as if his proximity was a reminder of his disappointment. He never wanted you to feel frustrated with his work, let alone with him personally. Yet, there was little he could do to change the situation except offer his support.

So, he made his way to your office, hesitantly pushing the slightly opened door. You were seated at your desk, frowning in concentration as you poured over stacks of paper, your lips pursed in a little pout – a cute habit he cherished heartfully.

A soft knock at the wooden surface was enough to bring your attention to Jake. You barely smiled, your expression was neutral, facing Jake as if he was a regular co-worker. He couldn’t help the shiver running all the way down his spine remembering about the times you greeted with a bright grin as your face lit up.

He cleared his throat before saying, voice low, close to a whisper; there were layers of hesitation and fear.

“Do you need any help, Y/N?”

You blinked a few times and looked down at your papers before you shook your head, denying. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Maybe it was the manner Jake was reading the world throughout that very specific day, after the whole scolding situation, after how mad you seemed to genuinely be with him and Heeseung… But you sounded way more dry than he expected. Not even his name being voiced out, not even a smile. Just a simple, mere discard.

“Oh…” He faltered, his puppy eyes casting downward, trailing to the floor as he fidgeted with his fingers. “So… I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

“Sure. Thank you.”

After Jake closed the door, granting the privacy you needed and valued, he walked back to his desk, unaware of how affected with his visit you were behind the closed door.

“What happened?” Heeseung was quick to notice his colleague’s mood after he sat beside him – his pout was ridiculously big.

“I think Y/N hates me,” Jake mumbled, his voice laced with defeat.

“Oh, that’s great. More chances for me,” Heeseung replied, a scornful smirk on his lips as he leaned back, relaxing on his chair.

However, Jake didn’t respond to his teasing the way he expected; he let out a deep breath and gave a small shrug, a reaction to which piqued Heeseung’s curiosity further.

Heeseung approached closer, narrowed eyes searching for a hint of humor or anything similar. When he only found a melancholic scowl, he sighed.

Was Jake really believing in that? If so, he was damned as well. Not to mention that Jake’s sad frown was heartbreaking.

“Listen,” he began, wetting his lips as he reluctantly placed a comforting hand on Jake's shoulder. “She’s probably just busy. Remember how important this client is for the company and for her?” Jake nodded, still avoiding Heeseung's gaze. “So don’t worry, she doesn’t hate you. She’s just focused.” He reassured. “Yesterday we kinda… crossed the line. But we did it together, right? If she hates you, then she hates me.”

Jake finally lifted his head, meeting an unexpected comfort in Heeseung’s eyes, something rare, considering he was used to Heeseung’s overconfident mannerism – his constant arrogant charm effortlessly got under his skin.

Yet, on that day, and despite Heeseung’s choice of words not being ideal, he had a gentle presence that softened the weight of Jake's feelings.

“You don’t want me winning so easily, do you?” Heeseung nudged Jake's side with playful familiarity, proving that his teasing nature hadn’t entirely vanished. Jake squirmed, a small smile breaking through his previous sorrowness.

“Fuck off.”

And how odd it was finding friendship with someone who had once been your rival?

Jake and Heeseung's camaraderie has bloomed in unexpected ways ever since. They began to explore new parts of their – now – friendship, discovering some sharing interests and even trading work tips, constantly being seen lunching together or just laughing with each other.

Jake now would chuckle at Heeseung's silly jokes, and Heeseung came to appreciate Jake's instincts for insights, something that often surprised him.

You were still the center of their conversations, but instead of competing to prove themselves worthy of you, they chose a different route, one where admiring you from a distance became their shared priority.

“Did you see how she looked today?” Jake asked once, his voice soft and almost awestruck. “My god, my heart actually hurts,” he dramatically placed one hand on his chest, closing his eyes, feigning the aching feeling.

Heeseung nodded with a small smile, leaning back in his chair. “I know, right? And that smile?” He sighed theatrically, also clutching his chest. “I swear, it’s dangerous.”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s gonna be the death of us.”

Heeseung glanced at him, smirking. “Worth it.”

“Definitely worth it,” Jake agreed with a dreamy sigh.

Sadly, you missed out this big chapter of their lives, stuck with loads of paperwork that no one else could do, besides you.

But, ultimately, it was your own fault, as you chose to ignore them, believing it was the most sensible way to handle your feelings.

After the day of the reprimand, instead of carrying on with your usual routine, you felt a heavy weight in your chest. You were upset about the scold and how they seemed downcast, almost disappointed in themselves after hearing your words.

Unlike other times when you had to call out others to get them back on track, this time you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had done something wrong, even if your intentions were justified.

You struggled to find the right place to be, overworking yourself as an excuse to spend some time alone, going over and over your thoughts in order to find somewhere to be, and with every second you just found yourself missing them more and more.

Heeseung’s playful teasing, always with an undertone of flirtation. Jake’s natural ease in helping you solve problems. The brief touches during Heeseung’s coffee runs, when your skin would brush against his just so. Jake’s clumsiness, which often led to scattered papers and the soft, accidental graze of fingers as you both reached down to pick them up.

Not to add the brand new fact that everything resembled them. The mug on your desk, your coffees, the knocks on your door – you eagerly expected to be them –, even when going home and seeing their parking spot empty.

Neither Heeseung nor Jake had openly discussed their feelings with you, but their recent behavior and your last encounter only served to reinforce your theory.

They both liked you.

Ironically, you felt the same way about both of them and so far, had no intention of choosing one over the other – that being your primary reason for your reclusion, as it became clear that they wouldn’t easily get along, so distancing yourself seemed like the best way to suppress your feelings for them.

Your internal conflict wasn’t about picking Heeseung or Jake, but between choosing Heeseung and Jake or none.

Still, this choice also depended on their openness to share, and their constant friction wasn’t exactly helpful.

When you started to catch small glimpses of Heeseung and Jake wandering around your office floor, talking with each other with an odd enthusiasm and bright smiles, it piqued your curiosity as much as your mind relaxed, because those single actions seemed as a possible way out, as though it built a softened spot to your offer.

At the end of two intense weeks, you finally felt like breathing again. And apparently your mind seemed to be in the right place. So after finishing the last part from your project, you called Jake and Heeseung into your office, feeling a mix of apprehension and relief as you waited.

Your legs bounced impatiently, counting the agonizing seconds. In the back of your mind, you had carefully architected the words you wanted to say, such as how much you missed them, how happy you were to work with them again, and maybe even a question or two about their random, unexpected friendship.

You hoped they had sorted things out to some extent, because during your time alone, you yourself had been reflecting on your own feelings and was sure about your decision.

The knock on the door startled you, snapping you back into reality. Your heartbeats raced as you allowed their entrance and the door clicked.

You took a moment to study the way they exchanged curious glances before focusing on you. They seemed to be the same, handsome as ever, Jake with his usual flustered cheeks and uneven positioned glasses and Heeseung with his gentle, flirty smile.

“Hi,” you greeted, pointing to the chairs in front of your desk. They sat.

“Hi,” Jake answered, mimicking your soft tone.

“Hello,” Heeseung, on the other hand, said confidently, relaxed. “Long time no see, huh?”

You smiled shyly, after all it was your decision not to be with them for those busy days.

“Yeah… And I think I owe you an apology,” you began without hesitation, your voice steady, yet, layered with comfort and genuine happiness for seeing them after what felt like ages. “I might have gone too harsh on you two the other day.”

You were referring to the day you scolded them, the same day Heeseung left your room with a strange behavior, to say the least, if not interesting, and Jake with his tail between his legs. But internally, you also felt sorry for avidly avoiding them.

“No, it’s fine,” Heeseung brushed it off with a casual wave of his hand, his characteristic smirk on the corner of his lips brightening the whole room. “We deserved it.” He admitted with a tender tone, then he looked at Jake. “Besides, we’re good now, right, Jakey?”

“Oh, are we?” You asked, crossing your arms, a hint of playful skepticism and shock in your tone as you leaned on your chair, eyes flickering in between the two men.

“Yeah, we definitely are,” Jake replied, his sincere smile making it clear that he meant it.

You couldn’t help but also smile at their interaction, the familiar warmth returning to the atmosphere, replacing the tense, weightened previous one.

“Thank you for figuring it out.” Your voice was sweet as honey as you leaned forward over the desk, causing Heeseung and Jake to almost melt at how endearing you sounded. “I’ve been drowning with work lately. Couldn’t reach out to you sooner.” You gave your excuse and they both gave you an understanding nod, to which ached your heart a little. They seemed so genuine. “But I missed you, if I’m being honest. I really lov– like having you in my team. Having you by my side.”

If your sudden call wasn’t strange enough, that was strange.

Not only did you stumble over your words, but you also showed embarrassment, with your cheeks turning a subtle shade of red and your eyes faltering, almost like you were confessing to a crush.

And honestly? To Heeseung and Jake, it felt like a confession.

At least, their reaction was as if they had just heard a confession, because not even in their wildest dreams could they have imagined you admitting that you missed them, let alone hearing you saying the words “having you by my side” all together.

Heeseung’s heart was racing, his brain doing a 360 enough to leave him dizzy, his eyes slightly widened and he shifted on his seat, straightening his posture.

Jake’s hands were sweating since you called, but now they also trembled. An electrifying wave filled his chest, making the simple act of breathing feel difficult.

“And again, I’m sorry if I was too hard on you both. And I really am glad you’re getting along, as well,” you rushed to add before either of them could respond, though the way they were looking at you made your heart race. It was clear they had noticed your nervous self. “Though... this does make things a bit more complicated. Or maybe not.” You mumbled to yourself when your eyes parted ways from them, furrowing your brow as you tilted your head slightly.

In the past few days, you had developed the habit of talking to yourself to sort something out through the chaotic thoughts and tangled feelings spinning in your mind – Jake and Heeseung being in each of them, without a doubt. But this time you weren’t alone.

When you saw Heeseung narrowing his eyes with mouth slightly agape and Jake glancing at you with curiosity as the corner of his lips turned upwards, you froze.

Then they exchanged a brief, quiet glance before looking back at you.

“What do you mean by that?” Heeseung was the first one to ask, leaning forward just enough to express how interested he was in your slip-up. His pulse raced with the thoughts that flowed through his head.

“Yeah, what makes what complicated?” Jake added to the question, arching an eyebrow, stepping in the same field as Heeseung.

You blinked, their expectant stares making you want to shrink into your chair.

Your office window was open and let in a cold, long breeze that indicated the weather was about to change. You shivered, however, you couldn’t pinpoint if it was due to the air brushing your exposed skin or because of your current situation.

“Oh, um,” you stammered, running a hand through your hair nervously – a habit Jake and Heeseung were pretty aware of. “I didn’t mean to say that! I– I was gonna say it’s good to know you’re… closer now.” You squinted, struggling a lot to find a way out for yourself. “It makes things easier and more interesting, actually, I guess,” you let out an awkward chuckle, biting your lower lip as you quickly grabbed your bottle of water and took a long sip, avidly avoiding their eyes.

Jake’s smile widened, his eyes twinkling with a newfound spark of emotions. “Easier and interesting, huh?”

“Yeah!” You nodded immediately. “Easier for our dynamic. And interesting… Because it’s us three, working together, everybody getting along and stuff…” You explained, with an exaggerated amount of gestures. “If I’m being honest, I had some things to figure out as well.” You confessed for some random reason you weren’t able to identify right away.

After your hard work of days going through the same page, you were losing your composure, you were losing your inner battle, and mainly, you were losing yourself amidst your feelings.

“Like what?” Jake questioned again, his voice soft, sweet as his smile.

Heeseung, on the other hand, was too flabbergasted with the scenario developing in front of him to think straight, so he just watched and prayed for the best outcome, engraving in his mind your every reaction.

You analyzed the two pairs of eyes shooting you the tendernest look, dripping in affection, filled with what you dared to call love. They showed comfort blended with care and a layer of curiosity, afterall, it has to do directly with them and they had a mild good feeling about it.

So you sighed, accepting not your defeat, but your vulnerable state.

“I felt like I was in the middle of a storm whenever we were in the same room,” you muttered, still maintaining discretion over the topic. “It was frustrating, and I had to figure out why I felt like this.”

“Oh, you still are right in the middle, Y/N.” Heeseung this time rushed to confess and you couldn’t hold back your slightly shocked expression.

“But I think the storm isn’t happening anymore.” Jake added with a gentle smile, fixing his glasses on his face and placing his hand on the table, your eyes briefly flickering to catch a look of his slender fingers. You swallowed hard.

“Why were you frustrated, though?” Heeseung asked, cocking his head to the side.

To say he was agitated was an euphemism; he found himself having trouble breathing because not only did you wear the prettiest and hottest clothing that day – a mildly tight dress shirt that emphasized the curves of your boobs –, but the whole situation was out of this word.

Jake wasn’t different, expecting your reply with his heart aching in despair. He needed to know about what was happening, otherwise he was going to collapse overthinking.

A strong part of either Heeseung and Jake was struggling to maintain the focus in any other possibility, especially because you didn’t demonstrate you liked them back so far, since your natural demeanor to your colleagues was the same – bossy but playful, always reiterating through actions and decisions your superior position over them during work.

However, you seemed to be extra nervous, your face had a faint fluster and you didn’t sound like a manager at all, it was near to a friend type of conversation. It ignited the spark of hope inside their chest.

Once again, without wording it out, they shared a connection.

As you were about to speak, you felt the fabric of your blouse loosen across your chest, and before you could react, Heeseung and Jake’s eyes instinctively snapped to the same spot, widening.

In sync, you glanced down and realized what had happened. One of your shirt's buttons had popped, revealing a glimpse of your lace bra.

Your cheeks warmed immediately, a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you damned yourself for choosing such a tight outfit that day, clumsily looking around to find anything that could help cover it.

“Let me just–” Heeseung muttered awkwardly, taking off his jacket and draping it over you in one smooth motion, his fingers lightly brushing your covered shoulders.

Jake's eyes followed his friend’s movements and decided to help as well, as he said “You look good still, don’t worry,” with a small smile, trying to ease the situation and ignoring how he, himself, got affected with just a glimpse of your body.

This is wrong, Jake chanted to himself, trying to shake the thoughts away.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, gripping Heeseung’s jacket tightly around you, your face still flushed. “And thanks.” You nodded toward him in gratitude.

Heeseung caught Jake's flustered expression out of the corner of his eye and couldn't resist shooting him a playful glance. Then, leaning closer to you, he whispered near your ear, “Maybe the button couldn’t handle how stunning you look today.”

His hands lingered on your shoulders for just a moment before he walked back to his previous spot, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

You fought back the urge of literally clenching around nothing due to his touch, his low voice and his warmth surrounding you.

“Right,” you chuckled softly, rolling your eyes to lighten the mood, though your heart raced rapidly. “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about that day, and... I’m really happy that we’re figuring it out.”

The word “we” hung in the air like a delicate sound, and you felt the tension dissipate as a silence enveloped the room, being replaced for another type of weight. Something more affectual, more right.

Heeseung and Jake exchanged a quick, knowing glance before standing up simultaneously, their movements almost in sync.

“I’m glad too,” Heeseung said, his voice a bit softer, offering a small, genuine smile as he adjusted his dress shirt, now without his jacket.

Jake stepped closer to you, meeting your gaze for a second longer than usual before adding, “And just so you know... we missed you too.” His voice was sincere, his eyes filled with something deeper than just friendship.

The confirmation you needed.

And with that, they both left your office, leaving you alone with your thoughts, the lingering warmth of Heeseung's jacket around your shoulders and Jake’s sweet, meaningful words.

The same storm happening inside your mind seemed to mirror the one unfolding outside, rain cascading down in heavy sheets in front of you as you watched from afar. The sound of water splashing against the pavement might have been poetic in another circumstance.

“Hey.”

The soft voice startled you from your thoughts, and you spun around on your heels to see Heeseung approaching, a curious yet gentle smile on his face. His presence felt warm amidst the cold drizzle sprinkling through the wind on you.

“Oh, Heeseung!” You greeted, trying to match his energy with a bright smile, though your mind quickly jumped to why he was there. “Your jacket– Right.” You began slipping it off your shoulders, ready to return it to him.

But Heeseung quickly reached out, stopping your movement and pulling the jacket back over you. “No, no– Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted smoothly, his hand lingering for a second longer on the fabric as he gave you a reassuring look. Then his expression shifted, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “But, uh, what are you doing out here?”

“Oh,” you glanced back out at the rain, pulling the jacket a little tighter around yourself, “I’m just waiting for the rain to ease up a bit so I can call an Uber.”

Heeseung frowned deeply, his gaze flicking toward the street and back to you. “Wait, don’t you have a car?”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “I do, or I did until this morning when it decided to break down.”

“Ah,” he nodded, processing your words before falling quiet for a moment. He shifted on his feet, as if trying to decide his next move, as if a strong battle was happening between his brain and heart. The rain wasn’t easing at all, and something sparkled in him – a protective instinct, perhaps. Or maybe a justification to keep you closer.

Heeseung cleared his throat. “I could take you home,” he suggested casually, though he felt a small rush of nerves rise. He wasn’t sure if he was overstepping. “How does that sound?”

You smiled at him, grateful for the offer but quick to shake your head.

“I wouldn’t want to put you through that. You live way too far from my place,” you chuckled softly, nearly teasing. “Besides, I’m already stealing your jacket. I can’t steal your time, too.”

Heeseung’s lips curved into a small grin, but there was something deeper behind his eyes as he shrugged.

“It’s really nothing,” he said softly, his voice calm and sincere. “The jacket and the time – it doesn’t matter. I’ve got all the time in the world for you, Y/N.” He stepped just a little closer, the warmth of his presence cutting through the coldness of the rain. “And, you know… the rain doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.”

You looked back at him, feeling a flutter in your chest at his words. The idea of being in a closed space with him for too long seemed wrong. The feeling of being his superior, being in a higher position in a company you both worked, stirred your conflict.

However, you had already clocked out. It was not about working anymore.

It was about your fear of losing your control when being in a space where there were no rules preventing you from kissing his oh, so tempting lips.

Heeseung seemed to be in the middle of a fight as well, and it somehow helped you in your decision, as you smiled kindly, mimicking his same expression – soft, lovingly.

“Okay.”

The drive was smooth, calm and with some words being exchanged on the way; you instructed the directions every once and a while, and Heeseung glanced at you within the excuse to listen to them correctly, but the real reason was to capture the image of you being so close.

As Heeseung pulled into the underground parking lot of your apartment building, the rain still pounded on the outside ground, seeming no close from ending.

You both sat for a moment, the quiet hum of the car serving as a background for the intriguing silence, as well as the sound of the relentless storm.

Heeseung looked over at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as you waited for your courage to build up completely with the thought that crossed your mind in a flicker of seconds.

“Safe and sound.” His voice was sweet and low, a perfect blend to fuel your core into responding immediately, your throat feeling dry, your body temperature increasing.

You chuckled lightly. “Yeah.”

Your eyes searched for his and invisible strings connected them for what felt like hours, your skin tingling, aching to touch him in any possible way, just a taste, just a crumb of him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, noticing that Heeseung’s gleaming orbs followed the motion of your lips before coming back to your eyes, then it seemed to trace your features, taking in sweetly, tenderly.

Heeseung was so fucking in love.

You had your hair messy due to the humidity frizz, your makeup was a little smeared and your face showed a mix of tiredness and something he read as hesitation. Still, you were absolutely stunning.

He gulped down nothing, his eyelids slowly blinking as he engraved your perfect features.

Unexpectedly or not, you were no different. You really appreciated every bit of Heeseung’s traits, how he would be smiling with the right amount of affection and flirtiness, his touches always tender and respectful, his words aiming and hitting right into your heart.

Heeseung was gentle as a lullaby, soothing and embracing. He was warm, comforting.

“Do you want to come up and wait it out? No point in driving back through this rain.” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

A faint shocking expression washed over Heeseung’s face before he relaxed.

“You sure? I don’t wanna bother you.”

You were quick to deny it with a head shake. “You’d never. Besides, I owe you a proper thank you for the jacket and the ride.”

There was some tension in the air as you both took the elevator quietly and walked towards your apartment. A different kind, almost tempting of tension. The same one that appeared when Heeseung and Jake stood in the same room as you after all of you sorted out things a bit.

It triggered your eagerness, fueled your desire, taunted your urge to kiss Heeseung and remove his clothes if he let you do it.

You mastered the art of detaching work from home and vice versa, and for that reason you hesitated before inviting Heeseung over, because you were aware your apartment was your safe space to feel everything you suppressed during the day.

With Heeseung’s scent enveloping you, the phantom of his touch lingering on your skin and the memories of his eyes lighting up when he saw you after so long, you feared to surrender to your deep, intense desires and screw up what just got resolved.

You fought to keep that flame contained, reminding yourself not to seem desperate or to scare Heeseung out. The two weeks being apart didn’t help at all, each day had stretched on, filled with an aching longing for some closeness, not only with Heeseung but with Jake too.

Both men stirred something deep within you, igniting feelings of passion and affection that were dangerously intoxicating. And right at that moment, you shared an intimate setting with one of them.

You felt your heart race as you caught glimpses of Heeseung's shy smirk and those captivating eyes that always made you melt, never leaving yours, reading you like his favorite book.

As you opened the door, Heeseung excused himself while entering your living room, following your trail.

“Do you accept anything? Water? A drink, maybe?” You asked politely.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “You can sit on the sofa, don’t be shy.” You said playfully before heading to the kitchen to get yourself something and to avoid being too close, your last view being Heeseung with flustered cheeks sitting on your couch.

Heeseung was a mess, and thanked you internally when you left him alone so he could breathe properly. He fluttered his eyes close, a movie of his day happening on the big screen of his mind, reminding him that you showed awareness of his situation with Jake, and somehow, it felt like you were open to trying something with both of them.

God, he genuinely hoped that was the case. Otherwise, he would be in deep trouble, his expectations shattered into fragments, and he would have to pick up the pieces alone – without Jake, with whom he had constructed such a personal and intense friendship during the recent days.

The possibility of you choosing Jake over him overtook a big place in his mind.

He had enough confidence in a confrontation, but the moment he recognized Jake's unique personality, he began to question whether the best choice for you was, in fact, Jake.

He still wanted you – desperately –, but nothing stopped him from believing that you deserved the very best. You had always deserved the best.

And how disgusted would you be to know that he got aroused just thinking about being in your apartment, close to your intimacy? Or that your fierce, assertive side made him go hard? Disgusting.

Ironically, the thought of you feeling repulsed by him only fueled his desire to have you in ways that went beyond a mere working friendship. He was acting like a pervert.

He worked hard to get into your heart, and when you finally let him in, he was lost, he didn’t know what to do. It was pure chaos.

And now, he found himself getting turned on, caught in the mix of emotions and desires he couldn’t contain anymore.

“I should get going,” he whispered to himself, unaware that you had returned from the kitchen and were watching him from behind.

“Should you?”

He nearly jumped in his seat at your bold, sudden question, turning his head just enough to catch a look of you now without his jacket, yet, with the same shirt. The exact same shirt that had the fucking button popped open and gave him a sneak peek of your cleavage and part of your boobs.

There was a smile dancing on the corner of your lips, an feigned air of innocence accompanying your features, yet you still seemed devilish.

“It’s still raining, Heeseung,” you pointed out the obvious, using it as an excuse to keep him there. “Stay for a while. I’m sure we can entertain each other, yeah?”

Heeseung was speechless.

He had a knot on his throat preventing words from coming out of his mouth, and he panicked when noticed your expression faltering before his silence.

You blinked out of your sudden courageous trance, your whole body shifting into something more restrained as you broke eye contact.

“I mean, we can order something to eat and–”

“No,” he urged to interrupt you, leaving his briefcase on your couch as he stood up. His steps were light, but confident as he reached closer. “I’m sure we can enjoy each other’s presence for a little longer.”

The moment those words hung in the air, something snapped within you as if it was everything you needed to get your control back. Not the workplace, manager type of control, but control over him.

You closed the distance in an instant, capturing his lips with yours eagerly. Heeseung reacted instinctively, returning the kiss with equal desperation and desire, his hands roaming across your body as if trying to memorize every inch of you, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your waist, anything that put him closer to you.

The kiss deepened in seconds, a wild mix of urgency and need lingering on your tongues as they danced together, desperate for more.

What you had longed for just a few weeks, Heeseung had yearned for months.

He tasted as lustful as he seemed to be, touching the right places, pulling you near as he pressed you against him intensely. Your hands gripped on his shoulders trying to balance yourself as he guided you both towards a wall, your back hitting it softly although the shared touch was intense.

As your bodies moved in sync, you could feel the hardness of his dick pressing against you, especially when he started to involuntarily grind on you. A mischievous smirk tugged on the corner of your lips as you parted the heated kiss, searching for his beautiful eyes – now filled with craving.

“Oh, look at you,” you cooed, trailing down your hands just enough to graze his crotch area. “Already like this?” You gave it a small squeeze, eliciting a moan from him. “And I haven’t even done anything yet, huh?”

There was a clear amusement in your whole expression as you glazed your eyes with Heeseung’s deepened ones. His breath hitched at your words, a mix of embarrassment and excitement flooding his cheeks, sending a pulse straight to his cock. Your acknowledgment of his premature and humiliating state of arousal and how your eyes sparkled with mischief sent a thrill wave through him.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he admitted, his voice low and broken, desire dripping off it as he held you tightly and tried to kiss you again.

You swerve to the side, teasingly. “Maybe I do,” you replied, your voice sultry as you leaned in closer, brushing your lips on his, tempting a kiss that you didn’t let happen.

Your hands maintained a mild friction against his hardness, giving just enough stimulation to drive him wild. You watched with delight as his hooded eyes struggled to stay open, his mouth slightly agape, letting out the prettiest sounds just for you.

Heeseung was already falling apart, and the mere thought of it excited you even more.

You chuckled softly before pressing a playful kiss to his cheek. “What should I do with you, hmm?” you murmured, kissing the other cheek. “So needy, aren’t you?”

His breathing quickened, and the flush on his cheeks deepened. “Please…” he begged, desperation lacing his tone as he once again tried to capture your lips. He wanted you so badly he was becoming impatient.

You arched an eyebrow and smirked, your eyes catching every single reaction of him.

“Please what? You’ll have to be more specific than that, Hee.” You feigned innocent eyes, batting your eyelashes as if you weren't touching his clothed cock, his hips continuing to press forward searching for more.

You placed another kiss, this time, on the corner of his lips, taunting.

“Kiss me, please.” Heeseung whispered, and as his mouth tracked yours, you let him in with his attempt, his tongue immediately finding its pleasure in yours.

Heeseung moaned with how good you tasted, growing addicted within every second; he could spend hours kissing you, he came to realize. Nonetheless, his painful and neglected length was screaming for some more attention, especially because the fabric of his boxers and pants prevented a bolder, bare touch, and making out with you would do nothing except make it hurt more.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He questioned not really giving you space to answer, his mouth busy sucking your lower lip and tongue.

You let go of his erection to start to remove his dress shirt as you mumbled the direction to him before he grabbed you by your thighs, lifting your body with an unexpected ease as he led you two towards the said room. The opened door made it easier for Heeseung to enter, placing you on the soft mattress of your bed, hovering over your heated body, craving for more.

“You’re so hot,” he whispered against the flesh of your neck and then started to nibble the area, sucking and kissing as if his life depended on it. His hands found their way everywhere, all of his movements expressed how desperate he was for you.

“So are you,” you were able to respond, catching a glimpse of his tanned torso.

Heeseung had a tattoo that covered part of his left rib and you took a mental note to give it the due attention later.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, grabbing it with a mild strength, enough to guide him, so he could put his lips where you wanted. Heeseung let you control, going down to your exposed cleavage and distracting you as he started to unbutton your shirt so he had your laced bra holding your breasts in full display.

“So fucking beautiful,” he marveled in a whisper as he straightened his posture enough to drink from the view – you seemed so dreamy under him with your heavy breathing, swollen kiss parted with a hint of a smile and eyes filled with lust.

It took seconds for Heeseung to return to his mission to dive into you after removing your bra with your assistance. His mouth toyed with each of your nipples, warm tongue making wonders as you squirmed a little, making no effort to hold back your sounds as you moaned, your panties long gone ruined with your wetness.

There was a feeling haunting the corners of Heeseung’s mind that defocused him a fraction from his actions, though. A fear of losing this proximity, losing the possibility of kissing you, losing his chances, losing you.

The more his tongue danced on your smooth skin, the more it felt bittersweet.

He figured his chances hovered around 50%, from what he had interpreted your intentions – maybe you would test what he had to give, comparing to Jake afterwards, then deciding on one of them?

The idea of sharing you never crossed his mind, not from jealousy; a little, sure, but it wasn’t just that. Sharing felt unrealistic, because he couldn’t see you making such a bold choice.

You sensed his sudden hesitation, how his fingers paused momentarily before resuming their exploration of your body, how his breath was irregular and not from arousal, but from something deeper, as if an inner conflict held him back.

“I don’t know what’s going through your mind right now, but I’m pretty sure you don’t need to worry about it,” you murmured softly, your voice cutting through the haze in his head and bringing him back to you.

He blinked, his eyes searched for yours and found tranquility on it, even behind the intensity of the momentum. You offered a delicate and unique space that allowed him to be free with himself, that being one of the reasons he started to have his feelings for you.

You had an approachable aura, an adorable soothing voice and a way to play with words that anyone felt easy to open up with you.

“What if I’m thinking about–" He started, his voice small, but the fear of ruining the mood, of disappointing you, stopped him quickly. He shook his head, leaning in closer. “Forget it.”

“You’re safe here, Heeseung,” you said, your hand caressing his face with a tenderness that calmed him instantly. A reassuring smile appeared on your lips and the atmosphere shifted into something serene amidst its intensity. “No judgments. I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips pressed against the palm of your hand, and he placed his own over it, slowly moving it away from his cheek as he began trailing kisses up your arm, deliberate, heated kisses from your wrist to your shoulder, from your neck to your jaw, until it finally met your mouth.

It was slow, purposeful, filled with a restrained intensity that sent a shiver through your body and left you breathless. Heeseung wanted to show just a quarter of how much he needed you, afraid of overwhelming you with how his love for you felt, but equally terrified of losing you mid-battlefield.

In the midst of chaos, you became the only compass that guided him back home. You were the soul that gave meaning to everything, the calm after a relentless storm, the strength that kept him sane. Each passing day, he yearned for your presence, as if the mere thought of having you near made the world brighter – and it did.

Your smile healed wounds he didn’t even know he had. You were always there for him, helping, listening, playing along with his jokes.

It was absurd, painful, and intense, and he was ridiculously in love with that feeling, and most of all, he was deeply in love with you.

“I want you so badly,” he whispered in a confessing tone when the kiss finally broke. “I want you every day, every second.” He kissed you again, his hands sneaking into your hair to grip your nape, pulling you closer. It felt like walking in quicksand. “It hurts to think I might lose you.”

In different circumstances, you would interpret that statement as a common fear of a lover regarding their passion. However, the context was more intricate, more delicate; there was a third person – Jake – who would also receive a similar treatment, and it struck you deep in your chest to recognize that Heeseung’s fear of being replaced felt constant and was becoming more vivid in that moment, as he realized he was having a piece of you.

Taking a deep breath, you met his hesitant gaze, your heart racing as you tried to articulate your thoughts.

“Heeseung,” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His bambi eyes sparkled with a mix of fear and affection. “You don’t have to worry about this now, ok?” You reassured once again, his chest loosening the tight feeling, because you would always have that effect on him. “I have things figured out. Kind of.” You giggled timidly and Heeseung just realized he had a new favorite sound.

Your fingers gently tangled in his hair, your body warmth reminding you just how eager you were, the phantom of his mouth working on your body serving as a lascivious reminiscence.

“But let me have you tonight first, please?”

Heeseung’s breath hitched, reading your deep, lustful eyes.

How could he refuse such a sweet plea?

“Yes,” he breathed, urgency coloring his voice, caring little for how desperate he sounded – because he was. “Yes, please.”

Almost like a snap of fingers, the atmosphere around you ignited once more, your room seeming to close in around the two of you as his eyes darkened with desire. Heeseung sounded so deliciously desperate that your only response was to gently turn him until his back hit the bed, positioning yourself above him.

Your hands caressed the bare flesh of his chest, fingertips grazing softly on his nipples and ribs, where they stopped for a while. Heeseung winced with the amazing feeling of you admiring him, your light-feather touch enough to send a wave of arousal straight to his dick.

“You are one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen, Heeseung,” it was your time to marvel him, smiling lovingly as you used the tip of your nail to draw along his dragon tattoo. “And I’m so fucking lucky to have you like this right now.”

Your voice was filled with sultriness, velvety as ever as you lowered yourself to press your lips on his low stomach, eyes never breaking contact. Heeseung shivered once more under your intense gaze, watching you sneak one your hands on his pants’ waistband, unbuttoning it just to remove it completely and toss it somewhere else on your room’s floor.

You stood up just to remove your pants as well, keeping on your laced panties, savoring the view of Heeseung’s chest rising and falling deeply, eyes dripping honey and desire as he also devoured your body.

“You know, I have a feeling that you like something…” You started to say with a thoughtful voice as you leaned closer, placing yourself back on top of him.

“You?”

You let out a genuine chuckle, shaking your head. Heeseung had a small smile on his lips and looked at you with curiosity.

“No,” you answered, voice smooth as your hand trailed slowly up and down on his chest. “I think you like being… put in your place,” you smirked, watching his expression shifting into a mild shocking, then darkening at your words as his breath caught in his throat. “I noticed how you reacted when I was scolding you and Jake…” You kept on talking, now playing with the waistband of his boxers, teasingly; his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped nervously. “Getting hard just because I was mad, huh?”

Heeseung had blushed cheeks while failing to keep on looking at you, running away from your sly gaze, before he muttered, embarrassed, “I don’t know what you are talking abo–”

“Oh, you do know,” you purred, your voice lowering an octave. “Don’t act all shy now, Lee Heeseung,” you forced your tone to sound close to a reprimand, flashing a sharp look at him as you freed his throbbing dick from his last clothing piece.

Heeseung groaned quietly in between his heavy breath as you admired his length’s flushed appearance, how hard and wet with precum it was, dripping for you. Your mouth watered and your hands itched, aching to give that man some more relief.

“Just give me the green signal and I’ll make you feel so good, Hee,” you voiced out as you glazed your eyes on his, your own body reacting to his state of desperation sending pulsing waves straight to your cunt.

His legs squirmed under you as you lowered your face, closing the distance between his cock and your mouth. Your breath brushed against its skin and Heeseung winced. “Please…” He whispered, nodding. “It’s hurting.”

You smirked. “There you go…” And tilted your head slightly, slowly grabbing his hardness with one hand.

Just the touch of your soft and warm hand enveloping his shaft had him closing his eyes and biting his lip, holding back an embarrassing moan that threatened to escape.

“You’re so needy,” you cooed teasingly with a quirked eyebrow, eyeing Heeseung with a faux disdain as he opened his eyelids just to catch a glimpse of it, his dick twitching under your fingers.

“Yes, please,” his hips buckled forward as he whimpered, searching for more. “I am needy, please, keep touching me, Y/N–”

“Yeah?” A devilish smile tugged on the corner of your lips as you started stroking faster. “A little pathetic, Heeseung. Don’t you think so? All of this just for some handjob…” You clicked your tongue without halting your movements, neither letting your grin disappear. “Lucky to you, you’re just how I like it.”

Heeseung's breath hitched at your words, his chest heaving as he tried to keep himself grounded, but the teasing was overwhelmingly delicious. The way you handled him, every squeeze of your hand making him feel both humiliated and completely at your mercy. His mind fogged with pleasure, and it became harder to think, to hold back, to stay composed, his own body and voice betraying his attempts of holding back.

When you started to give his tip more attention by cupping your hand on it and your tongue flattering against it, as if you taunted a full blowjob, he found himself near to the edge already.

Not only was he living his wettest dream, but your expertise on knowing exactly what and how to get him going eased his release to get closer and closer.

You noticed Heeseung's moans intensifying and his body squirming more than before. Although it was your first time with him, you easily deduced that he was close to reaching his climax.

But you had other plans.

Without any warning, you stopped everything – your hands, your mouth – retreating from his body, and eliciting a sound from Heeseung that landed somewhere between a cry and a whimper. His wide, desperate bambi eyes gleamed in confusion and frustration.

“N–No– Why–”

“I don’t want you to cum on my hands,” you said feigning innocence, blinking sweetly as if you weren’t ruining his release.

Reaching over to your nightstand, you grabbed a condom, smoothly rolling it onto Heeseung’s painfully hard cock before positioning yourself over him. As you hovered above his length, you glanced at him, searching for confirmation.

Heeseung had propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide, flickering between your sultry expression and the sight of his cock pressing against your slick entrance. He understood your unspoken question and gave a quick, eager nod. His gaze was immediately drawn back to his dick disappearing inside of you as your walls enveloped him completely.

“F–Fuck,” Heeseung breathed, his voice trembling, almost strained, his abs flexing as he instinctively thrusted slightly forward before collapsing back onto the bed.

The sensation of your wet heat gripping him tightly was overwhelming. He rolled his eyes back and let his head fall against the pillow, biting his lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

“I’m not gonna last long–” he muttered through heavy breaths, his strong hands gripping your hips, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, forgetting that, in fact, you were the one leading his lustful ruin.

“Oh, you will,” you murmured, rolling your hips back and forth in a painful slow pace while you adjusted. “You’re not that pathetic, are you?” You teased, voice thick with challenge.

However, to your surprise and delight, Heeseung’s response was unexpectedly better than your imagination.

“I am–” He interrupted himself with a deep moan as you purposefully clenched around his dick. “I am that pathetic,” he whispered, hands tightening on your hips. “I am pathetic for you, for you only.”

You instinctively reacted to his vulnerable, desperate words. You could feel the raw intensity behind it, his complete surrender to you, and it fueled your own desire.

“Yeah?” You cocked your head to the side with a smug smile, supporting yourself with your palms planted on his chest as he started to thrust up into you, seeking for more of your addicting squeeze around his dick. “Show me, then.”

Heeseung’s entire body shuddered beneath you while he forced your hips down to meet his own buckling up; you, yourself barely helping, letting him do all the work just for a little teasing.

However, Heeseung hit a certain spot in you that had your dominant facade faltering, a choking moan slipping from your throat while you frowned with pure pleasure as your arms wavered briefly to hold you still.

“You feel that?” His voice cracked, eyes fluttering open to catch a glimpse of your lascivious expression. “I’m yours–”

You bit your lip, a rush of adrenaline waving through your body, tingling at his words, your mind spinning with the intoxicating pleasure of having Heeseung so completely at your mercy.

You leaned forward, your mouth grazing his ear as you whispered, “Such a good boy...”

The simple praise sent a visible shiver through his spine, his grip on you faltering momentarily as a desperate groan escaped his lips, eyes rolling as he threw his head back, letting his perfect neck in all display for you.

It became clear – he was close, teetering right on the edge, just waiting for your command, nonetheless you weren't quite ready to let him have it, especially because the knot in your stomach just started to tighten.

"Not yet," you said breathlessly against his jawline, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you lightly bit and kissed the area. "You'll have to wait just a little longer, Heeseung."

You could feel his cock twitching inside you, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

In no universe could Heesung have imagined that this would be how his day ended, with you dominating him so effortlessly, and most importantly, him letting it happen and savoring every single delightful second.

“P–Please…” Heeseung whimpered, his voice cracking into a soft cry, his fingers trembling against your skin, kneading it as a way to regain his control. One of his fingers slipped to your clit, rubbing it the way he could due to the position.

You kept on riding Heeseung with all you had, your thighs burning in the process but you couldn’t care less. The way he was whining in your ear, panting and pleading, together with his touch on your sensitive spot and his fingers doing circles on your clit brought you close to the edge as well. With each clench around his dick, you could feel his restrain slipping away.

“I’m– Please–”

“Let go, Hee. Cum for me, yeah?” You purred against his lips, sloppily kissing it as you drank his guttural moan, feeling the condom filling up inside you.

Your core bubbled and the knot tightened, and you coated the condom with your juices while a whimper came out from your lips. Heeseung’s grip tightened as you rode you both through your highs.

Your mouths slowly found a comfortable pace as you also fully decreased your movements, savoring the aftershocks of your release and feeling Heeseung’s beneath you.

Heeseung’s breaths came in heavy pants as you parted the kiss by sucking his lower lip. You lifted yourself enough to search for his eyes, filled with happiness and satisfaction.

“Did that feel good?” you asked softly, brushing a stray hair from his sweaty forehead, your fingers lingering on his warm skin.

“More than I could ever imagine,” he admitted, a shy smile breaking through his panting breaths. “You’re incredible.”

“So are you,” you whispered, kissing him again.

This time, deliberate and loaded with emotion. All the feelings that once carried an air of doubt while hovering in your mind now felt certain, and the warmth in your heart only confirmed that as your body relaxed and you emerged from the lustful bliss, leaving you and Heeseung in a sweet, loving bubble.

Heeseung helped clean you and himself, even taking a shower since you offered some of your brother’s never used clothes, you caught yourself mingling on his warm embrace, now resting your cheek on his bare chest that rose and fell softly.

“I really like you, Y/N,” Heeseung's voice was dripping in honey, kind and sweet as his fingers trailed a gentle path on your arm. “Like, really like you.”

“I know,” you whispered with a smile, struggling to contain the sting in your heart. “But you’re not the only one, right?” You asked and lifted your head just enough to capture his tender eyes focusing on you.

He shook his head, biting his lips nervously.

“No,” he finally confessed with a sigh, holding you closer as if you would slip away from his grip at any moment, without a warning. “I’m not.”

You both shared a silence filled with unspokenly delicate words.

“Give Jake a chance as well.”

Heeseung’s phrase lingered on your brain for longer than you expected, filled with sincerity. He was willing to offer you the option, the possibility to choose between him and Jake. And somehow that made the scenario even easier.

“Got your message. You called me in?”

You were slightly startled by Jake’s sudden entrance into your office, even though you had already allowed it through text. You took a moment to admire him – he seemed a bit out of breath, his disheveled hair and wide, puppy eyes making his adorable charm stand out even more.

“Close the door,” you said firmly. “And lock it.” Jake's trembling hands did as you instructed.

“What’s going on?” he asked, wincing under your intense gaze.

You had clenched your jaw, your fingers fidgeting casually as you leaned your hips against your desk, exuding an air of something he read as severity.

Despite the tension palpable in the air, he couldn’t help but take notice of how stunning you looked, with your clothing choice for the day accentuating your curves and your hair in a high ponytail. He shamelessly checked you out, mesmerized with your figure and oblivious of the fact you were playing with him with all bossy that posture.

The topic was sensitive, but nothing stopped you from playing a little.

“Did Heeseung tell you he visited me yesterday?” You broke the silence

Jake blinked, gaze flickering immediately from your thighs to your eyes, completely thrown off by your words, confusion clear on his face.

“W–what?”

“Yeah.” You smirked, placing your palms against the desk behind you and leaning back, relaxed. “Did he?” You blinked innocently, as though you genuinely cared about his answer. “Because if he didn’t, he’s playing a much dirtier game than I expected,” you feigned disappointment, clicking your tongue and pouting after.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?”

For a brief moment, you hesitated. Jake seemed genuinely clueless, but you knew better. You had all the evidence – the little game between them, the silent competition that had gone unspoken for too long.

Heeseung had told you his side of the story and indirectly a quarter of Jake’s.

Even though Heeseung and Jake had grown closer and eased some of the tension between them, there was an underlying feeling that occasionally surfaced, standing out from the rest: beneath it all, there was the undeniable desire to have you. Despite the mutual understanding of the connection they both shared, the notion of a single winner still lingered in the background, subtly driving their everyday actions.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” you answered, voice still steady, but now with a layer of seduction laced in between your words. Your eyes never left Jake’s face, even when he drifted them away due to his shyness before you. “You are falling behind, Jakey.”

Jake stood there with a small frown, processing your words; he would be lying if he didn’t think at some point that, behind all his friendship with Heeseung, there was you, occupying almost every corner of his head with your beautiful smile and charming personality.

You were his main objective, his goal, after all.

“Come on, Jake,” you pressed, your tone dripping with challenge. “Are you really just going to sit back and let Heeseung win this?”

Internally you prayed for any green light from Jake. Otherwise, your decision and respective demeanor could ruin everything – your job, your friendship. It was unethical, unprofessional, against every guideline you fought to uphold at the company.

But watching Jake with his jaw tightening, fist clenched and eyes widening in confusion and anger, was far too tempting to stop.

Your words sparked something deep inside Jake, awakening his competitive side that had been lying dormant despite the constant swirl of emotions in his mind. The need to win, to prove himself, came back to life. More than anything, he wanted to be the best, especially for you.

So a war happened inside him: on one side, the resentful acceptance that if he lost to Heeseung, at least you would be with someone who would treat you right; but on the other, a fierce, burning desire.

Jake couldn’t shake the intoxicating rush that came from your approval, the way your praise felt after his every effort, after every achievement; your cute smile and shining eyes showed him a galaxy of happiness.

And now, the thought of losing that, of watching someone else receive what he craved from you, wasn’t something he could tolerate. He wanted to be the one to make you proud, to make you feel the way you made him feel – and that competitive fire was about to consume him entirely.

Since apparently Heeseung had his chance to prove his side, now it was his time.

The room was thick with anticipation as he slowly stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, the office boundaries blurring.

“Come closer…” you purred, eyes gleaming with amusement as you watched him move towards you, desire growing clear in his eyes.

The second he was in front of you, his hands traveled instantly to your waist, the heated touch making you nearly gasp. His fingers pressed into the soft fabric of your clothing, pulling you closer as his breathing grew heavier.

For a brief moment, you felt drunk in Jake’s scent and firm grip, his eyes behind the glasses lingering longer on your lips before he bit his own, as if he was restraining himself. However, he easily lost his own battle, leaning in intending to kiss you, but you gently pushed against his chest, smirking.

“No, mm-mm,” you tutted, shaking your head as he hesitated, your teasing smile driving him mad; the proximity, the chances, everything taunting his desire to give up on his principles and pleasure you. “We cannot do anything while working, Jake. You know that.” You playfully reminded him, nodding along like it was an innocent rule, all while your eyes glinted with mischief. “I’m your manager.”

Jake groaned softly, clearly torn between desire and duty, but then you leaned in closer, your voice dropping into a soft whisper. “However…” You cupped his jaw, thumb grazing his lip with agonizing slowness, and you could feel him melt under your touch.

His lips parted slightly, his warm tongue just brushing your thumb, causing a wave of arousal to surge through your body. You swallowed hard, suppressing a moan.

You continued, your voice barely audible but dripping with sensuality, being the only one filling the room as Jake just stood there, in need of you, “We can’t just ignore that Heeseung made his move, can we? Supposedly, you're next, right?” Your eyes sparkled as you cocked your head, taking in Jake’s hooded, desperate gaze. You licked your lips and grabbed his tie, pulling him even closer, lips now brushing against each other while you savored the delicious tension.

“So… what’s it gonna be?” you whispered the words, your breath mingling with him as you pulled even closer by his tie. “Hm?”

His eyes darkened before fluttering shut, and you knew he was near to the edge of letting go from whatever internal struggle holding him back. Yet, you didn't expect Jake to eagerly kiss you, throwing aside any thoughts about being at work.

It would be a euphemism to say you weren’t as desperate as he was, your arousal guiding your decisions the moment that attractive man showed up in your office with his usual clumsy state, all messy and unnecessarily hot as he demonstrated confusion from your sudden call.

Jake’s taste melting on your tongue made the task of remembering your responsibilities harder, and you pathetically tossed your ethics aside as you devoured Jake’s plush, soft lips.

Fingers threading through his silky hair, you pulled him closer, as if the mere contact of your mouths and the warmth of his body pressing against yours wasn't enough. A fire ignited within you, threatening to consume you both, fueled by the ragged breaths escaping his lips mingled with groans of delight.

Jake felt like dying, and he was loving every second.

There was an annoying itch at the back of his mind, reminding him that you were both in a workplace and that the risk of being caught was large. But instead of pushing him away, it drew him even closer.

In no universe he would let the opportunity of his life slip away easily like that.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed behind you, breaking the intoxicating moment for some seconds. Jake’s lips trailed down to your neck to give you the chance to reach for it. Your breath was heavy as you read the notification: meeting in an hour.

You quickly typed a message to Heeseung, asking him to come up with an excuse for anyone who might approach your door. You kept it vague, knowing he would totally understand the situation, especially since he had seen Jake enter your office.

With your heart racing you threw your phone at some random place before turning your attention to Jake, to dive back into the moment before the outside world interrupted your brand new little secret.

Jake gave you no chance to react when he suddenly lifted your hips and sat you on the wooden surface of your desk, forcing your legs open so he could place himself between them. His sneaky fingers found the hem of your shirt, invading the area shamelessly, the warm touch together with his lips sucking the flesh of your neck made you shiver, the bubbling desire in your core intensifying each painful second.

“D–Don’t leave any marks,” you warned breathlessly, loving how fast Jake found your sensitive spot and started to give it some proper attention, but afraid of being too obvious with the after.

You could feel his hardness brushing against your legs from time to time, and you noticed at some point he began to slightly thrust forward, seeking for friction. You weren’t much different, though – your hands tugged his hair gently to give you some support as you waved your hips towards Jake, searching for a similar relief, moaning softly.

Impatience was growing as much as your desire, so you clumsily slipped down from your desk and pushed Jake’s torso back without saying a word. His instant reaction was to retract himself in a confused state, hands faltering on keeping squeezing you; his glasses were uneven as ever and a bit foggy, hair was sticking up all over and chest visibly raising and falling with each deep breath.

“We don’t have much time,” you purred, your voice dripping with sultry seduction as your eyes roamed over Jake’s disheveled state. “And I’m pretty sure a dedicated employee like you doesn’t want to get caught, right?”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you began to unbutton your pants in a slow, deliberate, teasing show. Jake’s breath hitched with the view and your words, the aching reminder he unfortunately couldn’t do everything he dreamed of with you.

His gaze fixated on every inch of your skin, shamelessly moaning when you lowered your pants just enough to reveal your white panties, completely soaked with arousal. You toyed with the waistband, your smile widening as he dropped to his knees before you, desperation written all over his face.

“Let me eat you out. We don’t need to do anything more. Just let me taste you,” Jake pleaded, his eyes filled with longing and urgency, his composure long gone completely out of reach.

Goosebumps sprawled over your skin before you commanded, “Eat me out, and then fuck me, Jake.”

Your tone was thick with confidence and lust as you turned on your back, bending over the polished wooden surface in a way of presenting yourself to him.

Jake groaned as he carefully removed your panties, revealing your ass and your cunt to him; Jake groaned, barely able to contain himself as he slid your panties down, exposing your ass and glistening cunt. His mouth watered instinctively as he leaned forward, positioning himself to take a long, delicious lick of your wet folds. His plump lips enveloped you, sucking gently as though he were savoring a delicate dessert, each flick of his tongue igniting a fire deep within you.

Jake envisioned purpose as being to please you, in every possible way. He would come up with alternative solutions to your problems, make you proud by delivering incredible results at work, and relieve the pressure and burden of your job by dealing with the part he could.

But what he craved the most was to explore the depths of your satisfaction, discover and learn every inch of you that sparkled your thrilling emotions and give you what you deserved.

Jake was devoted to you, sweet as honey and affectionate as a teddy bear in an agonizingly delightful way. Because in the end, you would always praise him, leaving him flustered as you highlighted his positive attributes and unmatched skills.

He pleasured you for his own pleasure.

And he knew that he might not be the only one in your life now, but nothing would stop him from trying to be the best.

As Jake’s tongue danced across your folds, each flicker ignited a wave of ecstasy that coursed through you, your body trembling as you struggled to keep it as quiet as possible, your knuckles turning white as you held on tight on the desk’s edge.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, littening you up with raw desire as you lost your ability to think straight. You found yourself surrendering completely to the bliss Jake offered, unable to control your sounds, let alone your own body from seeking for more as you pushed your hips back.

“God, Jake…” you gasped, your breath hitching as he licked and sucked with a fervor that made your knees weak. “Just like that. Don’t stop. You’re so fucking good–”

Encouraged by your moans and your praise, Jake increased the pressure of his mouth, groaning against your cunt as his hands gripped your hips to hold you steady, letting himself get lost in the taste of you.

The voice inside his read evoked the thought you weren’t fully his yet, so with every flick of his tongue Jake memorized your responses and reactions, the little sounds that escaped your lips and your skin prickled under his precise touch fueling his desire to give you more and more.

He wished for your taste to linger longer on his tongue, keeping vivid the feeling of having you in such intimacy, but it was undeniable that reality would eventually knock.

On the other hand, your mind was blank and could feel the tension building within you, your core tightening as you realized you were teetering near to the edge already. It was a delicious struggle between desire and restraint, your body begging for release, but your mind reminding you Jake was right behind you, probably eager for his own climax as well.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice a mix of desperation and longing. For seconds you wondered where the innocent, clumsy and nerd-look-alike Jake you knew was at that moment, as the lewd slurping sounds filled your ears. “I need you. Now.”

Jake didn’t stop, though, diving deeper, keeping on forcing you to step near the verge of your climax. He wanted you to cum all over his mouth. He needed to taste you.

“Jake,” you called again within a loud moan that got you covering your lips right away. “Please–” You pleaded, rolling your eyes, finding it difficult to keep steady, your knees faltering, your pussy clenching around his tongue.

Your hands made a mess with the papers sprawled on your desk, knocking down some random things in the process.

“I want your dick, Jake,” you whimpered, trying to sound as firm as you could, “I wanna you to fuck me, please–” You whispered, almost sounding like a whine and a cry.

Just then Jake finally snapped out of his bliss and gave a last kiss on your glistening cunt before standing up. He paused for a brief moment, eyes dark with lust as he pulled back slightly to take in the sight of you; your body trembling from his efforts, part of your juices dripping on your exposed legs, your whole back in full display for him.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jake murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire. “I want to make you feel this good, all the time,” he said, determination and passion blended perfectly together as his hands caressed your sides with a softness that contradicted the abuse he was doing on your pussy.

“Make me feel better now, Jake,” you waved your hips a little, provoking. “Just fuck me, yeah?”

During agonizing seconds, all you heard was the noises of Jake unbuckling his belt and his zipper going down, mingled with the sound of his ragged breath. You controlled the urge of looking back, too weak to do anything other than support yourself on the table and wait.

“Can I?” He asked softly, pulling you by the waist with one hand while the other held his own dick, until it pressed against your wet entrance.

“No need to ask,” you answered, mirroring his tone, although the anticipation grew within your chest.

Jake’s hand grabbed your hip to maintain your steadiness as he forced himself inside, your head dropped forward and your mouth fell open with the raw feeling of Jake entering you.

“Damn, you feel incredible,” he whispered in amusement. It felt way better than any dream he ever had.

With your warm walls tightened around him, Jake’s composure slipped away and he began to move, each thrust deliberate and deep, designed to send you into a haze of ecstasy. He had one palm still holding you in order to pull you by the waist while pushing deep, and the other slightly pressed on your back, either to support himself and also to keep you in position.

You rolled your eyes, your hands crumpling the papers on your desk trying to ground yourself, giving no care about its importance.

The world outside faded away, you nearly forgot you were fucking during working time and, mainly, under the company’s rules and ceiling as Jake’s thrusts grew faster, more frantic; he chased his own pleasure while desperately trying to push you over the edge, the slap noises filled the room together with your heavy breaths and moans.

“F–fuck– You’re hitting– deep– So deep–” Your voice was being cut by each hard slam of Jake’s hip against yours. “So fucking good,” you whimpered and arched your back when he hit your spot straight.

“You like that?” Jake asked, proud of being the one who received such praises from you. “Please, tell me you want me,” he pleaded, feeling his abdomen flexing with his orgasm getting near.

“I want you–” You urged to say, your climax building up on your core and your pussy clenching involuntary. Jake groaned. “I want you, Jake, please–”

Jake kept on hitting you with a constancy that felt unbearably good. In that moment, everything else fell away – the meetings, the deadlines, the moral dilemmas. All you felt was the strong wave of pleasure rushing over every inch of your body, as you trembled and nearly cried in a last moan, coming all over Jake’s length.

“Fuck–” You hissed when Jake kept on going, driving your through your high before pulling out and jerking himself off. You were panting when you turned to shameless watch his hand speeding on his dick covered with your cum, the lascivious, wet sounds making you quiver, his arm’s popped veins making the view way too devilish.

You bit your lip, knees failing to keep you correctly straightened up but you sustained yourself in the desk behind you.

“You’re so good, Jake. Always so good, always making me proud,” you said between heavy breaths, eliciting a guttural groan from Jake that you feared someone heard, his head throwing back, exposing his perfect neck to you.

Jake was unable to describe properly the jolt of electricity that ran through his body after hearing your words, spilling his cum forward, hitting your arm and part of your table.

“Shit…” He whispered, eyes fluttering open while he struggled to breath. His gaze drifted to your desk. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he got closer, using his clean hand to hold your waist as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth.

You didn’t understand at first what he meant, too lost in your bliss, but after you both cleaned up, you realized how messy in many, too many nuances – your desk was and understood why Jake was sorry for.

You had made your decision even before your night with Heeseung and your wild time with Jake.

With Heeseung, it felt like it just naturally happened – and you didn’t regret any second. For Jake, it was something similar to an equality, giving them both the same treatment and chance. And again, you didn’t regret it.

Your feelings for them were as clear as crystal water, each reflecting a different and unique facet of your heart. Each moment you shared together was filled with affection, desire, passion, and it drew you stronger into connecting yourself with Heeseung and Jake.

You spent days in deep contemplation, analyzing how your body reacted during every interaction – the way your pulse quickened with each lingering glance, how your cheeks warmed from the softest, lightest brush of hands, and how your inner core felt electrified after every encounter.

You tried to measure, but it was so obvious – and at no moment you tried to fight against it.

Consequently, it was relatively easy to invite them into your office for a personal conversation, where you felt no fear regarding your feelings, but were uncertain about how Jake and Heeseung would react to your decision.

“This is not the appropriate setting, but I feel like it’s our setting,” you began, your voice steady to express your certainty. This time, you held a sweet, softened gaze that darted between Heeseung and Jake, lingering not long enough in each of their tensed faces.

They were completely aware about the reason behind your gathering, their breaths coming heavy, throat dry, fingers fidgeting… You noticed each anxious demeanor. Your heart tightened, because you would never intend to make them feel bad.

“I called you both here because…”

You took a moment to find the right words, the same you sculpted during days in the back of your mind, now running away from your mouth.

But there was no doubt, because at some point, you questioned yourself.

If love was a battlefield…

“I’m not choosing.”

Could there be more than one winner?

“Not between you two.”

[BONUS SCENE]

“Heeseung, please, stop chasing after Layla,” Jake rolled his eyes, a hint of exasperation in his voice while you chuckled, taking a bite of your ice cream. “You’re scaring her.”

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and you had decided to take a peaceful walk with your, now, two boyfriends and Layla, Jake’s adorable dog. At some point you started to feel a bit tired, and opted to sit down on a bench with Jake while Heeseung continued to expend Layla’s energy, playing with her nearby.

“She’s literally smiling, Jake,” Heeseung shot back with a glance, though his smile betrayed his faux annoyed facade. He knelt next to Layla, gently stroking her fluffy fur and murmuring sweet nothings with a baby voice while nodding. “Isn’t that right, girl?”

“You’re just jealous because she likes Heeseung more than she likes you,” you teased Jake, trying to contain your laughter at his instant reaction. Jake blinked flabbergasted at your words before he pouted.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he muttered in a whine, feigning an anger that never really matched his energy. His facade quickly fell as he pulled you closer to kiss your cheek.

You giggled, melting into a shy mess when Jake began planting kisses along your neck too, the sound drawing Heeseung’s attention.

He stood up, holding Layla’s leash with a playful tilt of his head. The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips before he pouted dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m witnessing my girlfriend and my friend enjoying themselves without considering my presence,” Heeseung said as he slid into the empty seat on your left, planting a sweet kiss on your other cheek.

Just like that, it started a playful competition between the two of them, each trying to elicit a laugh or a shout of “stop” from you first. All you could do was giggle and squirm, drowning in the warm sensation blooming in your chest and the delightful tingling on each side of your neck as Heeseung and Jake silently agreed to tease you mercilessly.

You couldn’t help but be amused at how effortlessly Heeseung and Jake had adapted to this unconventional relationship. Everything had fallen into place, and you finally had an answer to the question that had lingered in your mind when you decided to take a step further.

Yes, two people can definitely win a love battle.

#enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #jake x reader #lee heeseung x reader #sim jake x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #jake smut #love triangle #enhypen love triangle #enhypen fluff #heeseung fluff #jake fluff #heeseung fanfic #jake fanfic #heegyukeluv works #heegyukeluv reqs

513 notes · View notes

inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 5 months ago

Text

Aemond X Reader: The cowardly king

a/n: hotd has been giving me some inspo for writting i'm hopping it will pull me out of writers block 🙃

Warnings: Spoilers for Ep 3, smut, rough sex, angry sex, whores, being treated badly by men, flinching, talks of being hit, Aegon being a little shit (like always), female reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 1,6K

His voice drifted across the room causing your ears to perk up. You turn your head in a swift motion searching from him in the crowd. Your eyes find his platinum blond hair in an instant. He’s being followed by three men, one of which looks around the room in despair. You rise from your seat, ignoring the shouts of the men you’d been talking to. You’d get punished for bad service later but you didn’t care at the moment. There was something more important to deal with right now.

You watched from the corner of your eye as King Aegon pulled open the various curtains that give some of the customers a bit more privacy to enjoy themselves. Your bare feet pad across the floor in a rush, desperately trying to get to the curtain before Aegon. You're so close, just a few more steps and you’ll reach it. But then one of the girls bumps into you causing you to lose your balance. You stumble gripping the nearby table. The girl comes your way apologizing as she helps you stand straight but you aren’t paying attention to her. Your eyes narrowed in on the curtain Aegon has just gotten too. You try to move quickly to distract him but it's already too late.

You watch in horror as the King pulls the curtain open to reveal none other than his brother Aemond, in the arms of an older woman. You stop in your spot, body frozen as you listen to Aegon's shrieks of laughter. Aemond sits up immediately, not daring to make eye contact with his brother who continues to laugh like a loon. You watch the exchange with a deep pain in your heart. You knew why Aemond chose to stay with the madam and you knew it had little to do with sex and much more to do with something he lacked in his life. A mothers touch. You don’t pay attention to the conversation, focused only on the slumped frame of prince Aemond. You wish to hug him but you know better than to move from your spot. You watch him rise from his spot turning to face the room for the first time.

“Any whore would do.”

That's when his eyes catch your frame. He stares at you for a moment, his eye seeping into your soul. For a moment he thinks you might be enjoying the show his brother has put on but when he sees the clear disgust in your face he knows he’d misjudged you. He walks out of the room, unafraid to show every part of himself to the people that surrounded you. You waited a moment before going after him.

Aemond’s long legs allowed him to take large steps, causing you to have to walk quite fast to catch up to him. You have a feeling he doesn’t know where he’s going. Being caught off guard by his brother seemed to have destabilized him a bit. You knew it wasn’t smart to let him leave in such a state. There was no telling who would suffer the consequences.

“Aemond, wait!”

You didn’t know if he hadn’t heard you or he was simply choosing to ignore you but you weren’t giving up that easily. You forced yourself to walk faster despite the pain that the stone beneath your bare feet was causing you. You managed to get closer to Aemond, your hand reaching out to grab his shoulder. You managed to touch him lightly but not to stop him from walking.

“Leave me.”

“Aemond you know i can-”

“Leave me!”

He’d whipped around so fast you’d barely had time to grab onto the wall behind you. His face was mare inches from your, his hand gripping onto your wrist in a brutal manner. You looked up at him in horror, your shoulders taunt with fear. Aemond raised his hand, the action causing you to close your eyes. You prepared yourself for the blow of his palm to your face.

It never came.

Aemond stared at you, he took in the way your body prepared itself from the pain you imagined you were about to go through. It was only then that he noticed his hand was raised and that you’d interpreted it as him preparing to hit you. His eyebrows furrowed at the realization. You’d thought he was about to hurt you and the first instinct you had was to take it.

You wondered if he’d only hit you the one time or if he would take out all his anger on you. Men had laid their hands on you before but they hadn’t been trained in the way you imagined Aemond was. You expected him to be far stronger than the men you’d dealt with before. So you could only imagine that the pain he would bring you would be far worse.

Time seemed to pass slower, his hand had not made contact with your face yet and it seemed to be taking far too long to do so. Slowly you opened your eyes, preparing yourself to close them again if necessary. Only, when you looked at Aemond again you saw fear in his eyes. You looked at him like a wounded animal and he looked at you like a child who didn't realize its own strength. His lips opened slightly allowing a whisper of your name to slip through them. You watched as he slowly lowered his hand until he could cup your cheek. You looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to figure out his next move. Never would you have expected what he did next.

Aemond crashed his lips into yours in desperation, his body pushing you up against the wall. His chest rubbed against your breasts causing your nipples to harden. A small whine made its ways out of your lips as Aemond ran his tongue against your mouth. You allowed him what he was asking for, opening your mouth so that his tongue could tangle with yours. His hands found your waist, fingers digging into your hip with an unnecessary amount of strength. Aemond tugged at your hair causing you to groan as he unlatched your lips from his. He stared down at you for a moment, his chest heaving with angry breaths. Your pupils were shot wide, the sudden desire Aemond had managed to pull out of you becoming clear.

“Turn around.”

You did as he asked, turning so your back was to his chest. He shifted your hair to the side giving a bit to your neck. You let out a moan at the feeling. Aemond was seething but it wasn’t because of you. He was enraged by his brother and needed to take his frustration out on someone, one way or another. It seemed this way at least he could enjoy himself a bit.

You felt him move himself against you, his dick prodding at your ass. You widen your legs a bit, trying to make it easier for him. Aemond lined his dick up with your entrance before pushing into you with a harsh thrust. Your mouth fell open at the sudden intrusion. Without giving you so much as a second to breathe Aemond began pistoling into you. You couldn’t help but moan out his name as he moved against you, your hands moving to hold onto his head. He rested his face on your neck, allowing his grunts of pleasure to become less obvious. He continued to chase his high, not bothering to help you get to your own. Your pleasure wasn’t really on his mind at the moment but it wasn’t an issue. You were used to it. Just another part of the job. After one harsh thrust Aemond came with a groan, his seed spilling down your thigh as he held you in place.

He pulled out of you causing you to let out a small whine. You didn’t try to move from your spot, afraid that perhaps your sudden movements might anger him. You tried to listen to his footsteps moving away from you but you heard nothing. Aemond looked at you, his eyes falling on the bruised he’d left on your skin from his harsh grip. He called out your name, causing you to turn your head to the side. He grabbed your face forcing you to turn to face him completely. You stared up at his eyes, your mind still a bit foggy.

“I would never hurt you.”

His eye ran down to the bruise on your hip before he looked back at you.

“At least not in the way you thought I would.”

“Yes My Prince.”

Aemond watched you for a moment longer before turning to leave. You watched him get his clothes back on before exiting the place. You couldn’t help but keep staring at the spot he once had been.

“Guess he meant it.”

Aegon's voice filled your ears causing you to turn to look in his direction. He gave you a sly grin.

“Any whore will do.”

The right thing to do was to bow your head to him. He was the king after all. But you couldn’t care less. He’d just embarrassed his brother in front of many simply because he could. You stared at him, watching as he continued to smile at you. You turned on your heels making your way away from his prying eyes.

If it was up to you, you’d have his head on a stick.

905 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. fighting, injury, blood

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily.

"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless."

The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny.

Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly.

You do it to torture him, he's sure.

"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says.

"Then one of the others will catch me."

"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?"

"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that."

"Could you just do as I asked you to?"

"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything."

"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously."

You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.

Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.

Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction.

"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap."

Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited.

"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks.

You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest.

"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks.

"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you.

"Qué maravilla," he mutters.

"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?"

"I'm over here?"

Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening.

"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing."

Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice.

He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today.

You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit.

"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man.

"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit."

"Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?"

It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.

It's his fault for letting you go.

"Prepare for extraction," he says.

"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."

"Y/N," he warns.

You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort.

His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind.

He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward.

It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind.

The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye.

The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home.

"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.

He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded."

You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control.

—

You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said.

"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?"

You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections.

It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.

They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards.

The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately.

"Go away," he says.

She beams at him. "Okay."

"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.

You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one.

"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask.

"I know. I told you to retreat."

"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends."

"Ah, because you need more of those."

You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know."

Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse.

You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?"

"I'm off-duty."

"I just never pictured you in sneakers."

"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side.

You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?"

Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face.

"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched."

"I'm not benched?" you ask.

"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work."

You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment.

"But it's my fault."

"What?" you ask, startled.

"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak."

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture."

He flinches at the drug's name.

You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844.

"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…"

Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open.

"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again."

You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps.

He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces.

"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur.

"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it.

"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day."

"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly.

"You make my life difficult, too," you say.

You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.

He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once.

"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great."

"Isn't it?" you ask happily.

He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!

4K notes · View notes

noemilivv · 10 months ago

Note

Could I please request a Vox, Adam, and Lucifer x GN! Reader who’s typically very chatty and hyper when excited. And maybe somebody says something like “you talk too much”, and it obviously gets to the reader. And how Vox, Adam, and Lucifer would respond and/ or defend their s/o? Thank you!~ :3

ofc!! this is very fun to brainstorm and write for haha (especially for Vox)

Warnings: S1 finale spoilers in Lucifer’s section, randos + Alastor being shitheads

Adam, Lucifer, Vox x Reader who talks a lot

Adam

He had absolutely no idea you felt this way until you two were having a conversation before bed, and he said something he didn't mean

“Geez, you talk a lot.” Adam commented with a light hearted chuckle as he looked down at you, snuggled into his chest and the covers of your shared bed, he didn’t mean any harm though, it was more so commentary.

“I can stop…” You murmured, embarrassed. “No no no, it’s okay, keep going.” He said, rushing to cut you off, as he snuggled your face deeper into his chest.

Adam won’t hesitate to jump in if somebody says something, because only HE can do that.

“You talk too much, you need to calm down, it’s not that serious.” An angel said, while at a meeting, your shoulders dropped before you heard your boyfriend pipe up,

“And? Who gives a fuck? It’s fucking Heaven, bitch. People are allowed to talk and be happy, damn bruh, you’re a fucking party pooper!”

Lucifer

He has his own tendencies to go on endless rants here and there so honestly you both just talk nonstop, and he doesn’t mind a bit!

If someone were to say something to you, he’d have a reaction similar to his reaction with the Charlie-Adam fight, but more tame cause the person didn’t physically harm you

“Stop talking and let me finish!” Alastor said cheerfully with a grin as he went to continue his sentence.

“You don’t get to talk to my partner that way, you smiling freak.” Luci said with a forced grin between gritted teeth, turning his focus away from the conversation with his daughter and her girlfriend and putting it to the conversation between you and Alastor.

“I’m the smiling freak? Look at you! You’re face is all messed up, especially that god-awful smile.” Alastor remarked, poking the bear that was the very protective Lucifer Morningstar, both when it came to his daughter and his partner.

“OKAY!” Charlie said attempting to separate the two, with Vaggie rushing to her aid.

Yeah, if they weren’t stopped, that wouldn’t have ended well😀

Vox

He doesn’t mind your talks, he’s a good listener, but he might not catch everything if he’s working, but if he’s not? He’s all ears.

He’ll act super nonchalant about it, but he thinks it’s the cutest thing.

Normally, he isn’t willing to cause a scene because of his status, but when someone insults the thing he loves most about his partner? Yeah, that shit isn’t flying with him around.

You were scrolling through the comments of the most recent interview that Vox had on his show, which happened to be with you, and you couldn’t bare what you were reading. Mainly the comments like: ‘Omfg Vox’s partner doesn’t stop talking’ or ‘Vox can do better’ or ‘Can they just shut the fuck up? Like bro it’s not that hard.’

You just shut your phone off and slammed it onto the night stand, as tears trickled down your face, all you wanted was to be enough for him, if these people think these things, he probably would to.

You hear someone enter your shared bedroom, with you curled up in blankets and sniffles coming out of you, you feel the bed dip next to you, and a robotic voice that has to belong to Vox ask, “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

“People are just mean…” You mumbled, turning on your other side to face him and picking up your phone and handing it to Vox, you watched Vox scroll for a moment, watching his eye twitch angrily.

“I will handle it, sweetheart. I’ll be right back, don’t you worry your precious mind about a thing.” Vox said, stroking your hair, as he got up and left the room.

Turns out, Vox did a bit of…digging. He got the contact information of the main commenter who gave you issues, and sent them, a little surprise video…

The video showed Vox in office chair, he got straight to the point immediately, banging his fist onto his desk. “Listen here, you little bitch.” He growled, he was glitching out of anger already, damn.

“You don’t get to talk about my partner that way.” Vox stated, waving his pointer finger at the camera, “And if you do?” Vox asked rhetorically, giving a fake grin, before he became more visibly angry then you’ve ever seen him.

“I will personally find you myself, you low-life, fucking loser, and I will tear you apart. Just because your a sad sad, 40 year old virgin man, who still lives with mommy and daddy rent-free and plays on your VoxBox all day, doesn’t mean you get to insult my partner, and you should know better to not EVER pull that shit again, and if you even think about trying to I’ll fly drowns all throughout Hell and make sure they fucking find you and rip you apart, you hear me?”

His anger falters as the glitch does in his voice, “Anyway, have a lovely day, and don’t fuck with my partner again.” He said with his usual show grin as the screen went black immediately.

Yeah, don’t expect him to do that often.

958 notes · View notes

seiwas · 1 year ago

Text

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

3K notes · View notes