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wileys-russo · 4 months ago

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christmas showcase II a.russo

lil christmas fic for the maternal instincts universe christmas showcase II a.russo

"what so the state wide budget gets cut, something entirely out of your hands, and now the school expects teachers to pay for the supplies for christmas crafts for the kids?" your girlfriend scoffed in disbelief as you smiled, dumping another armful of stationary into the trolley you'd tasked her to push.

"yeah thats the reality year round love, did you ever have a pizza party in school? teacher funded." you hummed, alessias eyes widening even further as you squatted down, thumbing through the craft paper for the colours you needed.

"what!" "mhm, we've discussed this before less." "well yeah, but-well-" you stood back up and dropped the packs of craft paper onto your ever growing stack of supplies. "butts are for ashtrays, not conversations." you teased, lightly patting her cheek and striding on ahead.

"ugh please don't teacher talk me." alessia groaned pushing the cart after you. "then don't speak like one of my students." you stuck your tongue out at her as the blonde pulled a face.

"hey where's bella? bell!" alessia called out in realisation, head scanning the aisle and not seeing her anywhere. "probably adding more to her list for santa." you chuckled knowingly, and sure enough moments later the five year old came skidding around the corner.

"what did we say about running off?" alessia warned making you smile, the older girl not always having felt comfortable 'parenting' bella, but the last few months she'd really melted into it and taken it in her stride.

"i didn't run! i walked." bella nodded matter of factly, squealing as alessia mocked her and tugged playfully on her ear. "are you nearly done? the monsters hungry again!" bella sighed, patting her stomach dramatically and sagging into alessia's leg as the two of you shared a grin.

"the monster who just insisted you needed an extra two pieces of toast this morning? and who just had a blueberry muffin?" you teased, placing a few more things into the cart as bella huffed.

"no! the muffin was for me, i'm a growing girl who needs her energy to get big and strong, to stay healthy and match ready." bella parroted as you shot your girlfriend a look, the words may have been coming from your daughters mouth but they weren't hers.

"well ronaldo you don't have football for another two months so i am sure we can help you grow another inch or two by then!" you laughed, tugging her beanie down over her eyes as the three of you headed toward the registers.

"thats not funny! daddy said its your fault im so short." bella scowled stomping on ahead. "yeah well your dad didn't hit his growth spurt until he was sixteen!" you called out with a roll of your eyes, tugging the beanie over her eyes again as she stopped to finger her way through the candy display at the front of the store.

"less!" you protested when your girlfriend grabbed the chocolate bar bella was eagerly pointing to, giving her a look. "what? this is for my monster, he's hungry too!" the blonde pointed at her stomach as bella giggled and you sighed shaking your head and beginning to load things onto the conveyor belt.

"thank you." you smiled kindly to the young boy at the register, who you assumed was a football fan given the wide eyed glances he kept shooting your clueless girlfriend, too busy holding the chocolate out of bellas eager reach.

"she doesn't mind when people ask for photos." you whispered to him as his cheeks flushed and you sent him a wink, tugging the trolley forward and loading the last bag, calling out for your daughter who grabbed your outstretched hand.

sure enough alessia hung behind to take a photo with the young boy whose elated grin stretched ear to ear, the blonde jogging to catch up with the two of you as you made your way across the parking lot to the car.

"so, are you and harvey excited for christmas mutant?" alessia questioned as she buckled bella in and you loaded the bags in the back, poking at the teddy bear securely buckled in with her.

"yeah! mummy did you send my letter to santa? did you? did you?" bella asked once you'd arrived home, bouncing up and down on the driveway as you chuckled at her excitement.

"sure did babe, mailed it on friday and put on 4 stamps just like you asked me to." you confirmed, looking down at her with a smile and pinching her cheeks as she squealed and kicked her leg at you.

"mama did you finish your list for santa yet? mummy and i finished ours!" bella accused as alessia grabbed the bags out of the boot, only half listening.

"mama?" "sorry what was that bell?" "your santa list, did you finish it?"

"my...santa list?" alessia glanced at you curiously as you subtly nodded. "oh, yes! yes i did." alessia clarified with a firm nod, bella sighing in relief and racing off to the front door, you and alessia following after and letting her inside.

"so your mums still fine with us coming for christmas?" you asked a little while later, bella not long having gone to bed as you and alessia laid on the sofa watching a film.

"are you joking?" alessia asked seriously, sitting up a little more with a frown as you blushed.

"well its just-you know this is our first christmas together. and i've not been with someone for a christmas since i had bella, i forget how it works." you mumbled, a little embarrassed, groaning and covering your face with your hands.

"it works the same as any other christmas! except this time my family have a beautiful little girl to spoil rotten and i have a gorgeous girlfriend to sit with at dinner." alessia laughed, wrenching your hands away from your face.

"don't laugh! you know i overthink everything." you sighed, playfully hitting her shoulder as she grabbed your legs, tugging you closer so you were practically in her lap.

"well christmas eve we'll be here, and we'll make cookies and watch christmas films and do all the traditions you and bell have for years, which i feel very honoured to learn and participate in." alessia started, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your forehead.

"and make christmas tree shaped pizzas, just like i promised bella." alessia added before you could chime in as you reached up and squeezed her face in your hand which she batted away with a smile.

"then christmas morning we'll go see your mum and dad for brunch. then we'll go to my parents place in the afternoon, have dinner and mums insisting we all stay the night but i told her i had to check that with the boss first." alessia finished with a curt nod, poking your nose with a wink.

"the boss being me?" "no i meant isabella, obviously?" "ha ha ha."

"yes you!" alessia laughed when you attempted to smack her, catching your hand and kissing it a few times before letting it fall back to your side with a thump.

"if she's prepared for a bossy, chatterbox, sugar hyped five year old running around for hours until she passes out then i think that sounds lovely." you smiled as your girlfriend chuckled and leaned down to press her forehead against yours.

"well then we have a plan baby, nothing to overthink now."

"-and you're sure you don't mind if they come?!" alessia asked for the tenth time this morning making you laugh. the school you worked at and bella attended having its annual christmas showcase the end of the week and over half the arsenal girls insistent they attend.

"no babe, i already reserved seats for them and they paid for tickets! bella is very very excited they're coming, usually its just nathan and our parents since i'm backstage helping." you assured, pecking her lips a few times as she tried to argue, softening and pulling you back for a proper kiss.

but that ground to an abrupt halt when gagging noises sounded, bella covering her eyes and very loudly demanding the two of you stop 'swapping spit' as she so eloquently put it, still deep in her kissing is gross phase.

"yuck! have you stopped now?" she questioned, peeking out from her hands as alessia cupped your cheeks and pressed her mouth to yours again making you laugh and bella gag loudly again, covering her face with one hand and her teddys face with the other.

"my eyes are burning!" "oh does that mean you can't see this then?" you questioned, grabbing alessia's face right back as the two of you messily kissed as bella dramatically fell to the floor with a thud and a groan.

"oh she was so young, so full of life!" alessia cried out, scooping your daughter up and carrying her into the kitchen fireman style. "i guess we better go downstairs and bury her in the garden, she did love pulling out the weeds every summer." you sighed, moving to open the front door as bella shot up in your girlfriends arms.

"don't bury me the dirt will go up my nose!" "oh my god she lives!" you yelled out, closing the door and throwing your hands into the air. "almost. i think we might have a zombie on our hands!" alessia hummed, skeptically poking at bellas face who giggled.

"i made something at school!" bella wiggled as alessia put her down and she shot off to her room, giving you just enough time to steal a few more kisses before she returned.

"paper chains for the tree and a star!" bella started, waving you and alessia into the living room and practically pushing you both to sit down as she rummaged around in her bag, only having a few more days left before she was done for the year.

"oh very nice mutant, i like that you used a lot of colours." alessia complimented as the two of you shared a look of amusement, everything draped in enough glitter for two pride parades.

"okay now cover your eyes, and no peeking mama!" bella warned as alessia scoffed with offence. "why did you only warn me?" the striker huffed as you grinned. "because you would peek." bella explained patting the girls knee who rolled her eyes but covered her eyes.

you felt something drop into your lap and heard some shuffling before it was announced the two of you could look. you glanced down to see an ornament in your lap, a bright red bauble with mummy scrawled on it in hot pink glitter glue.

"oh bella." you looked to your side to see alessia had one as well, but you couldn't quite make out what it said but it appeared to have more writing on it than yours.

"do you like it? i chose red for arsenal!" bella beamed, puffing her chest out proudly as alessia turned it a little so you could read.

mama's first christmas.

"oh bell, they're beautiful." you smiled softly, picking her up into a tight hug, squeezing your girlfriends knee who seemed lost for words.

"cause its your first one with us! my teacher had to help me with the writing." bella explained, head resting on your shoulder as she reached her other arm out for alessia to join the hug.

"oh less!" you groaned as the blonde practically tackled the pair of you to the sofa in a tight bear hug making bella giggle as alessia kissed all over both of your faces.

"best christmas ever."

"does every parent tell their kid they can sing even when they're this horrible?" leah whispered skeptically as alessia shot her a look and lia rammed an elbow in her other side making her wheeze.

"what! just a question." leah grumbled, alessia smiling apologetically to the sharp shush which sounded from a man in the row in front of them. "i think it is sweet." lia defended, the choir finishing their rendetion of santa clause is coming to town as everyone errupted into applause.

"i think leah should shut up." kyra shrugged once they'd sat back down, the blonde shooting her a glare and reaching over alessia to try and smack the young australian.

"stop it! the pair of you." steph chimed in from kyras other side, smacking the blonde as alessia shoved leah and both girls settled back in their seats with a mutter.

"oh this is bell's class!" alessia perked up as K3 was announced and slowly the very nervous looking kindergartens were ushered onto the stage by a few of the year six kids who were helping out.

you peeked out from the curtain and snickered, catching thirteen phones all up and filming before the song had even started, alessia wiggling her fingers at you with a face eating grin.

"you got this!" you gave the kids on stage a thumbs up, moving out of the way so their teacher could stand in the wings, also doing the dance in case anyone forgot as the opening bars of the song began.

"lessi your face is gonna crack in half if you smile any wider." kyra teased, alessia shushing her as she zoomed in on bella who was easily one of the more enthusiastic of the class as they made their way through their dance.

"now see that? thats real talent." leah nodded, putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling as a womans head whipped around to glare at her and she simply pulled a face making her scoff and turn back around.

"oh my god." you couldn't help but chuckle as right as the song finished the entire row of girls were up on their feet, whistling and clapping like they'd just watched someone score the winning game in extra time, a few other parents giving them strange looks as slowly the kids shuffled off stage and they sat back down.

but judging by the shit eating grin on your daughters face and the pride shining in your girlfriends eyes as bella lingered on stage to wave enthusiastically to her cheer squad before being gently shooed off, it was worth it.

alessia had been right, best christmas ever.

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso blurbs

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gyuswhore · 4 months ago

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clockwork

It all began when you noticed tiny things disappearing from your bag; notebooks, charging cables, staplers. You'd get your answer soon enough, but it seems the world enjoys watching you run around in circles.

wc: ~1.4k | contains: Jeonghan x reader, fluff, Jeonghan being a menace in multiple ways

for the @camandemstudios 'a very seventeen christmas' Secret Santa collab!

[a/n]: ring ring, @shuaflix, it's your Secret Santa calling!!! I hope you have fun reading this Alice and I can't wait to hear your thots hehe 🤍 big ty to @highvern for beta-ing and to @amourcheol for coming in clutch with vocabulary when I couldn't think of the phrase for "in full swing" KJNSFKJGNS

masterlist

Five days a week, like clockwork, you kiss your boyfriend as he sleeps in the early hours of the morning, packed and ready to leave for the library to get your work done.

Five days a week, like clockwork, Jeonghan would emerge bleary eyed from the bedroom to the doorway where you’re slipping on your shoes, hugging you for the last time before you have to leave for the day.

Five days a week, like clockwork, you get to the library to set up your things at your desk by the window, with just the right amount of sunlight, not right under the vent, and certainly not by the busy library entrance.

Five days a week, like clockwork, you always seem to neglect to pack a minor need in your bag before leaving, insignificant things like an eraser or a specific charging cable, but annoying just the same.

It didn’t take long before the sneaking suspicion of it all began to creep at your thoughts, but not a single suspect in sight or mind.

You began to pack your bags the night before instead, double checking and leaving it beside the door before retiring for the night. The next day, you shuffle through your bag one more time, at the door right where you left it, before you’re out the door for the day. The mental checklist is all ticked and sorted, and you’re determined you’ve left nothing behind.

Halfway through closing the front door behind you, you hear a distinct call. “Wait!”

Jeonghan opens the door, still half asleep. One of the legs of pyjama pants have ridden up to his knees, the other side, the waistband is dropping below his underwear. Safe to say, he’s frazzled.

He meets you at the threshold, gesturing you to let him hug you before you leave. You speak into his ear as he squeezes you tight. “You don’t have to do this everyday, Han. I promise I’ve never forgotten your good morning kisses, no matter how loud you’re snoring.”

“Hmm,” he hums but it’s more like a whine. “But you’re gonna be gone aaall daaay.”

“You big baby.”

“Kiss,” he demands as he pulls away slightly. You tiptoe and press a kiss onto his lips. He remembers to behave and keep his mouth closed; he knows how much you hate morning breath.

Just as the elevator is about to close, you hear a distinctly sleepy yell of, “And I don’t snore!”

By the time you get to the library, the good mood you’re in is largely unaffected, setting up your things in your usual spot. The hours pass in relative uneventfulness, and you’re glad about it as you return to your desk with a hole punched stack of papers.

Sticking a hand into your bag you attempt to find the box of large binder clips you keep to tie together larger stacks of papers. Your fingers grapple onto everything but what you need, even when you quite literally empty your entire bag onto the table.

Your seatmate, who seems to be in the deep trenches of something mathematical, is not amused.

The tiny blue box is nowhere to be found.

Exhaling heavily, you realise you have to deal with your predicament as it is. The idea of dealing with loose papers is not appealing, but you cannot physically staple the thick pile.

You could’ve sworn you saw the string during your checks the night before, even this morning, right next to your pencil case on the right side of your bag. There’s no holes in your bag, nor have you left your seat to anywhere you couldn’t see it on the desk.

But even as you deal with the loose stack of papers on the desk, attempting to refocus, there’s only one logical explanation left. It’s hard not to scoff.

It’s been a week since you’ve been to the library, the holiday season now in full swing as you retire for the semester.

Christmas mornings with Jeonghan usually turn into Christmas afternoons, taking full advantage of the errand-less day. By the time you do emerge from the den that is your bedroom, the sun is high in the sky, and Jeonghan is in the process of ordering takeout.

There’re boxes under the tree, beside which the both of you seat yourselves as you wait for your food.

You hand him his present, which is flat for the most part. He unwraps the paper and opens the box, only to find a large envelope inside.

Jeonghan laughs, “Does handing me an envelope need to be this elaborate?”

“I can’t wrap an envelope,” you pout.

“Right. Because it’s already wrapped,” he chortles. He rips it open to find yet another piece of paper.

“Medieval dining experience?” Jeonghan reads off the reservation.

“Brick walls, candle lights and everything. Knights with swords too.” His eyes light up as he registers the swords.

When he hands you your present, you note that he has three separate packages next to him.

It’s a polaroid camera, one that you’ve been wanting for a while. However, it looks like it’s already been opened as you take out the camera. He hardly lets you look at it and thank him properly before he’s shoving another box in your direction.

Unwrapping it reveals a scrapbook. Of polaroids. Of Jeonghan’s face. Full of Jeonghan’s face. It’s almost like he ran an entire reel of film dry with the amount of photos in the book.

“Gently used,” Jeonghan provides. “By me.”

It earns him a big fat kiss, so you suppose he succeeded.

But there’s one package left, a slightly bigger box that notably rattles as Jeonghan slides it over to you. “Unofficial present.”

You look justifiably confused. Undoing the wrapping paper, all you hear is things rattling around in the box, and you wonder what it could possibly be.

The box is…a shoebox? The Nike logo glares back at you as you stare. But you don’t recall a pair of shoes ever being this noisy.

Opening it reveals everything. Quite literally, everything.

There’s a white stapler with purple flowers on it, a number of white, hardly used erasers, the distinct coil of a charging cable, and…a tiny blue box. Amongst other things.

Everything that’s mysteriously disappeared from your bag these past months, lies in the shoebox.

“Sorry,” Jeonghan says, but the smile on his face proposes that he’s far from it.

You look at the contents of the box, and then back up at him. This repeats for a few minutes as you gape at the situation.

“W–Why?” You can’t help but release a laugh at the ridiculousness of the ordeal.

Jeonghan shrugs. “I hoped you’d miss your stuff enough to come back home. Or just start studying at home entirely.”

You stare at him as he picks at the tufts of rug beneath him. “You were gone all day. I just missed you.”

He looks up at you, hint of a smile on his face. “I know I said I was sorry, but I’m not really.”

Surging forward, your arms find his neck as you push yourself onto his lap, holding him tight. “Kinda figured you weren’t. It’s okay.”

Letting go, you bring your lips up to his to kiss him, properly. He pulls you closer, his hands firm on your hip and back. His mouth moves against your own, engulfing you in ways beyond just physical touch.

Pulling away for a moment, you mumble against his lips, “Just say you miss me next time.”

Jeonghan smiles against your mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

It was a strange way to communicate, to let you know to take it easy, to spend more time within his vicinity, because he considered your mere presence near him as spending time with you. Jeonghan didn’t ask for much, as opposed to his nature as it sounded. He was a simple man, who simply wanted time with you.

However, even after the semester resumes, and you leave the house for significantly less stretches of time than before, there are times where your bag suddenly ceases to carry things you’re positive you packed.

But this time, all it evokes is a smile, and a mellow reminder that there’s a warmth of someone’s arms waiting for you.

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killerplink · 1 month ago

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LET ME IN

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: You don't cry. Not anymore. No matter how heavy the weight of the world gets, no matter how much it hurts, you swallow it down and keep moving. Because if you don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist, right?

CW: angst, emotional breakdown, parental neglect/emotional abuse mentions, stress, exhaustion, reader bottling up emotions, crying, hurt/comfort

A/N: This one's for the bestie who wanted the reader to be in desperate need of a good, soul crushing sob, and for Dick to be the one to help her let it all go. Hope it hits right 😭 sending you hugs 🫂

The day starts bad and only gets worse.

You oversleep, which means you're rushing from the second you open your eyes. The coffee machine decides today is the perfect day to break, so you leave the kitchen already irritated, running on nothing but fumes.

You rush through your morning routine, skip breakfast—no time—then practically run out the door, only to step straight into a deep, grimy puddle from last night's rain. Cold, murky water soaks through your shoe and sock instantly. A bad start, but whatever. You can shake it off. It's fine.

Except it's not fine, because traffic is a nightmare, and by the time you make it to work, you're twenty minutes late. Your boss is watching, you can feel it, but he doesn't say anything. Just a glance, a sigh, and then he keeps moving. That's almost worse.

Work isn't any better—your inbox is flooded, your computer freezes mid task, a coworker "forgets" to credit you on something you worked your ass off on, and it feels like every single person in the world suddenly needs something from you.

By noon, you've barely eaten because your lunch order got mixed up, and you're stuck with some sad, soggy excuse for a sandwich that you could barely stomach. Your head is pounding, your eyes hurt, and the weight of it all is pressing down on your shoulders like a vice.

And then, to top it all off, the printer jams.

It's stupid. Small. A fixable problem. But when you stand there, pressing buttons that do nothing, trying to yank the damn paper free while the red error light mocks you, something ugly flares in your chest. Your hands shake. Your throat feels tight. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you might snap.

But you don't. Because you never do.

You shove it down, smooth it over, and try to push through the rest of the day with that same forced steadiness you always do. But the universe isn't just unkind today, it's downright spiteful. The bus is late, and when it finally arrives, it's so packed the driver barely glances at you before shutting the doors in your face.

You wait for the next one, shivering as the wind picks up, slicing through your jacket like it's nothing. When it comes, the only available seat is damp—why, you don't know, and you don't want to.

So you stay standing, crushed between a drunk who reeks of cheap whiskey and a woman who glares at you like you personally ruined her life. You try to ignore the occasional, too close brushes against your ass, chalking it up to the crowded space, but every stop, every slight jostle, makes your stomach twist tighter with unease. The bus ride feels endless. By the time your stop comes, your skin is crawling, and the air outside feels suffocatingly thick, the city pressing in on you from all sides.

Then, just as you're almost home, a car speeds through a pothole, sending a filthy, ice-cold wave of street water straight up your legs. You're soaked. Freezing. Teeth clenched so hard your jaw aches.

And as if the universe is actively laughing at you, your bag suddenly feels lighter when you grab your keys. You check, and yep, your wallet is gone. Either you dropped it, or someone swiped it in the mess of the commute, but either way, you're officially screwed.

Then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, the elevator in your building is out of order. Again. Because of course it is. So you drag yourself up five flights of stairs, legs burning, breath coming in short, frustrated huffs, each step making the day feel heavier, pressing down on you until it feels like your body might give out entirely.

By the time you finally make it upstairs, you're exhausted. Dick isn't there, but you already knew he wouldn't be—he mentioned yesterday that he had to meet Bruce today.

That's fine. It's fine. You're fine.

Except the apartment is too quiet, too still, and for some reason, the silence makes everything worse. You toss your bag down and scrub a hand over your face, exhaling slowly as you make a plan.

A shower. A meal. Maybe then you'll feel human again.

Your phone rings before you can even move. You don't want to look. You already know who it is.

But you do, and when you see your mom's name on the screen, you hesitate, staring at it like it might burn you. You could ignore it. You should ignore it.

But that little, nagging voice—the one that says it's better to just deal with it, to get it over with, to be the bigger person—wins out, and you answer.

The first thing out of her mouth is a sigh. Disappointed. Irritated. Like she's already exhausted by you, and you haven't even spoken yet.

"You never call," she says. "I have to be the one to reach out. Again."

You grip the phone tighter. "I've been busy."

"Too busy for your own mother?" she tsks. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You always have been selfish like that."

The words hit harder than they should, and you swallow against the sudden sting in your throat. "I'm not—"

"Don't start," she cuts in. "I don't have time for your excuses. I just called to remind you that your cousin is getting married next month, and it would be nice if you could, for once in your life, show up looking presentable. You embarrassed me last time."

That last part is what does it. Something in you cracks, just a little. A hairline fracture along something you've spent years reinforcing.

"Right," you say, voice clipped, because if you say anything else, it's going to shake.

She keeps talking—about how you don't visit, about how you've always been difficult, about how she doesn't understand why you can't just be normal, about how she can't stand Dick—but you stop listening.

You tune out halfway through, staring blankly at the wall as her voice drones on, sharp and cutting. Your fingers dig into your palm, nails pressing into skin. You shouldn't let this get to you. You don't let this get to you.

You've trained yourself not to, but by the time she hangs up, you feel hollowed out. Stretched thin. Like there's nothing left inside you except the sheer force of will keeping you upright.

And when you put your phone down, your hand is shaking. You swallow hard, try to breathe through it. You won't snap. You don't snap. That's not who you are. You've held it together through worse.

You sigh, shaking your head as if you can physically dislodge the thoughts swirling inside it. Your whole body feels heavy, weighted down with something you can't name, and all you want is to shut it all out. To turn your brain off, even if it's just for a little while.

You toe off your shoes, letting them drop carelessly by the door before shrugging your jacket and dragging yourself to the bathroom. The mirror catches your reflection as you pass, but you don't stop. You don't want to see yourself. You don't want to acknowledge the exhaustion painted into your face, the tension in your jaw, the dullness in your eyes.

The water is warm when you step under the spray. Hot enough to sting a little, to prickle against your skin, but you don't adjust it. You let it wash over you, standing there with your head bowed, arms wrapped loosely around yourself. It should help.

It doesn't.

You're warmer, sure, but your mind starts to drift. Funny, really, how you always put others first. How you bend over backward for people who wouldn't do the same for you. How you let yourself become a doormat, over and over, because it's easier that way. Because it keeps the peace. Because if you don't, people leave, and isn't that worse?

Life has never been kind to you. Not as a child. Not as a teenager. Not now.

You were born into Gotham's cruelty, into its teeth and its grime and its cold, uncaring hands. You learned early on that you had to be strong or you'd break. That if you wanted to survive, you had to swallow down the hurt, the anger, the exhaustion, and keep moving.

So you did.

And you kept doing it, even when things got worse. Even when life knocked you down again and again, taking pieces of you each time, until you weren't sure what was even left. You haven't cried since you were a teenager.

Not since that one time, when you were younger, when everything had finally piled too high, and it all came crashing down. You'd sobbed until your chest ached, until your body shook with it, until you could barely breathe. And someone had found you—your mother, maybe, or some authority figure who was supposed to care, you don't remember—and their response had been disgust.

"You're making a scene."

"Enough already."

"You're being dramatic."

So you stopped. Because they were right, weren't they? Crying didn't change anything. It didn't fix anything. It didn't make you feel better, it only made you feel exposed, raw, like an open wound waiting to be picked apart.

Are people who cry weak? No. Of course not. But you? You've always been the exception.

It's okay. You're fine. Stop worrying. If you don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist, right?

So instead, you focus on other people. Because they matter more. Because if you make sure they're okay, you don't have to think about the fact that you're not.

You sigh and think about Dick.

About the life you've built together, the only good thing you've ever truly achieved. It's solid, unshakable in a way nothing else in your life has ever been. A foundation you never thought you'd have, something stable and warm and safe. A love that isn't conditional, isn't a burden, isn't something you have to work yourself to the bone to earn.

And with him came the rest. His friends, who are now yours. People who hype you up, who care about you, who make you laugh, who make you happy. You never thought you'd have that either.

A real support system, people who look out for you just because they want to, not because they have to. It still feels foreign sometimes, like something you don't quite know how to accept.

But that's what should matter, right?

Not a shitty day. Not your mother's words digging into your skin like hooks, pulling at every old wound you've tried to ignore. Not the exhaustion coiling tight in your chest, suffocating and sharp.

You should be able to swallow it down like you always do.

You tell yourself that as you rinse the soap from your skin, as you turn off the water and step out. The steam clings to the air, swirling in the dim glow of the bathroom light, wrapping around you like a weight. You grab a towel, drying off with slow, heavy movements, trying to shake off the feeling.

It doesn't work.

Your hands move on autopilot, tugging open a drawer, reaching for something comfortable. Something soft, warm. You grab one of Dick's shirts, slipping it over your head, and for a second, the scent of him surrounds you.

It should make you feel better.

It doesn't. Your throat feels tight, your limbs sluggish, like the day is pressing down on you, sinking into your bones. You know you should eat something—at least something small—but the thought of moving, of going into the kitchen, of putting in the effort, feels impossible.

Instead, you drift into the bedroom.

The sheets are cool against your skin as you drop onto the bed, but you barely register it. You don't bother with the lights, don't bother pulling the blankets over yourself. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind blank but buzzing all at once.

You don't know how long you stay like that.

Minutes. Hours. Long enough for the room to grow darker, for the quiet to settle too deep, for the heaviness in your chest to spread until it's all you can feel.

Dick rushes home, his heart pounding harder with every unanswered call, every text that sits on "delivered" without a response. You always answer, even if it's just a quick I'm busy or a little voice note letting him know you'll text back later. But tonight? Nothing. Radio silence.

He tells himself not to panic, that maybe you just fell asleep, but the unease sits heavy in his gut, twisting tight as he takes the stairs two at a time. By the time he reaches the door, he's bracing for the worst.

Then he steps inside. Darkness. No lights, no TV humming in the background, no movement. The apartment is eerily still, and for a split second, his heart stops.

But then he flicks on the hallway light and spots your shoes by the door. Your bag. Your jacket draped over the back of the chair. A slow exhale leaves his chest. You're home. You're safe.

Still, the unease doesn't leave him.

He moves through the apartment, searching for you, until he reaches the bedroom. And there you are, lying on your back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like you're not really there. Like you've detached from the world completely.

Dick flips the switch to the bedside lamp, flooding the room with soft, golden light, but you don't even blink.

Kicking off his shoes, he moves toward you, plopping onto the bed next to you. "Hey," he says, nudging your arm. "Hi, baby."

You hum. That's it. A noncommittal sound, barely even an acknowledgement.

His brows furrow. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

It's flat. Distant. A response you could've given on autopilot. And maybe you are.

He tilts his head, watching you, waiting for something—anything—but you don't say more. Still, he tries to tease you out of it, offering that easy, boyish grin as he leans in closer.

"Damn, you just gonna lie there and ignore your very hot, very charming boyfriend?" he smirks, nudging your arm again. "Cold blooded, sweet girl."

You don't bite. You don't roll your eyes or shove him playfully, don't give him any of your usual sass. Just another quiet, monosyllabic, "Mhmm."

It's not even a real response. That's when he knows. You're here, but you're not here.

His smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something more concerned. He knows you. Knows how sometimes, when things are bad, you retreat into yourself. How you lock yourself away like you don't want to be seen like this, like you don't want him to see you like this, and it breaks his damn heart.

He shifts closer, pressing his palm against your stomach, rubbing slow, careful circles over your shirt. "Talk to me, my love." His voice is quieter, gentler. "What's going on?"

You shake your head, barely. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Liar. He watches you for a moment, eyes softening as his hand doesn't stop moving, fingertips tracing patterns against your stomach. You're locked up tight, but he's not going anywhere.

He knows how sometimes you shut down like this. How you build walls so high even he has trouble climbing them. How you think you have to be the strong one, that you're not allowed to break.

But you don't have to do that with him, and he's not going to let you.

Still, Dick doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Just watches you in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his brows furrowed, his lips slightly parted like he's trying to figure out the right thing to say. But you don't say anything either.

So after a few more beats of silence, he exhales softly and murmurs, "Talk to me, baby. Please."

You try. You really do.

You part your lips, searching for the words, for anything that can explain the weight in your chest, the exhaustion pulling at your bones, the way today was just one long, merciless reminder that life has never been kind to you.

But nothing comes out.

Because how do you even say it? How do you explain that you've spent years swallowing pain, forcing yourself to stand tall no matter how much life tried to knock you down? That you've built yourself out of resilience and stubbornness, that you've convinced yourself over and over that you can take it, because what other choice do you have?

So instead of speaking, you shake your head. You turn away like you always do, curling inward, trying to make yourself smaller, except Dick doesn't let you.

His hand finds your cheek, warm and steady, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye. His grip isn't firm, isn't insistent—it's just there, gentle and grounding, like a tether keeping you from slipping any further into yourself.

"Hey," he murmurs, leaning closer. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

You swallow hard, but it feels like there's something lodged in your throat.

"I don't care how ugly it feels, how messy it is. You don't have to filter it, you don't have to make it easy for me to hear. Just—just let me in, baby." His thumb sweeps up, tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I love you. You don't have to hold everything on your own. I want to carry it with you. Please, let me in."

That—that is what does it.

Maybe it's Dick's voice, the way it softens with concern, real and there when you've spent the whole day feeling invisible. Maybe it's how he touches you—gentle but present, like he's anchoring you when you feel like you're floating away.

But something inside you shatters. It starts with a sharp inhale, shaky and uneven, and then your face crumples. The sob rips out of you before you can stop it, raw and broken, years of grief and exhaustion bubbling up all at once.

And Dick doesn't hesitate. He's there, arms wrapping around you the second you break. He pulls you into him, into his warmth, his comfort, lets you press your face into his chest as the dam bursts.

And you cling to him. The sobs wrack through you, deep and shuddering, the kind that shake your entire body, like they're trying to claw their way out of your chest. You bury yourself in him, fingers twisted tight in his shirt, holding on like he's the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

And maybe he is.

Your chest aches with it, like something sharp is wedged beneath your ribs, pressing down with every heaving breath. Your shoulders tremble, your whole body trembling, and it breaks Dick's heart to see you like this—vulnerable and shattered—but he's here. Holding you together.

His arms tighten around you, strong and steady, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. He's warm, grounding, his scent wrapping around you tighter than his embrace—clean soap and something inherently him, something that's always meant home.

"I'm here, my love," he murmurs into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. "I've got you. Let it out."

And you do let it out.

For every time you swallowed your pain and forced yourself to stand tall. For every moment you pretended it didn't hurt. For every single time someone told you to be strong and you did, even when it felt impossible.

A hiccuping sob tears out of you, your breath catching on the weight of it all, and you stutter through the words, barely getting them out.

"I—I h-hate everything." Your fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white. "I hate t-today."

"I know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I know. Let it out, it's okay."

And you do. It pours out of you like a flood, years of buried hurt and exhaustion spilling over all at once, and he holds you through all of it. His hands never stop moving, never stop touching, a constant, grounding presence. His palm moves over your back, his fingers brushing along your arm, his lips pressing against your temple, murmuring soft reassurances between every shaky breath.

And he doesn't tell you to stop. He doesn't tell you to breathe, doesn't try to talk you down, doesn't try to fix it, because he knows. Knows you just need this. Knows this isn't something that can be solved with a few soft spoken words.

So he just holds you. Lets you break, lets you cry until your body sags against him, exhausted, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, but the weight inside you slowly, slowly beginning to lift.

You sniffle, breath still hitching as you tilt your head up to look at him. Your eyes are red and puffy, lashes damp, tear tracks streaked down your flushed cheeks.

You feel wrecked, raw, stripped down to nothing but emotion, and you swallow thickly before whispering, "I'm s-sorry."

His reaction is instant.

His big, gentle hand cups your cheek, warm and steady, thumb brushing away some of the lingering tears. His expression softens, brows knitting together in that familiar look of concern, like the very idea of you apologizing for this physically hurts him.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice so tender it makes your chest ache. "There's no need to be sorry."

You shake your head, another sob catching in your throat, your whole body still trembling from the weight of everything crashing down at once. "B-but I—"

"Listen to me, please," he interrupts, voice firm but gentle, like he needs you to hear this. His thumb traces soothing circles against your skin, anchoring you, grounding you in his presence. "There's nothing wrong with crying. There's nothing wrong with feeling like crap sometimes. Shit happens, but it doesn't mean you have to bottle it up until it breaks you."

Your lips tremble, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

"You're not weak for being vulnerable," he continues, voice steady, unwavering. "You're human. And there's only so much you can take and bury before it snaps."

You stare at him, wide-eyed, like you're not sure if you should believe him. Like no one has ever told you this before.

His grip on you tightens, pulling you closer, until your foreheads nearly touch. His blue eyes stay locked onto yours, filled with nothing but love, nothing but understanding.

"I don't love you less because you show emotion," he says, voice softer, but no less sure. "I don't think you're weak. I think you're strong as hell for carrying so much on your own. But, baby, you don't have to."

He brushes another tear away, his touch so gentle, so intentional, like he's trying to soothe every hurt you've ever buried inside yourself.

"You have me," he murmurs. "You'll always have me."

And something about the way he says it—so honest, so real—makes your breath hitch, another wave of emotion swelling in your chest. Because you believe him. You believe him with your whole heart.

You sniffle, fingers still curled weakly into his shirt, as he presses a warm, lingering kiss to your forehead. His hands don't leave you—one stays cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing slow, steady strokes beneath your damp lashes, while the other holds firm at your back, keeping you here, anchoring you against him.

Then, softly, he asks, "Do you wanna talk about what happened today?"

His voice is careful, quiet. Not pushing, just offering. And you hesitate, swallowing past the lump in your throat, because... where do you even start? And would it even matter? Would saying it all out loud change anything?

Your breath shudders. You think about shaking your head, about brushing it off, like always. But before you can spiral, his arm tightens around your waist, a steady, grounding squeeze that pulls you back before you get lost in your head again.

"If you don't wanna talk, that's okay, my love," he reassures you. "You can take your time. I just don't want you to carry it alone."

God, that alone almost makes you start crying again. Because when has anyone ever said that to you?

Your throat feels tight as you shake your head, voice barely above a whisper when you murmur, "Not yet."

He doesn't hesitate. Just nods, like that's perfectly fine, like there's no rush, no expectation. And then he shifts, moving just enough to pull you in properly, his arms wrapping around you, guiding your head against his chest. You go easily, pressing into him, into the slow rise and fall of his breath, the steady thrum of his heart.

And for the first time all day, you breathe.

He holds you like he has no intention of letting go. Like it's the only thing he wants to do. And maybe it is, because he strokes your back in slow, soothing circles, presses a kiss to the top of your head every so often, murmuring little things between breaths.

"I've got you, my love. I'm right here."

"It's okay. Just breathe."

"I love you. I love you so much."

And it helps. It doesn't fix everything, doesn't erase the weight of the day, but it makes it bearable. Makes it lighter. Because his voice is steady, warm, and his arms are strong around you, and for once, you let yourself lean on him instead of trying to carry it all alone.

Your breathing slows. Your heartbeat evens out against his.

After a while, he shifts just slightly, just enough to glance down at you, voice gentle when he asks, "You wanna stay like this for a while? Or is there something else I can do for you?"

It takes you a second to answer. Not because you don't know, but because it feels like so long since someone's asked you that and meant it. Like really meant it.

And when you finally do murmur, "I'm... kinda hungry," you feel sheepish about it.

But Dick just smiles, presses another soft kiss into your hair, like that's the easiest thing in the world to fix. "Yeah?" he hums. "What do you want to eat, sweet girl?"

You shrug a little, because you don't know, not really. You're just... hungry. And maybe a little drained. And maybe just overwhelmed by the simple fact that he cares enough to ask.

But Dick doesn't push. Just tips his head slightly, considering, before he says, "What if I get us some ramen, baby?" he mpauses, tilting his head so he can catch your eyes, even in the dim light of the bedroom. "It's comforting, and you like it. But if you want something else, just say it, and it's yours."

The way he says it, so matter of fact, like it's not even a question, like your needs are just as important as anything else, makes your throat feel tight all over again.

But you swallow past it and shake your head, voice small but certain when you murmur, "No. Ramen sounds good."

His smile softens. "Yeah?"

You nod.

And he doesn't make you move. Doesn't untangle himself from you, doesn't try to pry your arms away from where they're still clinging to him. He just shifts enough to grab his phone from his pocket, orders your usual beside his without a second thought, then sets it down again and pulls you right back in.

You exhale. Sink into him a little more, his warmth, his scent, his steady, steady presence. And when you inhale again, it feels easier. Lighter.

The sound of the doorbell barely registers, but Dick shifts against you, murmuring, "That'll be our food, baby."

You don't want to move. You just started feeling okay again, cocooned in his arms, warmth pressed against warmth, steady heartbeat anchoring you like a lifeline. But he coaxes you up, not far, just enough to let him stand, just enough for him to pull you along with him.

"Come on, sweet girl," he murmurs, leading you into the living room. He sits you down on the couch, grabs your favorite fuzzy blanket from where it's draped over the back, and tucks it around your shoulders with such care it makes your chest ache. "Stay here, okay? I'll get it."

You nod. Just barely. And he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your hair before stepping away to answer the door.

You hear the quiet murmur of thanks as he takes the bags, the shuffling of his wallet, the door clicking shut again. Then he's back, setting the food down on the coffee table, unbagging it, portioning things out before handing you your bowl and chopsticks.

"Here you go, my love," he says, sitting beside you. "Eat."

You glance down at the ramen, warm and fragrant in your hands. You don't even realize how long you hesitate until Dick nudges your knee with his.

"Hey," he says softly. "You gotta eat, baby."

You sigh through your nose but take a bite, and the moment the warmth hits your tongue, you realize just how hungry you really are. How empty your stomach has felt all day.

Dick watches you, smiling faintly as he takes a bite of his own. But between every few bites, his eyes flick toward your bowl, making sure you're still eating. And when he catches you pausing again, staring into space, he taps his chopsticks against your bowl with a little clink, clink and raises an eyebrow at you.

"Eat," he says again, teasing this time.

And you do, because he's here, because it's warm, because—despite everything—this is the safest you've felt all day.

After dinner, you don't move much. Just curl into Dick's side, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, fingers lazily trailing up and down your spine. The TV is on, some random show playing in the background, but neither of you are really watching it. It's just there, filling the quiet spaces.

And at some point, you tilt your head slightly, press your cheek against his shirt, and let it out. The words come slowly at first, a little hesitant, like you're still deciding if you should, but Dick doesn't rush you. Just listens.

You tell him how you slept too much this morning, which threw everything off. How the coffee machine broke before you could even get a sip. How you didn't have time for breakfast, how you stepped straight into a puddle as soon as you walked outside, how the traffic was hell, how you were late to work.

And work itself? Awful. Demanding. A million things to do, not enough time to do them. And then your lunch got mixed up with someone else's, so you had to go the whole day on nothing but stress and frustration.

And then the bus was late. And the driver ignored you. And you had to wait for the next, which was full and uncomfortable. And when you were almost home, a car sped through a pothole and splashed cold, filthy water on your legs. And then, your wallet.

Your voice is a little rough as you tell him that someone must have lifted it because when you went to grab it, it was gone. No cash, no cards, nothing.

And then... your mom called.

Dick stiffens beneath you. Because that—that—explains so much.

He's always known. Always known how much she weighs on you. How nothing is ever enough for her. How no matter what you do, how hard you try, it never seems to make her happy. How you keep reaching for something you'll never grasp, keep hoping for things to change even though you know they won't.

And it makes him angry. Because how could she not see it? How could she not see how much you try, how much you give, how much you love? How could she not see how amazing you are?

How could she not treasure you?

But he doesn't say any of that. Not when you're still curled into him, voice soft and tired and frayed around the edges. He just holds you a little tighter and keeps listening.

The words taper off into a sigh, soft and tired, like the weight of the day has finally settled into your bones. And Dick—he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes against your back as he processes everything you've just said.

Then, he exhales. Steadies his voice. Keeps it gentle, keeps it steady, because this isn't about him. It's about you.

"She's wrong," he murmurs. "She always has been."

You shift against him slightly, but he doesn't let you pull away. Just holds you close, presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"You're enough," he says. "You always have been."

His voice is firm, but it's soft, too. Not an argument, not a debate, just a fact. A truth he needs you to understand.

"You try so hard, baby. You give so much, and I know she'll never see it the way she should, but I do." His fingers brush up, tangle lightly in your hair, thumb sweeping gentle over your temple. "I see you. And I love you. Just as you are. You don't have to prove anything to me."

You close your eyes, pressing closer, breathing him in like you need it, like it's the only thing keeping you grounded.

"And I wish she could see it," he murmurs. "I wish she could love you the way you deserve, but if she won't—" He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That's her loss."

A pause. Then, "You are everything to me."

And God, he means it. Every word. Every syllable.

He can feel it in the way you exhale, the way your body melts against his, how the tension finally starts to ebb away. And then you shift, just enough to tilt your head, to glance up at him through red rimmed eyes and damp lashes, and you whisper, voice still rough with emotion—

"I love you so much, baby."

His chest aches. A slow, easy smile tugs at his lips as he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too, sweet girl."

You sigh at that, soft and warm, nuzzling back into his chest as he wraps his arms around you again.

A quiet beat. Then he murmurs, "Better?"

And you nod, a little sheepish, but you mean it this time. Maybe for the first time in your life, you believe that it's okay to let go.

366 notes · View notes

waitimcomingtoo · 1 year ago

Text

Meet Me Behind The Mall

Pairing: shy!Peter Parker x popular!Reader

Synopsis: after getting ditched by your friends, you spend a day with Peter in the mall, who’s secret you recently figured out

Masterlist

In his peripheral vision, Peter could see a tiny piece of paper being pushed onto his side of the lab table. He curiously looked at it, then up at you. You nodded your head towards the note so Peter unfolded it.

“What’s the answer to number 7?” The note read. Peter glanced up at the professor before scribbling down the answer and passing the note back to you. You read his response and circled the correct answer. A few seconds passed when another note was passed across the table. Peter picked it up and opened it to reveal three hearts drawn around the words “thank u!”. Peter felt his face flush and looked over at you again. You gave him a thumbs up before going up to hand in your test.

After class, you caught up with Peter in the hallway and put your hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Thank you so much for helping me in there. I counted up all the answers I was confident I got right and it wasn’t enough to get a pass. I just don’t get this unit.”

“You’re welcome.” Was all Peter could say. He thought about offering to tutor you or telling you he also struggled with the topic, but he felt too shy to get anything more out than a cordial response.

“I bet you did really well. You always do. God, I wish I was as good at science as you are. It’s just never come naturally to me. How do you always know the answer?” You asked him as you continued to walk together.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and immediately scrunched his face in embarrassment. He wished he could be better at conversing with you, especially since you were always so nice to him. He saw a pack of your friends coming down the hallway and they waved you over, putting your conversation out of it’s misery.

“Bye, Peter. I’ll see you next class. Have a good weekend.” You waved to him as you ran to catch up with your large group of friends. He knew he should return the sentiment but instead stayed silent and gave you a pathetic wave back.

That night, the cheap alcohol of the frat party didn’t sit well with you so you headed home early. You were a pretty far walk from your dorm but felt too nauseas to get into a car. Instead, you started walking home and let the cold New York air calm you down.

“Where are you going, gorgeous?”

You felt panic drop in your stomach at the sound of a man’s voice somewhere in the darkness but kept walking to your dorm. The sound of footsteps behind you picked up behind you so you quickened your pace. You could still hear music coming from the party you had left so you knew people were nearby if worst came to worst.

“Hey. I’m talking to you. Where are you going?”The man asked as he caught up to you and walked beside you. You ignored him and tugged your jacket tighter around your body. He suddenly took you by the elbow and you froze in fear.

“Come on. Don’t be rude. Just give me a smile and I’ll leave you alone.” The man said with a sickening smile as he tried to get you to look at him.

“Please. I’ll give you whatever you want from my bag. Just leave me alone.” You pleaded and moved away from him. He snatched your purse from your hands and started to rummage through it.

“What the hell is this? This is just full of receipts.” He grimaced in disgust and pulled out a handful of crumbled receipts.

“I don’t want to throw them out in case I need to return something one day.” You said meekly.

“Do you even have a wallet? All I’m finding is lip gloss.” The man said as he picked up five different lip products from the bottom of your bag.

“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t find a better person to rob.” You scoffed sarcastically. The man looked up at you with a primal look in his eyes.

“Oh, you think you’re funny? I don’t like girls who think they’re funny.” He said and gripped your elbow again. You tried to pull away but he was too strong. Before you could tell him to let to, Spiderman dropped down next to you. You cracked a smile at the sight of him and let out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this but that purse does not to with that outfit.” Peter sassed and moved his hands in dramatic exasperation.

“Huh?” The guy said and let go of you.

“Now, you better not have left a bruise on this lovely lady’s elbows or you and I are gonna have a serious problem.” Peter warned as he shot a web at the guys pants. He yanked them down and the man’s jeans fell to his ankles.

“Hm. I did not peg you for a boxers guy. Your whole vibe screams “Fruit of the Loom” tighty whities. Yet now I stand corrected.” Peter said as he tilted his head to the side. You covered your mouth and let out a laugh, making the man grow angry. He went to lunge at Peter but tripped over his dropped pants.

“Uh oh. Someone’s angry. Maybe your whities are a little too tighty.” Peter commented as he pinched his fingers together. You laughed again as Peter shot a web at your purse.

“I’ll take that.” He quipped and yanked the purse out of the man’s hands.

“Thank you!” Peter said politely as he caught your purse.

“Hey!” The man shouted.

“Hey?” Peter laughed. “You’re yelling at me like it’s yours.”

The man tried to lunge at Peter again and ended up falling flat on his face. Peter took that as his cue to wrap an arm around you and pick you up to swing you to safety. He landed a few blocks away and carefully put you down. You stared at him through the mask as he put you down, your faces just inches apart. Peter gulped and felt his entire face go red beneath the mask.

“Thank you, Spiderman.” You smiled softly at him as you slowly withdrew your arm from around his neck.

“You’re very welcome, miss. I believe this belongs to you.” He said as he put your purse back into your hands. Your eyebrows knit together suddenly in confusion and you let out a short laugh.

“Wait, Peter?” You asked, making Peter’s heart drop.

“Uh, what?” He gulped. “Who’s that? I’m your friendly neighbor Spiderman.”

“Right. Sorry. You sound just like this guy in my chemistry class.” You laughed and shook your head. Peter felt his blush spread all the way to his ears over you recognizing the sound of his voice. You ran in different circles at school, you being apart of the popular group of girls and him belonging to a small group of local nerds. That being said, your ever present kindness towards him left him to develop a small crush on you.

“Oh. Well, that’s not me. But he sounds really handsome.” Peter replied, making you laugh again.

“He is.” You nodded without an ounce of sarcasm in your voice. This piked his curiosity and he leaned in a little.

“He is?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” You nodded. “In a hot nerd kind of way. Like Spencer Reid. But kinda short. Which I’m not sure why I’m telling you now that I hear myself.”

“It’s okay. I like that show too.” He chuckled shyly. “He sounds really cool.”

“He is really cool. At least, I think he is. But I’m not really sure. Everytime I try to talk to him, he looks away.” You sighed like you were disappointed. Peter realized you were a little drunk and probably didn’t know what you were saying. Even if that was the case, it was still nice to hear.

“Maybe he’s just shy. And doesn’t know how to look pretty girls in the eye.” Peter said as he kicked a rock around with his foot.

“That’s a shame.” You smiled sadly. “Because I think he and I could be friends if he ever learned to look at me.”

Peter stopped messing with the rock and looked up at you. There was a smallness to you tonight that shone through your party dress and heavy makeup. Your typically bright hand bubbly demeanor was cloudy by something you weren’t telling him.

“Maybe he’ll start.” He told you.

“I hope so.“ You answered honestly. “He seems nice. I could use a friend like him.”

Standing under that streetlight, Peter noticed a sadness to you for the first time. You were usually in a circle of friends all wearing smiles but right now, you seemed completely alone down to your bones.

“So how was your night?” He asked in a quiet voice. You stared off into the distance as your eyes brimmed with tears suddenly.

“Do you ever feel completely alone despite being in a room full of people you know?” You asked him.

“I do, actually. All the time.” He answered. You looked at him and smiled sadly.

“Do really, Spiderman?” You asked with hope in your voice. It wasn’t that you wanted him to feel alone. You just wanted to know you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

“I do. Is that how you felt tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Sometimes I make jokes and my friends all look at each other. And they all make this face as if they’re thinking the same thing. And what they’re thinking is that I’m a freakish alien who they’re embarrassed to know. That’s how I felt tonight.”

“Well that’s no fun. And you’re not a freakish alien. You’re very funny.”

“And you know that because you’re the cute guy in my chemistry class?” You asked with a hopeful smile.

“I’m not him. I’m just guessing that you’re funny. So maybe you are an alien. I don’t know. This is our first time meeting.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes. “So how do you think you did on the last test? I actually feel pretty confident.”

“I don’t know because I didn’t take any test because I’m not the guy in your chemistry class. Now can I walk you home? It’s freezing out here and I have no jacket to offer you.”

“Sure, thanks. I’m this way.” You said and pointed in the direction of your dorm. Peter placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you towards your dorm.

“You should get a friend to walk with you next time you leave a party. It’s not safe to be out here by yourself. Especially with guys like that going around snatching purses.”

“I know. I asked my friends but they weren’t ready to leave yet.” You shrugged.

“And they let you walk home alone? Drunk? Sounds like you need some new friends.” Peter joked but you nodded in agreement.

“I know. But you know how friends can be. They still wanted to party. Why should I be their problem?” You shrugged again, making Peter frown.

“It’s not a problem to look out for you.” He said simply.

“That’s easy for you to say. You look out for everyone. It’s your job.” You reminded him.

“I’m not just saying that because of my job. It wouldn’t be a burden to take care of you no matter who I was.” Peter replied, making you stop walking. He looked at you and you looked that you had been waiting your whole life to hear what he had just said.

“Thank you.” You said with a fond smile.

“You’re very welcome.” Peter replied in an equally soft voice. You kept walking in comfortable silence until you reached the girls dorm.

“This is my dorm.” You told him. Thanks again for walking me home. And getting my purse back for me.”

“Anytime.”He nodded. “I just hope it doesn’t happen again. But if it did, you know.”

“You’d be here.” You finished his sentence.

“Exactly.” He smiled. “You can count on it.”

You couldn’t see the smile under his mask but you knew it was there. You held up your purse to show him that you had it before walking up a few of your dorm steps.

“See you at school?” You asked him.

“Don’t think so.” Peter chuckled. You squinted your eyes as if you didn’t believe him but eventually shrugged.

“That’s too bad. Good night.” You waved to him and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

“Good night.” He called after you.

Once Monday came, you were determined to talk to Peter. You didn’t have chemistry that day so you’d have to find him elsewhere on campus. You knew he usually hung out in the library so you went there to check. Sure enough, he was at a table with his friends Ned and Miles.

“Hey, Peter.” You greeted as you walked up to him.

“H-hi.” He stammered. “What are you? I mean, how are you up? I mean, how are you? What’s up?”

“There we go.” Ned nodded. “I knew he’d get there eventually.”

“I’m good.” You replied. “How are you doing?”

“Ooo. Is this your girlfriend from chemistry class?” Miles asked as his raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Is that what you told them?” You smiled in surprise as you looked at Peter.

“No. I didn’t. I swear.“ He assured you as his entire face went red.

“He did show us the note you gave him.” Ned told you.

“Oh yeah. Three hearts. I didn’t realize you guys were so serious.” Miles teased Peter as he gave his friends a look that begged them to stop.

“I never said she was my girlfriend.” Peter whispered harshly to them. You could tell he was getting embarrassed so you played along to save him. You frowned and ran your fingers through his hair before letting your hand rest on his cheek.

“What? You didn’t tell them about us, baby?” You asked and titled your head to the side. Miles and Ned’s made surprised faces as Peters entire face went red.

“W-what?” Peter sputtered out.

“I’m messing with you.” You smiled. “But I do need to talk to you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” Peter said and moved his bag so you could sit down. You looked at Miles and Ned and smiled timidly.

“Privately.” You clarified. Miles and Ned “oooo”ed as you walked away from their table and went into the hall.

“Dude, follow her.” Ned told him and pushed Peter up from the table. Peter nervously fixed his hair and got up to follow you.

“What’s up?” He asked once you were alone. You looked around to see who was watching before stepping closer to him.

“I just wanted to thank for getting my purse back for me. It’s my favorite bag. And my favorite lip combo was in there. You really saved me.” You said and squeezed his arm in appreciation.

“Oh, you’re welcome. Anytime.” Peter said waved his hand like it was no big deal. Your lips curved into a wicked smile and Peter realized his mistake.

“Shit.” He whispered as you jumped up and down and clapped your hands.

“I knew it!” You whispered. “I knew that was your voice!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said quickly.

“Yes you do.” You grinned and poked him in the chest.

“I really don’t.” He shrugged but he knew he was caught.

“Then why are you so flustered right now?” You folded your arms to ask him. Peter touched his burning cheek and debated telling you his face always did that around you.

“I’m not.” He lied.

“Your face is hot.” You pointed out as you touched a cold hand to his cheek.

“Psht. Your face is hot.” He scoffed and pushed your hand away.

“Thank you.” You said pointedly. “But you and I both know that I figured out your little secret. There’s no point in denying it now.”

“I don’t have any secrets. So you don’t know anything.”

“Come on, Peter.” You whined. “I’ve been waiting all weekend to tell you that I know. I wanted to text you but I don’t have your number and I couldn’t find you on Instagram. You have one, don’t you?”

“I’m not on social media.” He told you.

“Okay. That’s serial killer behavior but I’m willing to look past it if you confirm my suspicions.” You said and excitedly drummed your fingers on your chin.

“I’m not Spiderman. So I cannot confirm your suspicions.” He whispered for only you to hear. You smirked a little before shrugging.

“I guess you can’t.” You sighed. “It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s weird?” He wondered.

“That I never said you were Spiderman. I just thanked you for getting my purse.” You said with a coy smile. Peter hung his head in shame as he confirmed to you for the second time that he was in fact Spiderman.

“I knew it! I knew it was you. I even recognized the way you walk.” You said proudly.

“What do you know about the way I walk?” He asked with a shy smile.

“You walk really stiff like you’re holding two invisible briefcases.” You explained and demonstrated for him with a near perfect imitation of how he walked.

“What? No I don’t. Oh wait. Yeah, I kinda do.” He realized as he watched you.

“You definitely do. Now can you please just tell me I’m right? I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I need to hear you tell me I was right.” You begged him as you put your hands on his shoulders. Peter playfully rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sighed.

“You right.” He mumbled.

“Yes! I knew I was right!” You cheered. “Everything makes sense now. That’s why you’re always disappearing or yawning or bruised. You’re probably up every night getting girls purses, aren’t you?”

“Not always purses.” He instead. “Sometimes it’s bikes. And one time, a mean chihuahua.”

“Wow.” You said with genuine amazement. “So how long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was 15.”

“15? Damn. I was exhausted from working 4 hours a week at Kohl’s at 15. How do you do it? You must be so tired.” You frowned and rubbed his arm kindly.

“It’s tiring but someone has to do it.” He shrugged. “Just like someone has to hand out Kohl’s cash.”

“Thats true.” You chuckled. “And that’s a very selfless way to look at it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He smiled shyly. “But please, you can’t tell anyone about this. Nobody else knows.”

“Duh.” You replied. “This is our secret.”

“Yeah. Ours.” He smiled and felt his face heat up at the mention of something belonging to only the two of you. Your moment was cut short by one of your friends coming up to you and completely disregarding Peter.

“Hey, girl. I need your notes from class today.” She said to you.

“Oh, sure. How come you weren’t there?” You asked her.

“Liz and I went got coffee instead.” She replied. Peter could tell you were hurt they didn’t ask you to come get coffee but you just smiled and nodded.

“I’ll text them to you.” You told her.

“Thanks. Let’s go to the library. I need you to look at my English paper and tell me if it’s good.” She said and nodded towards the library. You looked at Peter and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Bye, Peter. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” You told him before leaving with your friend.

“Why were you talking to that lesbian?” Your friend asked you as you walked away.

“That wasn’t a lesbian. That was my friend Peter.” He heard you tell her before going into the library. He watched you disappear and let out a little sigh. He knew he was going to over analyze that entire conversation for probably the rest of his life, or at least until the next time you spoke.

That weekend, Peter headed to the mall a few blocks from campus to do some wandering by himself since Ned was busying. He did a little shopping before taking a seat on the mall fountain to check his texts. He was so engrossed in his phone that he didn’t notice you walk up to him.

“Well, well, well.” You chuckled, making him look up at you and blush.

“It’s a fountain, actually.” Peter deadpanned, making you crack a smile.

“You’re stupid. Move over.” You laughed and sat beside him. Your knees were touching which made Peters face warm up the way it always seemed to around you.

“Should I be worried? I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.” He teased you.

“Excuse me? I was just walking around and saw you. You’re the one who keeps ending up placed I’m already in.”

“Sounds like something a stalker would say.” He said out of the corner of his mouth.

“You wish I was your stalker. Now come on, give me the haul. What did you buy?” You asked him and nodded towards his bag.

“Socks and boxers.” He smiled proudly and held up his items.

“Oh shit. You did not come to play.”

“I really didn’t.” He played along, making you laugh again. You stared at him for a minute with a fond smile and he stared back with a matching one.

“What?” He wondered.

“You’re talking to me.”

“So?” He laughed shyly. “You’re talking to me.”

“No, I mean, like. Full eye contact. And full sentences. Who is this man? I’ve been waiting to meet him forever.” You teased him and he playfully rolled his eyes.

“I guess it’s easier to talk to you now that you know my secret. You’re not as scary anymore.”

“I was scary before?” You gasped and pretended to be offended.

“Yes. Girls like you are very terrifying to me.”

“Girls like me?” You smiled coyly.

“Pretty girls who are nice to me. I really wish you were a giant snake or the multi-bear from Gravity Falls or something. That’s way less scary.” He insisted.

“You’d rather talk to the multi-bear than me?”You scoffed. “I have half a mind to forget about you and go stalk some other guy.”

“No, please. Stay. I forgot how awkward it is to shop alone and I still need to get a belt.” He pretended to beg and put a hand on your leg to get you to stay. You looked at the hand on your leg and cracked a smile at the unexpected contact from him.

“Well I would never abandon a man on a belt quest.” You replied, making him laugh.

“Thank you. What about you? What are you looking for?”

He could have said “shopping for” but that’s not what he meant. He wanted to know what you were looking for. You cracked a smile as if you understood what he was asking.

“Better friends, actually. Have you seen any?” You asked with a playful but sad smile.

“I just saw your friends in H&M.” He told you and pointed to the store. You shrugged a little and shook your head.

“Yeah. I saw them too. After they all told me they were busy today and couldn’t hang out.” You admitted without looking at him. Peter frowned and moved closer to you.

“They came here without you?”

“I asked them to hang out. They all said they couldn’t. But now I’m getting a sneaking suspicion there’s a second group chat that I’m not in.” You laughed but he knew it was fake.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

“I came here to cheer myself up and ended up feeling 200 times worse when I saw them all hanging out without me. I didn’t even say anything to them because I didn’t want them to feel bad for not inviting me. Not that they ever care when they make me feel bad.” You laughed again but it ended up in a sigh. You stared at your shoes for a second and Peter stayed silent.

“Girls suck.” You said after a beat. “Not always, of course, but when they suck, they really suck. They know how painful it can be to be the only one left out. But they still did it to me. I don’t understand why.”

“Neither do I. I thought those girls were your friends?”

“I don’t know. I kinda saw this coming.” You admitted. “I started to notice that I was always the one texting first. And always the one trying to make plans. And when they did text me, they were asking me for something. It was never just to check in on me.”

“That’s really hurtful. I’m sorry. I’ve been there too. It sucks when you realize that if you stopped reaching out to someone, you’d probably never speak again.” Peter replied, making you smile sadly at him.

“Exactly. Or when you wonder how long it would take them to notice if you stopped reaching out. And worse, wonder if they’d notice at all.”

“No one deserves to feel that way. Especially not someone as kind and considerate as you. You really do need new friends.” He nodded in agreement, making you genuinely laugh this time.

“We’re friends, right? Because I know your secret.”

“We can be friends.” Peter nodded, bringing a smile out of you.

“Thanks.” You told him and gave his shoulder a rub. Peter felt a sudden burst of confidence and decided to keep the momentum he had built.

“You’re probably gonna say no to this, but Ned and I were gonna get sandwiches and then build legos together tomorrow. You can come, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to give me a pity invite to your sandwich and Lego party.” You told him.

“It’s not a pity invite. I want you to be there. It would make me happy to have you around.” Peter answered, making you smile once again. It was the simple change from “you can come” to “I wanted you to be there” that made all the difference.

“Do you want to hang out with me today?” You asked him.

“Yeah. I do.” He said immediately. You stood up and held out your hand for him to take.

“Come on. Let’s go look at the home decor.”

Peter took your hand and let you pull him towards the home decor store in the mall. He awkwardly ran ahead of you so that he could open the door for you but it was worth it when he saw you smiling.

“Thank you.” You said curtly and walked inside. He followed you around the store like a puppy dog and listened to your commentary on the various throw pillows and wall art as if it was words from a prophet.

“This would be perfect for you.” You gasped and held up an old Halloween pillow that had a sequenced spiderweb on it along with a spider made up of mostly fallen off beads.

“Is my job a joke to you?” He laughed and flicked the pillow.

“I mean, I did see some funny videos of you online. How often do you miss your webs and fall into bushes?”

“Bushes are rare, actually. It’s usually car hoods and hot dog stands.” He admitted.

“Ouch.” You grimaced. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No. Hot dog stands are really soft.” He said seriously. You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store.

“I love that I’m the only one that knows this about you.” You told him.

“You really do, don’t you?” He realized with an amused smile.

“Well, yeah. I always knew there was something about you and learning this vindicated me so hard.”

“Something about me? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re so allusive.” You shrugged. “Always disappearing and reappearing from places. Not on any sports teams but will never miss when throwing something into the trash from across the room. Knows all the answers in chemistry but never raises his hand. Ripped but hides it under Catholic school boy sweaters. I always wondered about you. Now I know.”

“Wow. You pick up on a lot of details. Nobody’s ever really noticed me like that.” Peter said as he looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how flustered that made him.

“That you know of.” You corrected. “Because I noticed you a long time ago and you had no idea until now.”

“I notice you too.” He said as he looked into your eyes. You smiled at the eye contact and stayed looking at him.

“So, uh, were you just messing with me when you told Spiderman that you thought I was, you know.”

“A hot nerd?”

“Yeah. That.” He laughed shyly.

“I wasn’t messing with you.” You shrugged. “Or him. Either of you. I meant what I said.”

“So did I. I really don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”

“We’re just regular people. Aside from our razor sharp teeth and detachable feet.”

“Why would you need to detach your feet?” He laughed.

“I don’t know but I used to have these dolls when I was younger where you’d yank their whole foot off to change their shoes. And they’d just have a little nub until you put new feet on them. God forbid you lose one of their shoes. Then they have no feet and had to walk around my dollhouse with nubs”.

“To be a woman is to perform.” He nodded along.

“Shut up.” You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store. You ended up buy some statue of an animal that you mentioned your mom liked to collect and Peter carried your bag for you into the next store.

“So who else knows about this secret? Besides us two.” You asked as you flipped through a clothing rack.

“My best friend. But that’s because he accidentally walked in on me in my suit. And my aunt. Who found out in the exact same way.”

“Sounds like you need to invest in a giant trench coat to cover yourself with when entering and exiting your room.” You told him.

“That’s a really good idea, actually. Do you think they sell those here?” He asked, making you laugh.

“So I was the first to figure it out?”

“You were. And now I’m really hoping it’s not obvious.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s obvious. I’m just very observant.”

“Of everything or just me?” He asked you.

“Just you.” You teased, making him blush again.

“What else have you observed about me?” He wondered.

“A few things, actually. You keep flexing your hand and I’m starting to think you’re working up the nerve to hold mine. That or you’re fighting the urge to punch me so I’m hoping it’s the former. I also observed that you haven’t checked your phone once since I found you and you’re letting me pick all the stores we go into.”

“Wow. And what do your observations tell you?”

“That you like me.” You said simply and continued looking at the clothes.

“What?” Peter sputtered. “No I don’t.”

“Says the boy who got my purse back from a burglar. Classic crush culture right there.” You clicked your tongue and shook your head.

“What?” He laughed. “That is not what I do when I have a crush on a girl. That’s just my job.”

“All right then. So what do you do when you have a crush?”

“Avoid eye contact and hope she likes shy tendencies. And open doors for her, obviously.” Peter said as he opened the door for you into the next store.

“Good to know.” You said and gave him a pleased smile as you passed him. He continued to follow you down the aisles of the store while holding your collection of clothes you wanted to try on.

“So why spiders? I’ve always wondered why you named yourself after arguably the worst bug of all time. Why not something more palatable like Lady Bug Man? Or Moth Man and then you could live under a bridge and spook people?” You asked as you handed him another dress for you to try on.

“It was a spider bite that gave me the abilities, actually. That’s where I got the name.” He explained as you disappeared behind a changing room curtain. You opened it up after a few seconds in one of the dresses you had taken off the rack.

“Really? I never would’ve guessed that. I’m learning so much right now.” You said as you turned around and moved your hair away from your neck. Peter blushed and picked up what you were implying and zipped the dress for you. You turned back around and gave him a grateful smile.

“What else do you want to know?” He asked with a shy smile. He usually categorized himself as shy and never wanting to be the center of attention, but right now he was hoping you had more questions to ask him. He liked being the center of attention when it was your attention he was getting.

“Why red and blue?” You wondered.

“Red for my mom’s red hair and blue for the car my dad drove.” Peter said out loud for the first time.

“Aw, Peter.” You pouted. “That’s really beautiful. I love that.”

“Thank you. I never told anybody that before.” He admitted.

“Hm. Something else just between us, then.” You winked at him before shutting the dressing room curtain again.

When you left that store, Peter opened the door for you on the way out with his free hand and held your bags with his other hand. As you walked through the mall, yours hands kept bumping against each others. It happened so many times in a row that Peter was starting to think he was doing it on purpose.

“You can, you know. If you want to.” You said without looking at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter lied as your hands bumped once again.

“Okay. Never mind, then.” You replied and kept walking. Peter decided to do something for once and took your hand. You didn’t say anything but smirked and gave his hand a squeeze. You stayed holding hands as you went to a few more stores and ended up back by the fountain. Through the streams of water, you suddenly spotted the very group of friends that had left you out.

“Oh God. It’s them.” You gasped and stopped short. Peter thought you were going to drop his hand but you didn’t.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked. “I can stick to the wall if that at all helps.”

“Well I’m definitely gonna need to see that at some point but not right now. I need to hide.” You decided and looked around for the nearest exit. During your search, you heard the sound of your friends laughing and it made your stomach drop. You didn’t want to run away anymore and pretend that the things they did didn’t hurt you. They did. And it was time they knew that.

“Actually, no.” You decided. “Why should I hide to make them more comfortable? They did something mean to me. I shouldn’t run away just so they don’t have to face what they did. I should go talk to them.”

“Let’s do it.” Peter agreed and you smiled. You blew out a nervous breath before walking up to the group of girls.

“Hey guys! So glad your schedules freed up.” You greeted them with a friendly smile. They all froze and either looked down at the ground or at you with stunned expressions. You took your time looking at every one of their guilty faces with an unamused expression.

“We were gonna text you.” Liz said quickly.

“Don’t even worry about it.” You told her. “In fact, don’t text me ever again. I deserve friends who include me. Not people who keep me around just in case they need something from me.”

“So what? You’re gonna ditch us to hang out with losers?” Liz scoffed and looked at Peter. You felt bad that Peter had caught a stray but he wasn’t phased.

“You’re the ones who just lost a good friend. And missed out on a fun day at the mall with the coolest girl in New York. So I’m pretty sure that makes you guys the losers.” Peter stated. Everyone, including you, was shocked to hear those words out of the notoriously shy Peter’s mouth. You looked at him and gave him a grateful smile.

“Yeah.” You agreed. “You guys are losers. You all say bad things about each other behind each other’s back and I’m sure you did the same to me so I can’t say I’m gonna miss this friend group. But I do have to thank you for ditching me or else I wouldn’t have found a real friend.”

“Who? This lesbian?” One of the other girls scoffed and gestured to Peter.

“Yeah.” Peter snapped. “This lesbian.“

“Now if you’ll excuse us, Peter needs to find a belt.” You said and walked away with Peter following right behind you. You didn’t drop his hand as you did a half walk half run through the mall as adrenaline rushed through you. Once you were far enough away from them, you stopped running.

“That felt good.” You said through an out of breath laugh.

“For me too.” Peter agreed. “And I was almost entirely uninvolved in that situation.”

“Come on. I wanna do the Photo Booth and immortalize this day.” You said and excitedly pulled him into the Photo Booth. Peter shut the curtain while you picked the boarder for the pictures, purposefully choosing one that had red hearts all over it.

“Okay. We only have five seconds between pictures so you have to pick your poses quickly.” You told him as the countdown began.

“But I’m so awkward. I don’t know how to pose.” Peter said as the countdown dwindled down.

“Just smile and look like you like me.” You said and pressed your cheek against his to smile for the camera. The camera flashed and you slung your arm around him for the next photo. The camera flashed again and Peter gulped.

“I do like you.” He said in a soft voice as he turned to look at you.

You looked at him and leaned in just as the camera flashed. You were still kissing when the fourth and final flash went off but you didn’t care. You pulled Peter closer by his shirt while his hands snaked around your waist. You pushed him away suddenly with a suspicious look on your face.

“Wait, do the webs, like, come out of your butt ever?”

“What? No.” He laughed. “They don’t come out of me at all. I built devices and developed a web fluid to shoot out of them. I don’t actually produce webs.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nodded and pulled him back into a kiss. He kissed you back for a moment before pulling away.

“Wait, would that have been a deal breaker if I did? Produce webs, I mean.” He asked you.

“I mean, I’d still like you but I don’t know if I could date a guy who could physically produce webs in his body. I just think that would really gross me out. Producing webs is I think where I’d have to draw the line.”

“So does that mean you’d date a guy who doesn’t produce webs?” He asked with a hopeful smile.

“Isn’t that every guy?” You pointed out.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess it kinda is.” He realized. “Well, would you date a guy who is far more likely to shoot webs from his butt than the average man? Given his spider themed career path?”

“Well, I don’t know. I never thought about that before.” You pursed your lips and pretended to give it genuine though. Peter playfully rolled his eyes at you and cupped your face to kiss you again.

“What do you think now?” He asked with your face still in his hands.

“I think I would.” You smiled and tugged his shirt to bring him back into a kiss.

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AI-Optimized Last-Mile Delivery: The Next Frontier for Subscription Services

Introduction

In the expanding world of subscription-based commerce, from pet food to protein bars, companies are enjoying steady revenue streams—but they're also feeling the financial pressure of last-mile logistics. This final leg of the supply chain can account for up to 53% of total costs, often due to fragmented deliveries and rising consumer expectations for speed (MIT Sloan Review).

AI is now stepping into this costly space, offering data-driven solutions that promise not just efficiency but transformation. Drawing insights from Stanley Frederick W.T. Lim’s Winter 2025 article in MIT Sloan Management Review, this post explores how artificial intelligence can cut last-mile delivery costs while improving customer satisfaction in the subscription economy.

The Challenge: Last-Mile Delivery in Subscription Models

Traditional retail shipments are already complex—but recurring subscriptions magnify the problem:

Many orders are small and frequent.

Delivery windows are tight.

Margins are eroded by fuel, labor, and logistics costs.

Cost Component% of Supply Chain CostFirst-Mile Logistics10–20%Warehouse Handling15–20%Last-Mile DeliveryUp to 53%

With this level of strain, lowering last-mile costs is not optional—it’s a competitive necessity.

How AI Can Redefine Last-Mile Efficiency

AI’s strength in this domain lies in prediction, pattern recognition, and route optimization. Here are three powerful applications companies can adopt:

1. Predictive Order Grouping (POG)

AI models can anticipate when customers will need replenishment based on consumption patterns or IoT signals—allowing companies to batch deliveries by time and location.

Prompt Example:

“Use historic order data and IoT sensor inputs to predict when each customer will need refills of their top five subscribed products, and group deliveries by ZIP code.”

Customer IDProductReorder DateZIP CodeDelivery Batch101Pet Food2025-06-0290210Batch A102Coffee Pods2025-06-0390210Batch A103Baby Wipes2025-06-0210001Batch B

Subscription companies can use AI to schedule deliveries by neighborhood, reducing cost per drop and increasing delivery density.

Real-world examples:

Imperfect Foods and Misfit Markets use ZIP-code batching for weekly grocery deliveries.

European grocery chains achieved 43% transportation cost reduction using AI-driven scheduling (MIT Sloan Review).

Prompt Example:

“Cluster all deliveries within a 10 km radius and generate a weekly delivery window that maximizes overlapping orders.”

3. The MBAR Model: Market Basket Automatic Replenishment

AI can also drive automated, neighborhood-level replenishment of common household items. This new model—MBAR—uses IoT and ML to forecast usage patterns and trigger delivery before customers even ask.

ProductHouseholdsDelivery DateBatch IDDish SoapH1, H3, H6, H72025-06-05WestBlock-ACerealH2, H4, H5, H82025-06-05WestBlock-ATrash BagsH3, H52025-06-05WestBlock-A

Smart Layer: Fridges, pantries, or sensors detect low stock and feed this data into delivery batching logic.

Benefits of AI-Driven Last-Mile Optimization

BenefitImpactLower Delivery CostUp to 43% savings via route and order optimizationGreater SustainabilityFewer trips reduce carbon emissionsBetter Customer LoyaltySeamless experience encourages renewalScalable FulfillmentAI lets small teams manage large networks efficiently

Here are seven practical prompts professionals can use with tools like ChatGPT to build and refine last-mile strategies:

📦 1. Optimize Delivery Routes

“Cluster these customer deliveries (CSV attached) by ZIP code and generate an optimized weekly delivery schedule with the lowest total kilometers.”

🛍️ 2. Simulate MBAR

“Using the customer usage data below, simulate an MBAR subscription model that groups deliveries by neighborhood and sends pre-shipment alerts.”

🧮 3. Evaluate Cost Savings

“Compare the total cost of delivering 10 orders individually versus grouping them into 2 batches of 5. Assume €5 per trip and €0.50 per picked item.”

📊 4. Design a Manager Dashboard

“Mock up a dashboard for subscription logistics, including KPIs like Delivery Cost/Order, Missed Delivery Rate, and Batching Rate.”

💬 5. Generate Eco-Friendly Messaging

“Write 3 email variations that tell customers their shipment will be batched for delivery this weekend—emphasizing cost savings and sustainability.”

🧪 6. A/B Test MOV Thresholds

“Design an A/B test to measure the impact of raising the minimum order value (MOV) from €30 to €50. What data should we track and how do we evaluate?”

🔄 7. Prototype Replenishment Logic

“Write a basic Python script that estimates when to reorder each product based on average daily usage and current inventory.”

Implementation Considerations

Before launching any AI-driven last-mile strategy, companies must prepare:

✅ High-quality, structured data is the foundation.

✅ Customer education helps build buy-in for pooled deliveries.

✅ System interoperability is needed between order management, routing, and customer experience layers.

Unique Insight: From Fast to Smart Delivery

Same-day delivery made waves in the 2010s—but today, “smart” beats “fast.” AI enables companies to offer more reliable, sustainable, and cost-effective service by understanding when, what, and how to deliver without sacrificing customer experience.

Smart fulfillment is not about speed; it’s about precision, efficiency, and intelligence.

Final Thoughts

AI is reshaping last-mile logistics from a cost center into a competitive advantage. Whether through predictive grouping, geographic batching, or MBAR-style automation, the future of subscription fulfillment lies in proactive, AI-optimized delivery systems.

Companies that adapt now will lead tomorrow.

References

Lim, Stanley Frederick W.T. Cutting Last-Mile Delivery Costs. MIT Sloan Management Review, 2025.

Source: AI-Optimized Last-Mile Delivery: The Next Frontier for Subscription Services

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astars-things · 16 days ago

Note

Helloo ur Hughes x Lando Norris is so good can u maybe do like one where there are all at the Lake house (with her family) and it’s just like fluffy and cute? Idkk anyways byeee

Y/n Hughes x Lando Norris

1.9k words hope you all like it

Why did we agree to this? You thought to yourself as you boarded the plane at 3 am in Monaco to fly to Michigan to enjoy two weeks off with Lando and your family, you wore a pair of sweatpants with a quadrant hoodie and some slippers, while Lando wore a quadrant set, you both went for comfort over style. You both had a 14-hour-plus travel day.

It was 5 pm when the plane finally touched down, Lando grabbed both of your carry-ons without hesitation, and interlocked your hands, making your way to baggage claim the two of you navigated your way through the crowded terminal toward baggage claim, picking up your duffel bags that were filled to the brim, and making your way to security.

Lando had gone full Lando this trip, insisting on having one of his McLarens shipped over weeks in advance, because he hated not being the one in control of the car, and also, you were told by the head of admin to get some content for the McLarens' Instagram page, So it was a win-win situation

Once the car was filled, Lando and you made your way to the lake house, which was an hour drive considering you both made a pit stop to get some food. The moment the car pulled into the gravel driveway and you saw Jack waving wildly from the porch, all your fatigue faded.

"About time!" Jack called as you stepped out of the car, Lando trailing behind you with both of your duffels thrown over his shoulders like some kind of pack mule. "Shut up," You said flinging your arms around Jack, both muttering how you missed each other. Soon Luke and Quinn appeared, hugging you and dabbing Lando up. The first night was spent with you and Lando intertwined in bed getting some much-needed sleep.

The next morning, you went downstairs still wearing one of Lando’s oversized t-shirts, making yourself a coffee before starting on breakfast. You made chocolate protein pancakes for all the boys, cutting up some fruit and laying out all the different toppings for everyone to choose their own. Just as you were wiping your hands on a dish towel one by one, they all started appearing, with messy hair that looked like they were electrocuted, and some were half asleep.

Lando came up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back into a solid chest. A smile tugged at your lips before he even spoke. kissing your shoulder. One thing about Lando was that he was very clingy when he woke up in the morning "Hey baby", he hummed his voice still thick with sleep. "Lando let go of my sister before you squeeze her to death", Luke muttered in a tired voice from the other side of the kitchen, his hair sticking up in about five different directions.

Without turning around, Lando lifted a hand to give Luke the middle finger, still holding you in the other arm. “Real mature,” Quinn snorted.

Later that day, Lando had lost a bet of rock-paper-scissors between you two about who was going to drive the jet ski, you had been playful bickering about it all morning. Once you both had your life jackets on, you made your way to where the jet skis had been docked, You were already grinning as you climbed onto the first one, your hands confidently gripping the handlebars like you were born to drive it.

While lando was stood on the dock "If I die Luke you can have my Mclaren" Lando shouted before saying a little prayer "Fuck yeah" you heard Luke yell without even a second of hesitation. Rolling your eyes, you weren't that bad, right?

"Hold on tight, Norris," you said, flashing a mischievous smile as you revved the engine, "Try not to scream too loud." Lando was perched behind you, arms already wrapped around your waist, knuckles white as he clung on like his life actually depended on it. "Babe, please go slow", Lando begged. You smirked. "Where’s the fun in that?"

When you finally slowed to a stop near the shore, Lando scrambled off the jet ski, legs shaking as he stumbled onto the dock, dramatically falling to his knees like he’d survived a near-death experience.

"I saw my life flash before my eyes," he panted. "And it was all just Papaya." All four of you laughed at Lando being dramatic, "You're fine," You said, patting Lando on the head "I think I'm scarred for life, babe", Lando let out before coming over to you and placing a kiss. Once you finally got back to the house,

You both had a shower, stealing a few lazy kisses under the stream before throwing on clean clothes and heading outside to join everyone else. Both making your way outside, where you saw your brothers, Trevor, Cole and Alex, who had come back from a day of shopping. Sitting around the fire while your parents and some of their friends were off on the patito, you made your way over to your parents, and Lando walked over to the boys.

"Yo, Lando, can you take us drifting later? I saw that car you brought." Trevor said as soon as Lando sat down, Lando’s eyes lit up instantly. "You mean my baby? Absolutely." Jack was shaking his head, and Luke went pale, having a PTSD moment from when he did the hot laps with Lando, "If you value your life, don't get in his car", Jack spoke, taking a sip of his beer

"Let me go ask the missus first", Lando spoke, standing up from his seat, making his way to you. All he could hear was the boys calling him a simp or that he was whipped for you. Lando shrugged, completely unbothered. "Yeah. And? Have you seen her? I'd do anything she says."

When Lando made his way back over, he threw an arm around your shoulder and leaned in close, resting his chin on top of your head with a smile that was both smug and soft. "Hey, pretty girl, are you okay if I take some of the guys out drifting?" Lando asked, and your parents and their friends laughed at how Lando asked you for permission "I like this kid more every day," your dad said.

You giggled, you looked up at Lando, "I mean, yeah, just be careful. Make sure they all sign waivers, don’t do anything too illegal, and for the love of God, don’t get pulled over. I’m not bailing you out of jail." Lando let out a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just broken his heart. "What? You’d just leave me there? Rotting away in some tiny Michigan cell?" You raised an eyebrow. "Well… yeah. Might teach you a lesson." He placed a kiss on your head "Don't worry, I'll keep it under 200" Lando smirked

"Lando", you said, giving him a look that makes him shiver "Okay, okay!" He threw his hands up in surrender. "I’ll be good." Lando quickly ran up to the room to grab his keys before giving you another kiss and whispering I love you

"If you blow the tires again, you’re walking back to Monaco." You called out as Lando made his way to the group of giggling boys. He gave you a thumbs up and made his way out to his car. Trevor made his way to the passenger seat of Landos McLaren while the rest of the boys piled into Jack's car

Your mom leaned over to you, "You got yourself a good one", she said "I really do," you muttered, looking down the gravel road watching Landos' car drive behind Jack's. You wouldn't trade Lando for the world.

An hour of talking with your parents and their friends, you heard the sound of Landos' car, "The boys are back", you announced, brushing your hands off on your shorts. "Let's see how many of them survived" Everyone let out a small laugh "Do we take bets?" your dad asked, raising an eyebrow. "I give it even odds someone threw up." Your mom snorted. "My money’s on Luke."

"Bro, I can't believe you got a ticket", Trevor said loudly, expecting everyone to not be outside still. You blinked, slowly turning your head towards Lando as the rest of the boys piled out of the cars and instantly froze at the sight of your unimpressed expression. Arms crossed, eyebrow arched, lips pursed in that dangerous "I love you but you’re about to regret your life choices" kind of way.

Lando stopped dead in his tracks halfway up the steps, like a deer in headlights. He had two options flew the country and change his identity, or really sweet-talk you, "I'm sorry, Lando, you got what?" You questioned, “Oh, you’re in trouble,” Jack said before cracking open another beer and kicking his feet up.

"I don't even want to know why you got a ticket, and I hope you know you're sleeping on the couch tonight", you said, looking up at Lando, Lando blinked, dramatically clutching his chest like you’d just physically wounded him. "The couch? Babe" Lando was about to continue, but the look you had in your eyes was telling him ", Keep going and see what happens. He held his hands up like he was surrendering in a hostage situation. "Right. No, yeah. Totally fair. Love the couch. Big fan of back pain."

You just raised an eyebrow. "Good. Glad we’re on the same page." Behind him, Jack nearly choked on his drink from laughing too hard. "Dude, I warned you." "Do you think the ticket came with a pillow and blanket set?" Quinn added, barely hiding his grin. "Maybe a loyalty card," Luke piped in. "Three more tickets and you get a free chiropractor visit."

Lando turned to glare at them. "This is why I don’t take you guys drifting." Lando jogged to catch up, trailing behind you like a very scolded but still slightly smug puppy. "Okay, but like hypothetically if I brought snacks and wore that hoodie you love, could we maybe negotiate a shared blanket?"

You shot him a sideways glance. "Only if you let me post the ticket on your story with the caption ‘Speedy Papaya.’" Lando groaned. "That’s humiliating." "You’re sleeping on a couch. We’re already there." You laughed

He sighed dramatically, dragging his feet up the porch steps. "Still totally worth it," he mumbled. "WHAT was that?" you asked, pausing at the door. "Nothing! I said, ‘I love this relationship and I respect your boundaries.’"

From behind, Jack called out, "Hey, ask her if we can sleep inside tonight too, or should we all prepare for floor duty just by association?" You smirked. "Depends. Did any of you tell him to slow down?"

They all went silent.

"That’s what I thought." Lando leaned down, kissing the top of your head with the gentlest grin. "Remind me to never piss you off again." "Oh, you’ll remind yourself," you said sweetly, pushing the door open and heading inside. "Every time your back cracks in the middle of the night."

The door shut behind you, leaving a porch full of boys collectively rethinking every life choice they’d made that afternoon while Lando, love-struck and slightly scared, just whispered, “God, I love her.”

please reblog and like 🫶

#send in requests #thanks anon!#jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #y/n hughes x lando norris #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris imagine #formula 1 x reader

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catlvrmax · 1 year ago

Text

LOST IN THE PADDOCK.

MV1 X FEM!READER

summary getting lost in the paddock and bumping into the current world champion was definitely not on your bingo card.

cw amara is the only oc, no use of y/n. this is my first time writing rpf since middle school, so bear with me. ALSO, this is a work of fiction: i don't know these people irl, i don't know how they act. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

face claims girls on pinterest but you can obviously disregard them, and imagine whoever you want.

masterlist | taglist

—

"Ah, fuck," you mumble to yourself, panickedly walking away from the direction you came from while also looking for your best friend.

You call her name a few times in hopes of her popping her head out of the Ferrari building's corner but to no avail. The group and guides you had been with are nowhere to be found, and you have to avoid bumping into employees wearing the entire rainbow as they hurry around you.

You curse the moment you decided to enter the giveaway for those tickets. Although you weren't a Formula One fan, simply because you never fully listened to Amara's ramblings and analysis, when you stumbled across a giveaway of otherwise very expensive tickets, you didn't hesitate to enter it. Despite entering for her, you kept it a secret. The list of entries was long, and the odds were not in your favour, so you didn't want to get her hopes up. You couldn't contain the bubbling excitement when you got the e-mail verifying your win for two Paddock Club tickets for the Spanish Grand Prix.

After announcing it to your obsessed-with-cars best friend, you decided to make it a five-day trip, planning to sightsee Barcelona before the race weekend and spend a free day after it. The first day had been great, albeit tiring, but you had woken up the next day buzzing with anticipation to walk around the paddock. You were the assigned photographer, as you knew Amara would want to listen to everything the guide said. You were content with taking pictures of the place and her.

Until now. You were definitely not happy with being the camera guy. Because of that, you'd just lost your group in the middle of God-knows-where, with no idea where the building you came from was. So immersed in your grumbling and reading the map on your phone- you collide with someone. Your phone and water bottle slip from your fingers, and the tote bag slips from your shoulder to your elbow. You hiss at the sudden weight shift.

The smell of rich cologne enters your nostrils, but you don't dare look up. Your cheeks burn. "Sorry." You bend down to grab your things.

The man seems to have the same idea, as seconds later, he's on his knees and gathering his things before you can reach them. "No, it's alright! I wasn't looking where I was going."

He extends his full hands with a smile, and you return a sheepish one before grabbing your things. You take a second to look at him. He wears a Red Bull cap and T-shirt, looking like everyone who hurriedly passed you with papers and phones in their hands. I should ask him for directions. He looks like he knows the place.

"Uh...Is there any way you saw a group of people with guides walking around here? I'm supposed to be with them, but I kinda lost them." You lift the camera, further explaining why you're separated from them.

He can't help but chuckle at your flushed cheeks. "Unfortunately, no," he pauses. "Are you here for the weekend?" You nod. "Haven't they given you a map, then? They usually do, to avoid people getting lost."

You show him your phone. Your fingers brush as he pulls it closer to look at the map. "Yeah, they have. But I can't figure it out. Kind of my first time coming to something like this."

He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to the phone. "Really?" He sounds surprised. He shouldn't.

You looked out of place compared to the rich-as-fuck members of your group. You had no idea how people dressed for these occasions. Even Amara didn't really know what to pack, so you both agreed to wear comfortable clothes. With the race being during June and in Spain, you would rather be comfortable than sweaty. The only thing tying you to the group was the Paddock Club pass you wore around your neck.

"My best friend is really into this. Loves the sport. I won us the tickets, but I'm barely grasping the basics." You laugh, and he joins. You like the way his eyes crease when he smiles wide.

"Oh, you're the ones that won the tickets! Someone told me about that, I think. Congrats!" You thank him. "How's your weekend so far?"

You shrug. "T'was really fun. Until I got lost while taking pictures of the Ferrari building." He snorts.

Leaning next to him, you try to follow his finger as he scrolls around the zoomed-in map. "You figured it out yet?"

"I think I have, yeah." He shows you the phone. "We're here. The garages are right there. You'll be watching the race on the floor above them." You nod, slowly grasping your surroundings. Turns out it's easier to figure it out when you're not panicking and a handsome stranger is helping you. "You got it?"

You flash a bright smile. "Yeah, actually, I think I do!" You look at him. "Thank you!"

He shrugs. "No problem. I know it's easy to get lost, especially with so many people running around."

"Still. Thank you. You probably have to be somewhere, and I took up a lot of your time." You step back, turning in the direction he'd shown you.

"Don't worry about it." He fixes his hair under the cap.

"Thanks again." You wave and turn to leave.

"Hey, I forgot to ask you." You turn, confused. "What team are you supporting tomorrow?"

Oh, shit.

It's like a deer caught in headlights situation. You suddenly forget all ten names of the racing teams, desperately racking your brain for an answer. You swear you know all ten.

"Uh..." you nervously clench and unclench your water bottle. "Ferrari?" It's more of a question rather than a statement.

He laughs, and your cheeks return to their warm state. Bad answer?

"Ferrari?" He asks as if saying really? You shrug, and he huffs a laugh.

"I told you I'm not good at this!"

You hear a shout and simultaneously turn to see a man in a Red Bull shirt beckoning him over.

"I have to go. But you should watch out for the Red Bulls. I hear they got the better cars!" He winks and waves before walking away from you.

You roll your eyes and smile wide on your lips. Of course, he'd tell you to cheer for his team. The back of your hand touches your cheek. It's incredibly warm. You blame it on the hot weather.

—

"I'm telling you, mate! She had no idea who I was!"

Lando rolls his eyes. "And I'm telling you there's no way. Your face is plastered everywhere."

It's Charles's turn to roll his eyes. "Or maybe she was more worried about finding a way back than asking for pictures."

"Yeah, maybe she was being polite. Didn't want to attract any attention to you." Albon adds.

Max shrugs. "I don't know."

"Was she pretty?" Oscar elbows Lando's ribs, as the latter can't contain his giggle.

Max's neck flushes. He shrugs again. "Yeah, I guess."

"Ohhhhh!" George and Lando pat him on the back teasingly, and Charles laughs at Max's expression.

Before they can tease him about this mystery girl more, a woman wearing a headset informs them they have to part ways and get ready for qualifying.

—

"And Fernando was so bloody nice, too! He was more than happy to sign the cap for you!" Amara waved her hands excitedly as she recounted everything you missed while lost.

You sat near the windows overlooking the pits, watching as the teams got their cars ready for qualifying, far away from the TVs and the crowded tables, not wanting to converse with anyone but your best friend. You chewed on your extremely expensive pasta, intently listening to her meet-up with some of the drivers.

"I can't believe you met the only driver I know," you whined, lips pouting sadly.

"I swear I didn't realise you were gone until they stopped us to greet the drivers. I was fully into that tyre explanation the guide was giving."

"Gee, thanks." You smile, giving her the middle finger.

"Oh, you know I don't mean it like that. Without you, I wouldn't even be doing the stuff we did today." Amara pulls on your middle finger, and you both giggle.

"So, tell me what you did when you were alone," she urges, sipping her drink.

"You mean when you left me wandering like I was looking for my mother?" She gives you a pointed look. You shrug. "I stopped a Red Bull guy to give me directions. He was helpful and cute. Also took some pictures while I was making my way back here."

"Oh, was he a mechanic or what?"

"I don't know. Didn't catch his name." You smile as you recount his advice. "He told me to look out for the Red Bulls because they have fast cars."

"Well, he's not wrong."

You finish your food and drinks, chatting until qualifying is about to begin. You sit on the balcony, watching the cars drive on the track. You get settled, watching the small screen in front of you, commentary loud in the headset you wear. Qualifying goes by quickly, with Amara explaining things you don't understand and you nodding along.

It's no surprise—in Amara's words—that Max Verstappen came first in his Red Bull. He's the one dominating this season, after all. Second comes Carlos Sainz, and third place takes Lando Norris. Your best friend cheers a little more for him. You shoot her a look, and she just shrugs. "What? He's fast, and he's handsome." You laugh.

You decide to leave before others, not stick around for post-qualifying interviews. Although there's a great chance you can catch drivers, take pictures and get them to sign autographs, you're both far too exhausted to stay. There's always tomorrow, Amara says, and you agree.

You're looking through the Uber app to find a car available to take you back to your hotel when you hear Amara all but screech beside you. You look up, watching as she runs towards a wall decorated with a gigantic poster of three drivers. You recognise Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc and...Oh, shit.

"Can you take a picture here," she calls your name pleadingly.

Your eyes are wide and glued to the tall poster, even as you pull the camera up to your face. You snap a couple of pictures before Amara walks back to you. Her wide smile falters as she watches you stare at the poster intensely. You rack your brain for his name and know that you should know it. Amara has mentioned it before, but you just can't put your finger on it. He's in Red Bull, so it's either Checo Perez or—

"Is that Verstappen?" You point to him.

"Yep. Two-time world champion." Amara looks at the poster and then back at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you looking at him like that?"

"He's the guy from earlier."

"What?!"

—

yourusername

liked by amaraiscool, yourmom, and 167 others.

tagged amaraiscool

yourusername chatted with a guy today, turns out he's the current world champion.

view all comments

amaraiscool i can't believe you met max verstappen

> yourusername amaraiscool i cant believe you let me get lost

amaraiscool and i can't believe you didnt recognise him.

> yourusername amaraiscool hes cuter in person, too bad you didn't get to see him :))

yourfriend1 THE DRESS IS SO CUTE, AMARA WTF DROP THE STORE!!!!!!

liked by yourusername

yourfriend2 johns freaking out rn lol

> yourusername yourfriend2 AW, i bet hes not being as dramatic as amaraiscool was when i told her :,)

> amaraiscool yourusername met THE max verstappen.

—

"You should totally text him," Amara says between bites.

She offers you a piece of chocolate, and you offer her a bewildered look. The hotel room's TV is playing a random spanish show, but with no subtitles, you can barely grasp what they're saying. Amara is scrolling on TikTok beside you.

"Text who?" You already know who.

"The two-time world champion. Duh." She rolls her eyes.

Amara hadn't stopped talking about the Max interaction since you'd pointed at his gigantic poster. The more she spoke on it, wiggling her eyebrows, the more you blushed. She had gone over a thousand scenarios, all of which you ended up hooking up with him. You had to remind her that despite his popularity, he was a stranger to you.

"I don't have his number, 'mara. I told you he just helped me find my way."

She flicks your forehead. "That's what Insta is for!"

"No."

"But why!?" Amara whines in your ear loudly, like a child when you take their candy away.

"It's weird! He's cute and all," you sit up, pointing your finger up," but he doesn't know my name," you put another one up, "he'll think I'm creepy," you point a third one, "and that is if he sees the requested message."

"Uh, you're ruining my scenario-building process."

"That's what Tumblr is for. Leave my quiet, boring life out of this." You dramatically sigh.

"Isn't that how all fanfiction starts? Boring and quiet life turned upside down?" Amara tilts her head.

"I don't know, 'ave never read any." You shrug, lips pursing.

She huffs a laugh, and you hold in yours. "Liar."

There's a pause. You think over Amara's suggestion. Max Verstappen is cute. And it wouldn't hurt to try and get his number. You'd never see him again after this weekend. And the worst he could say is: "Security, please get her out of here!"

What the fuck am I thinking? He's a literal superstar. Me bumping into him was a one-time thing.

Ah, fuck it. It's not the end of the world.

"You know what?" Amara turns to look at you. "If I get the chance tomorrow, I'll talk to him. Try and get his number."

Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "What?"

"I mean, I'm never seeing again? Right? It could go either way. He doesn't call for security to escort me like I'm crazy fangirl, or he does, and we pray no cameras recorded the moment."

Amara shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but she can barely hold her wide smile. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Not much of a plan. I'm just indulging in your delusions."

You share a laugh before you fall back in bed beside her. You shuffle closer to your best friend's side, eager to watch the TikTok edit she is staring intensely at.

"Oh, look, it's your future boyfriend!"

"Shut up."

previous | next

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motthe · 4 months ago

Note

Married+jayce viktor, visit relatives +she/her reader? Continuation please!! I gotta know more

i hope you enjoy the continuation!!!

warnings: more crazy family shenanigans

Dirty Santa had the family in an uproar when cousin Pat drew number one for the second year in a row. Seeing as your grandmother had made the pieces and walked around with the bowl, no one had any real proof Pat had cheated.

You were happy with your number. It wasn’t dead last like you’d hoped but close enough to see more gifts and get your pick of the litter.

Jayce was scrambling to understand the rules again with Viktor’s help, but even then you’d had to correct him on a few rules.

“Okay,” Jayce muttered, thick brows set in a determined line, “stolen twice and it’s frozen, no stealing back, number one gets to go again at the end and you’re stuck with whatever they trade you.”

“Perfect,” you said. “The rules change from family to family but that’s ours.”

Your more rowdy aunt who was a bit too serious when it came to any type of games shouted for Pat to get a move on. You sat back with your husbands, head cushioned by Jayce’s arm and one of Viktor’s hands in yours. You don’t know where your energy went after dinner, but you could fall asleep to your insane family after years of these events. Although loud and encompassing, it was home, and you were happy your loves were sharing in the madness.

“Who’s five?”

“That would be me,” sighed Viktor as he leaned forward. No one had a chance to offer him assistance as he snatched his cane and use the handle to snag a bag. Everyone whooped as it slid down the length and into his lap.

“Show off!” someone called.

Viktor merely smiled to himself, passing you tissue paper as he revealed a pack of pens, a book of crossword puzzles, and a few of those brain teasers you’d see in bookstores made of wooden figures or metal rings.

“That’s right on the nose for you,” you said, tossing the trash to your father who had the black bag by his chair.

“Yes, I’m quite happy with these,” he hummed, flipping through the crossword puzzles.

“I’m glad someone got them who will actually do them,” your mother sighed, clocking herself as the buyer. “They’re good for your brain!”

After a few more turns, Jayce browsed the lingering gifts on the table in the midst of everyone before eyeing the tool set in Uncle Jimmy’s arms.

“Now, son,” your family member began, mean mugging, “think about that decision.”

Jayce hummed, tapping his chin and staring at ceiling. He was so dramatic. God, you loved him.

Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m thinking I need a new tool set.”

“Ooh, that’s cold,” Great Aunt Lynda cackled, sipping her wine. You could’ve sworn she mentioned a dry December when you all were fixing your plates. Apparently she’d had an incident at Thanksgiving, but you hadn’t been here. You all had gone to Jayce’s mother’s.

Now or made sense why your mother had made it clear that no was to bring beer into this house on the holidays—only wine.

Viktor was sipping some of his own as your number was called. Pulling yourself from his side, you looked over each gift that had already been opened. None of them appealed to you, so you went for the smallest gift bag.

Your husbands leaned in as you pulled out what was clearly a gift card, opening the little flap to see where you’d be buying from.

“How much we talking?” Aunt Pat asked.

“If it’s for fast food I’m taking it,” one of your younger cousins declared.

Viktor choked on a sip while Jayce shrugged, clearly confused as he read the brand. “I don’t dont know this store. Is it local?”

“Oh, it’s local all right,” Great Aunt Lynda said. Everyone snapped their heads to her when she spoke.

“It’s not fast food,” you announced, shoving the card back into the bag. “It’s for medicinal purposes, kiddos.”

“Ew! Medicine?” one of the twins whined, sticking out a tongue. “Who’d want that?”

“Ooh,” Jayce said, tapping away on his phone. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“Lynda there are kids playing!” Dad barked.

She waved a hand, draining her wine glass. “It’s a gift card. Be glad I didn’t bring a D-I-L-D-O—they were two for one!”

“A dodo?” one of the kids questioned.

Jayce lost it. You just shoved the gift bag behind your back and told them to move the game along.

In the end, you and your husbands got to keep your gifts. Aunt Lynda was all too happy to waddle over and talk about the best things to buy before you excused yourself for a bathroom break. Viktor was safe chatting away with Jimmy while Jayce was heading for another snack in the kitchen.

You had all of three, peaceful minutes in the bathroom before your phone lit up.

Groupchat: Jayce 💍 Viktor

Jayce: someone save me Lynda’s blocking the kitchen exit and there’s a mistletoe hanging above her!!

Viktor: That sounds like a trap.

Jayce: no shit!

Viktor: I meant for me. If I come to the rescue, I’m sacrificing my lips for yours.

Jayce: So you’re just going to leave me here?

Viktor thumbed up the question, hearing your laughter from down the hall.

You: Hold on my damsel in distress. I’m on the way.

Jayce: I’m glad to see SOMEONE loves me in this marriage

Washing your hands, you pocketed your phone and readied yourself for the last bit of the party which always ended in more christmas games or old home videos.

Only time would tell.

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lostinlovingrevery · 2 months ago

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Logan packing you lunch for work just because and you wanna cry bc no one has ever done that for you before <3

also i hope u feel better <3

This IS SUCH a CUTE idea. Esp to me bc i'm TERRIBLE for packing my own lunches.

And thank you!!! All of your messages and support are making me SO happy I can't even <3

Brown Paper Bag

Worst! Wolverine X Reader

You wake up to a nice gesture

Warnings: Fluff! Mention of food, implication of previous sexual activity, logan being a sleepy cute mess

You hit snooze for the third time.

It's your morning routine. Your alarm is set for 5:30 am. You hit snooze (5 minutes), exactly 4 times, before you get up to get ready for your shift that starts at 7 am.

When you hit your third snooze button, that's usually when Logan begins to stir, if he's staying at your apartment that night; which to be honest, he's staying most nights. You'll turn around and curl yourself around him- needing those early morning snuggles for the next five minutes before you have to start your day.

You rolled to your side, reaching out for the husky, familiar warmth of your man in your queen size bed. You were confused though when you didn't find it. Impossible. Your bed can fit two people pretty good- but Logan was a big man. It wasn't hard to reach for him at your side.

Your eyes still shut with your face planted in your pillow, drool stuck to your cheek. You pat your hands against the mattress a couple more times. It was still warm- which told you Logan was there, which you knew had to be the case because you still feel sore from last nights adventures.

"Baby?" You lifted your head, a sleepy pout of your lips as you managed to crack your heavy eyes open to the darkness of the room, confirming that he was indeed gone.

You glanced around, trying to make out any sign of him. He wasn't by the window, where he usually sat to smoke out of. It's awfully early for him to be up, since his shift started much later than yours. Albeit, he would wake up- force you back into bed with his strong arms, and he'd meet you at the door tired and disheveled, still in his boxers, before you left and give you a goodbye kiss.

You pushed yourself out of bed. The air felt cold and unwelcoming, but too determined to investigate the disappearance of your personal heater pushed you to exit your room.

The kitchen light was on, and you heard a small clatter of something being tossed into the sink.

"Lo?" You peeked inside, finding him standing at the counter in his boxers, his hair the picture perfect definition of bedhead. He turned to look at you, giving you a small smirk.

"Morning." His voice barely above a grumble. You walked into the kitchen, joining his side to see what thing had the nerve to be more important to Logan than your morning snuggles.

You blinked at the spread on the counter. A few of your tupperware containers, open and filled with various goodies. Goodies with a healthy mix of proteins, fruits and veggies- all of the ones that you like, and your favorite chips. He was currently putting together your favorite sandwich. A brown paper bag sat open before him, as he dropped one of the tupperware containers inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Making your lunch." He states plainly.

"Oh...." You watched him make your sandwich. "Why?"

He shrugged, putting the finishing touches on your sandwich. "Just cause."

You weren't sure if it was because it was almost 6 in the morning and you were still half asleep- but you thought you could have burst into tears right then and there. The emotion you felt surged through you suddenly. The gesture seemed small, but it meant everything to you. The fact that he climbed out of bed early, meticously planned the food to pack into your lunch- making sure to pick out everything that you like; it made you feel so loved.

Logan stopped to look at you when he caught your silence.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Your voice nearly cracked. "That's...Really sweet of you." You finally break into a smile, looking up at him with adoration in your eyes. A look he'll never get used to. "I never had anyone do that before."

"No?" He quirked a brow. He stuffed your sandwich into a little baggie. Before turning to you, his arm going around your shoulder and pulling you to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist, smiling into the warmth of him. "Guess that means I'm going to do it a lot more now."

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fic #vans blurbs #wolverine fluff #worst!wolverine

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ryoflix · 22 days ago

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zombie! sukuna lore | implied f. reader can be read otherwise, no mentioned prns., lot of mentions of blood/violence/cannibalism and other zombie apocalypse things, heavy angst, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

you remember the morning too clearly, in that irritating, needle-under-the-skin kind of way, like your brain wants to replay it over and over just to remind you of how wrong everything went. sukuna had been annoyed — surprise, surprise — grumbling like a pissed-off old man because the atm by the station was busted and he had to go all the way to the bank. “i could go,” you’d offered, voice light, teasing, half expecting him to say yes just to get out of it. but he just shot you that look — brows twitching, mouth tugging down — and muttered something about how you’d probably get distracted petting cats and forget the card pin again.

you had rolled your eyes, called him an idiot. but you still stood by the door, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket like you were sending him to war and not just five blocks down. he let you, only half-complaining, letting you tug the zipper up all the way even though it made him look like a sulky middle schooler.

“be safe,” you said, pressing your palm to his chest. “don’t risk anything. i mean it.”

“yeah, yeah,” he’d muttered. “the outbreak isn’t even here.”

but it was.

you didn’t know until your neighbor down the hall started convulsing and gnashing her teeth at the building security guard. you were halfway through packing an emergency bag, wondering if you were overreacting, when the evacuation order hit. everything after that felt like a blur — a storm of boots pounding down stairs, screams, fire alarms, gunshots maybe, you’re not sure. someone grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the street. you don’t even remember locking the door.

and sukuna — where the fuck was he?

you called. a hundred times. messaged, left voicemails, tracked his last location until the signal dropped. you waited a day. then two. then a week. scavenged food, slept in shelter lines, still waiting. nothing. you had to accept it. the place you built together — your little apartment with its paint-chipped walls and mismatched mugs, the couch that dipped in the middle, the stupid printed adoption paper for a dog you wanted so badly (he had even signed it, after weeks of refusing, just to shut you up) — you left it all. you lost it all.

and the worst part? not knowing.

not knowing if sukuna had turned, or fled, or bled out somewhere alone with your name still in his mouth.

until exactly thirty-three days later, when you cracked open the door to a half-collapsed gas station for supplies and found him there.

standing still, half-wrecked, eyes locked on you. and still — somehow — his first instinct wasn’t to bite. it was to reach.

sukuna had never been the sentimental type. not really. sure, he let you hang on him like a weighted blanket and roll your eyes at his crass mouth, and maybe he didn’t hate it when you fussed over his jacket zipper like you were tucking him into battle. but he was never one to linger on things like goodbye kisses or notes or promises. so it shouldn’t have meant much, the way your hands had clung to his shirt that morning, the way you smoothed his collar down twice even though it wasn’t wrinkled.

it stuck with him though. sat heavy on his chest even as he stuffed the ATM receipt into his pocket and grunted through crowded streets toward the bank.

he was going to get you the dog. that stupid, scrappy mutt you’d been harping on about for months. the one with too many teeth and one floppy ear. the adoption center needed a small deposit in cash, so he figured — fuck it. if it made you stop whining about wanting something to “coo at,” he’d suck it up and do it. he’d even xeroxed the damn paper to avoid tipping you off.

he was still muttering about it when he turned the corner and saw the kid.

small. frozen. shoelaces undone. eyes wide and wet and locked on the drooling, twitching thing that used to be a person, now lurching toward him with an awful, meaty snarl.

sukuna didn’t think. he never did, not when it came to danger. his fist connected with the zombie’s face with a sickening crunch, and he almost smirked at the familiar feel of bone giving under his knuckles — until teeth sank into his hand. deep. he bit back a scream. didn’t even let a grunt slip. just shouted at the kid —

“run, dumbass!”

he’d hear your voice in his head right after, all mocking and singsongy: “you know kids can pick up on language, right?”

god, you were so annoying.

the kid ran. fast. like he was born for it. and sukuna let the thing gnaw on him until it stopped moving, stopped twitching, because he had to make sure.

but then his fingers started to go cold. and he knew.

he knew even before the burn crept up his forearm like acid under skin, before his legs buckled and his vision swam, before everything started peeling apart at the edges.

he reached into his jacket. fingers curled weakly around that xeroxed adoption paper. you’d been so stupidly excited about it. his mouth twisted into something bitter and soft all at once as the world dimmed.

“you better still want that mutt, idiot,” he mumbled, or thought he did. maybe he just wanted to. and then everything went black.

just him, a crumpled paper, and the ghost of your hands still fixing his jacket.

sukuna didn’t know how much time had passed.

hours bled into days, into weeks, into an endless blur of blood and bone and the low hum of hunger that never fucking stopped. he’d come to in patches — like snapping awake in someone else’s body — covered in viscera, in someone’s coat, in pieces of people, and every time he hated it. hated how it was automatic now, instinctual, like a second skin stretched over a dying man.

he didn’t want to eat people. but that didn’t stop his jaw from locking and his arms from moving and his eyes from watching like a goddamn predator in the brush. most days, his mind dragged behind his body. he could see — sometimes even understand, in vague, foggy pulses — but processing? remembering?

no chance.

so when the door of the half-collapsed gas station creaked open and light spilled in, bright and sharp like something from another world, he was already crouched low behind a broken shelf, blood still wet on his lips, hands twitching for movement.

and then you stepped in. not a hallucination. not a memory. you.

gun cocked. stance solid. expression—

god.

you looked like hell. and when your eyes locked onto him, wide and disbelieving and breaking right down the middle, sukuna felt something in his chest snap. his mouth opened. a sound tore out of him—

low. guttural. not a word. not anything he meant to say.

just noise — predatory. sharp. warning.

you flinched, raising the gun half an inch. his arms jerked, feet shifting forward before he froze, clawed hands trembling at his sides like he was trying to physically fight the command rooted in his bones to lunge.

but you didn’t shoot, you didn’t run. you just stood there. and then — cracked.

right in front of him, knees going weak, hand shaking around the trigger, tears slipping down your cheeks in quiet, angry streaks. “you bastard,” you whispered. “you’re still in there, aren’t you?”

he wanted to answer. wanted to tell you yes, fuck, yes, i know you, i missed you, i didn’t mean to leave, i didn’t mean to change, but all that came out was a growl — deep, rattling, and he hated himself for it.

he’d fought monsters. he was a monster now.

but nothing — not even the hunger, not even the blackout rages, not even the memory of that kid running away from him — hurt more than watching you cry because of him, and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

#tw cannibalism #tw violence #⌗ episodes #zombie bf! sukuna #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #sukuna angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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norrisradio · 26 days ago

Text

MEET ME IN THE WOODS

⸙ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ⸙ WC: 1.6K ⸙ GENRE: fluff + murphy's law ⸙ INCOMING RADIO: another buzzer beater for oscar's birthday! huge congrats to him for the phenomenal race in suzuka, i hope 24 is as kind to him as he is to the world around him <3

⸙ SUMMARY: oscar really hates camping. but he really loves you.

It is while surrounded by the smoky remnants of a fire that refuses to stay lit and the twisted, mangled poles of a tent that won’t go up no matter how many times he tries, that Oscar Piastri realizes: he fucking hates camping.

It had been your idea to get away—spend a few nights out in the wilderness, just the two of you, to celebrate his birthday. Get away from the noise. Refresh. Decompress.

Oscar hadn’t been opposed to the idea, not exactly. But he hadn’t camped in what felt like years, not since those family summers where his dad would drag him up the mountain, forcing him to pitch tents under the scorching sun. The promise of a weekend alone with you, however, had been enough to chip away at his paper-thin resolve.

So he’d said yes. Even smiled through gritted teeth when you’d handed him the packing list you made in Notes, complete with emojis and way too many items labeled “just in case 💕.” He had nodded along when you enthusiastically described the exact trail to the campsite, the pre-made chili you’d frozen for dinner, and how cute it would be to stargaze away from city lights.

What he hadn’t known was that the moment you left the comfort of civilization, the universe would take it as a personal challenge to ruin his birthday, one inconvenient disaster at a time.

It had started on the drive there, when the GPS lost signal and you’d insisted—insisted—you remembered the turnoff “from the map.” That map had led you forty-five minutes in the wrong direction down a logging road that Oscar was still convinced doubled as a serial killer’s driveway. That’s when you had sheepishly admitted you “might’ve misremembered a turn or two.” He’d just opened his mouth to argue when you leaned across the center console and kissed him—quick, firm, sweet.

“There,” you said, like it was a magic spell. “That one’s for not yelling at me.”

Oscar had blinked at you, startled. “I wasn’t going to—”

“Yes, you were,” you said, grinning. “But it’s okay. I would’ve yelled at me too.”

And for some reason… that made it easier. He sighed, but didn’t snap. Didn’t even complain when you made him turn around. He just shook his head, muttering something about trusting your “great sense of direction.”

Then, when you finally arrived at the trailhead, it started raining. Not just a drizzle, either. A torrential, bone-soaking downpour that waited until he opened the boot of the car to unload everything before truly beginning its assault.

The rain stopped just long enough for you both to hike the trail in damp silence, Oscar slipping twice on the mud-slicked path, one of which resulted in him falling directly onto the bag of pre-made chili, which now smelled faintly like dirt and regret. You’d spent 15 minutes doubled over laughing.

Oscar, meanwhile, was blinking water out of his eyes and watching his socks become tiny lakes. “We’re going to drown,” he said, deadpan.

“We’re going to bond,” you countered, and then kissed the rain off his lips. “See? Adventure.”

He rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his mouth.

Then came the tent.

Oh, the tent.

It had looked easy enough on the website—a “simple two-person pop-up,” you’d called it. Except it was neither simple nor popping up. One of the poles had snapped in half while Oscar tried to force it into the ground, and another had just…disappeared. Like, vanished. Possibly stolen by a raccoon. He wouldn't be surprised. The instructions were in six languages—none of them helpful. Oscar had spent twenty minutes trying to make sense of the diagrams while you watched like it was performance art.

“I believe in you,” you’d said sweetly.

“I need less belief and more competent engineering.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” you replied, before kissing his jaw and whispering, “Maybe we’ll just sleep under the stars. Very romantic.”

He groaned into your neck, but he didn’t stop trying.

And now, the fire. After six attempts, two nearly-singed eyebrows, and a lighter that ran out of fuel precisely when he needed it most, all they’d managed to create was a pathetic smolder surrounded by soggy kindling.

Now, with smoke stinging his eyes and soot on his hands, Oscar is reconsidering every decision that led him here—including, but not limited to, dating someone who uses words like “romantic” and “rustic” in the same sentence.

You, somehow, still have the audacity to be chipper.

“I feel like we’re really roughing it,” you say, holding your blanket tighter around your shoulders like it’s not doing absolutely nothing to help. “Super authentic experience.”

Oscar gives you a look. “Authentic what? Torture?”

You just grin. “Think of it this way—you’ll have the most dramatic birthday story to tell for the rest of your life.”

“Provided I survive the night,” he mutters, swatting a mosquito.

But then you scoot closer, knee knocking against his, and rest your head on his shoulder like this—this mess—is still somehow worth it. And despite the mud in his socks, the blister forming on his heel, and the slight buzz of frustration humming in his chest like an angry beehive…he lets out a low chuckle.

“I can’t believe you made me bring a full spice rack for chili we didn’t even get to cook.”

“We might still cook it,” you say optimistically.

Oscar gestures at the fire, which at this point resembles a haunted pile of wet sticks. “Sure. And then we’ll eat it raw like wild animals while fending off bears with our broken tent poles.”

“I’d protect you,” you offer, nudging him playfully. “Even from the bears.”

You decide you won’t let him wallow in the dwindling hours of his birthday—not when you still have one last plan up your sleeve.

“Come on,” you say, standing and holding out a hand. “Birthday boy emergency protocol is now in effect.”

Oscar blinks at you. “That sounds fake.”

“It’s real,” you assure him, grabbing his soot-streaked hand and yanking him to his feet. “And you have no choice but to comply.”

He grumbles something unintelligible but lets you drag him back toward the van. You throw open the trunk, pop the hatch, and get to work—untangling a bundle of fairy lights you’d hidden under the passenger seat, stringing them along the roof like it’s a Pinterest board brought to life. You layer every dry blanket you can find across the floor, toss in some throw pillows from the backseat, and dig out a bag of emergency snacks from your backpack. Half of it is crushed granola bars and slightly squished peanut M&Ms, but you arrange it all on a makeshift tray like you’re hosting a five-star picnic.

Oscar stands there, arms crossed, watching you with the expression of someone deeply suspicious of joy. “You packed fairy lights?”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Of course I packed fairy lights. What kind of amateur do you take me for?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then you toss a blanket at his chest. “Get in, Piastri. You’ve been sentenced to enforced coziness.”

He climbs in with a sigh, but you catch the smallest twitch of his mouth as he settles back against the cushions. You follow him in, scooting close enough for your thigh to press against his, then wrap one of the fluffier blankets around your shoulders and drape it half over him too.

“See?” you say, nudging his knee. “Not completely terrible.”

He casts a glance around the van: the golden glow of the fairy lights, the now-dry haven you’ve constructed, the lopsided pile of snacks between you.

“…I’ll admit it’s slightly less terrible.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

He turns toward you with a sigh so dramatic you’d think he was enduring medieval torture. “My tent is broken. I smell like wet socks. There’s probably chili all over my back. And we’re sleeping in a van.”

You grin, leaning in. “And yet—still the luckiest man alive.”

Before he can protest, you kiss him again—this time slower, with a little more intent. When you pull away, he doesn’t say anything for a second.

“…I guess there are worse ways to spend a birthday,” he says quietly.

You rest your head on his shoulder, smiling into his hoodie. “That’s the spirit.”

Then you pull him down next to you, both of you lying flat on the nest of blankets, limbs tangled and noses still a little pink from the cold. The fairy lights blink lazily above, reflected dimly in the van windows like distant stars.

You point up at them, completely serious. “That one’s the Big Blinky Spoon.”

Oscar snorts. “That’s not even remotely close to a constellation.”

“That’s because it’s from a better galaxy. The one where your socks are always dry and tents just pop up like they’re supposed to.”

He laughs quietly, breath fogging the air between you. “Sounds fake.”

“Sounds perfect,” you counter, voice dreamy, “And that one over there? That’s the Nebula of Doomed Chili.”

Oscar shakes his head, but he’s smiling now—really smiling—and when he turns to look at you, you’re already looking at him. Your eyes are full of stars and fake constellations and Oscar is certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

You don’t say anything, but he doesn’t need you to. He’s already drawing his own version of the constellations along the sliver of skin at your waist where your jacket’s ridden up, fingers tracing slow, tender lines like they’re writing something sacred. When you shiver a little, he tucks the blanket tighter around you both.

“Happy birthday, Oscar,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Another to his jaw. One more just beside his mouth. “I’m sorry it wasn’t everything I promised.”

He tilts his head, nuzzles his nose against yours. His voice is low, certain. “It was everything. And more.”

And so, it is surrounded by fairy lights, kinda soggy, kinda frozen blankets, and your arms wrapped firmly around his waist, that Oscar Piastri realizes:

He still fucking hates camping.

But he really fucking loves you.

#formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x yn #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri writing #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #⚡︎ race day

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 11 months ago

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Okay, so I’m weirdly into the idea of being someone’s estranged wife???

Imagine being Patrick’s estranged wife?? Like maybe he married you bc he couldn’t have Tashi and then just…never signed the divorce papers? And now he’s knocking on your door bc there’s a challenger he’s gonna play in buttttt his bank account’s a little low so could he pretty please crash with you? He’ll sleep on his couch and be on his best behavior, he swears

Queue him crawling into bed with you at 2 am bc it’s cold in the living room and you’re soft and pretty and whoops, he’s hard

Ooo love this

Warnings: Fingering, Patrick Being Patrick, bitter and estranged ex-wife Reader

"You have any chicken nuggets?"

"What are you, five?"

"Adults can enjoy chicken nuggets."

They certainly could, but you didn't grace that reply with a response, just watched with tepid interest as he rifled through the contents of your fridge.

A single phrase kept resounding in your mind:

I should've left him on the doorstep.

And maybe you should have. It wouldn't be the first time that you'd given Patrick the cold shoulder, and it wouldn't be the first time that he just parked in your driveway and slept in his car. But you just couldn't stand the sight of him out in the cold, pouting and gnawing on his lower lip in the fish-eye lens of your peephole.

"Why don't we order a pizza?" He tacked on.

We. It was always 'we' with him, but never in the action, or the cost—that was a 'you' action, not a 'we' more often than not.

"Who's paying for it?" You asked. Patrick turned to you with a dopey, guilty little smile affixed to his lips as he cocked his hip.

"Well until I sign the papers, the two shall be as one, right?"

"Yeah—Why haven't you signed, by the way?"

"Your guy's never been able to serve 'em." He turned back to the fridge, ducking his head as he looked around. "You got any beer?"

You rolled your eyes. "Third shelf, at the back."

"Bingo. Want one?"

"Not right now. But thanks for offering me something that I bought and paid for. Really appreciate it."

Patrick huffed a soft laugh as he turned toward you again, opening the beer against the edge of the counter.

"Mine mine mine," He teased. "What is it with you and what's yours, huh?"

"Just stating facts, Zweig."

"So self-righteous, Mrs. Zweig." He used your married name with a vinegary smile before taking a deep swig from his bottle, pointedly ignoring the way that you bristled. "So. Pizza?"

Just the couch.

Patrick had pleaded it between bites of pizza, scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the crumbs and oil left behind. He'd framed it as a reasonable enough request, like it was the easiest thing in the world to let your estranged husband back into your home.

You won't even know I'm there.

As if you hadn't been fighting to find a harmony within yourself for the last year, trying to serve him papers for the last six months, to get your divorce to take, to rid yourself of his last name.

Watching him sort through the garbage bags of clothing that you'd packed up for him to come and take between tours had been a little pitiful, but he'd unearthed what he'd needed to sleep in.

"Still have a toothbrush for me?" He asked.

"No."

"Face wash?"

"Don't you just use soap?"

"Yeah, but you put me on that, uh—That regimen, that routine."

"You never followed it."

"So you threw the stuff out?"

"I wasn't using it, so. Yeah."

"Huh." Patrick straightened, PJs in hand. You couldn't help but watch him strip off as he passed you, eyeing the ripple of his back muscles as he tossed his shirt in the direction of his bag.

"I'm showering," He called over his shoulder, "If you'd like to join me."

"I'd rather chew glass, but thanks."

He was sleeping. He had to be, right? It didn't matter if he was or wasn't. It didn't matter that Patrick Zweig was asleep on your couch, just a floor away. It didn't matter that you were worked up, at the midpoint between pissed off and turned on.

How did he always manage to do that to you?

You should've been able to clock early on that it was trouble. None of your friends or family thought it would work out, and you'd been chagrined when they'd been right. For as much as you had once loved him, for as certain as you and Patrick had been sure you would fit, that you would fix whatever needed fixing, no matter what fate had in store for you, you just...Couldn't.

It didn't help that he had been chasing glory on the court, or that you had spent your relationship trying to fill the shoes of a woman that you could never be. It didn't help that the two of you were just fundamentally different, in ways that you either of you were unwilling to compromise. When he'd left, it hadn't been a surprise, but it had been so goddamn hard to serve him papers. But you'd had such trouble trying to pin him down during your relationship, why should the way you broke be any different?

But when you'd been in bed together—Hell, you'd been even more certain that it could work. You and Patrick just fit. Things had been so right with so little conversation or hesitation. Your needs had fueled one another's, and you'd been able to lose yourself in him. It should have been enough.

But it wasn't then, and it wasn't now.

He was asleep. He had a match the next morning, and he needed his rest. You could do the same—You should do the same. You needed to be staring at the ceiling right now like you need a goddamn hole in the head. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and doing your best to focus on your breathing. In for five... Hold...Out...For...Five...In for...One...Two...Three...Four...

Your eyes opened, your breath catching as you heard the door open. You held completely still as you heard the door close again, chased by the soft pad of feet along your floor before the mattress dipped beside you. The covers shifted, lifting and falling as he laid down.

"Are you asleep?" He murmured. It was another moment before his palm skimmed across your belly, his rough cheek nuzzling against the curve of your shoulder. Your breath left you in a soft sigh, your muscles untensing bit by bit.

"I know you haven't been here in a while," You muttered, "But this is not the couch."

He huffed a soft laugh. "I know," He snuggled closer, and it was just a moment before you felt the press of his cock against your hip. You drew in a shaky breath, hands lowering to his arm.

"Patrick," You mumbled. "You should be asleep."

"I can't sleep." His teeth scraped along your jaw as his fingers snaked under the hem of your nightshirt.

"Indigestion?" You squeaked. "Shouldn't've had that third slice of pizza. I told you not to."

Your eyes squeezed shut as he rolled his hips against you.

"This feel like pizza to you?"

"Well—"

"Baby," He pleaded. "You gonna tell me you didn't miss me?"

It took you a moment, and you couldn't help your slight squirming.

"Not even a little."

He laughed again, and you knew that you hadn't been able to sneak a thing by him.

"You don't have to lie. I saw you watching me." He tipped his chin up, sucking a tender kiss to your neck. And you had, but—

"I wasn't."

Patrick tutted disapprovingly. You shuddered, arching up into his touch as his thumb skimmed across your hardening nipple.

"You're a shitty liar, you know that?"

"You're an asshole," You hissed as Patrick lifted his head.

"You like it."

You couldn't get a word out to argue as Patrick's tongue swept between your lips. You whimpered in spite of yourself, sinking back against your pillows and raising your hand to fist in his hair. He was over you in a moment, body shoving your thighs wide as his hands rucked up the bottom of your sleep shirt. You drew in a sharp breath as his head dipped to catch one of your nipples between his lips. You tightened your grip on his, shivering as he teased it with his tongue.

Patrick's hips ground against yours, rolling against where you're growing slick in your sleep shorts.

"How long's it been?" He murmured, "Huh? Since me?"

And it was too embarrassing to say—too embarrassing to admit that you hadn't slept with anyone since Patrick left.

"Shut up," You hissed, "Just—Please, shut up."

His hand snuck beneath the hem of your shorts, swiping gently across your tender clit, and he grinned as your hips hitched up into his deft touch.

"S'okay," He cooed as he eased a couple of fingers into your tight, aching cunt. "I missed you, too."

"You gonna come watch me play?"

As with the rest of the last day or so, your answer should be no. You didn't turn to look at Patrick as you rummaged through your dresser for something to wear.

"I've seen you play, Patrick."

"Not lately." He tried again: "It's a challenger."

You hummed, giving a noncommittal shrug as you pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

"...Well can I stay here tonight?"

"If you win, sure."

"How will you know I win if you don't come see me?"

You rolled your eyes, hip-checking your drawer shut before pulling up your pants and tugging in your top.

"Fine. Just tonight. You'll have to find somewhere tomorrow night."

"I'll have the prize money by then, I'll crash at a motel."

"Oh, a motel. Hey big spender," You drawled, heading for your door.

"Hey."

"What?"

"You have the papers here?"

It stopped you dead in your tracks, your stomach churning with unease as you looked at him again.

"...What?"

"The divorce papers," He clarified. "I can sign 'em while I'm here."

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to go down to your office and draw the file out of your desk drawer, to plop it down in front of Patrick with your favorite black ballpoint pen, to flip between arrow tabs and instruct, "Sign here, here, here, here, here, and here."

But you found yourself shaking your head.

"I don't have a copy," You fibbed. It took Patrick a moment before he nodded a little.

"Can you get them?"

Hell, were you that out of practice? One night back in bed with you and he was ready to call it? But you were certain that wasn't it—That Patrick was, for once in his goddamn life, trying to make it easy on you after so much hell.

"...Maybe, I don't know," You shrugged. "It's the weekend."

"Okay."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah—Hey."

"What?"

You watched as Patrick pulled the covers away, unashamed of his nakedness as he strode toward you. He grasped your chin, tipping your head for a soft kiss. It took everything in you not to melt into him as he skimmed his hand over your hip, drawing back just enough to give you a sleepy, hazy smile.

"Good morning."

You couldn't help your own, indignant smile.

"Sure, Patrick." You turned away, determined to push on with your day, your life like he wasn't there—like he wouldn't be hanging over you as you made breakfast, or dominating the court as he played, or in your bed again in just a few hours. "Good morning."

#Patrick Zweig x Reader #Patrick Zweig x You #Patrick Zweig/Reader #Patrick Zweig/You #Patrick Zweig fic #Patrick Zweig imagine

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nhmkhnh · 4 days ago

Text

jock!vi & brainiac!caitlyn x fem!user

preface: some girls rule the school—but you made the queens fall.

author's note: aright this au is consuming me whole and left me with nothing but a chat bot on janitor ai (here!) and a bunch of these scenarios. enjoy, my girls!

wrn: lowercase.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

rainy day library hideout

you stumble into the library soaked from a surprise downpour. water drips from your sleeves, and your hair clings to your cheeks.

caitlyn is already inside, pristine as always, sitting by the window with a thermos of tea and three color-coded pens. the moment she sees you, she rises—eyes widening just slightly.

“darling, you're freezing,” she says, already removing her blazer. it’s navy, tailored, smells faintly of roses and academic pressure. she folds it carefully before placing it over your shoulders. “you shouldn’t be caught in the rain like this.”

vi bursts in a minute later, shaking rain from her hair like a golden retriever. “yo! why didn’t you text me?” she strips off her hoodie, ignores the waterlogged carpet, and drapes it over your lap. “mine’s warmer. cait’s blazer’s like… rich paper.”

caitlyn side-eyes her. “it’s cashmere.”

“and mine’s got soul,” vi smirks. “and snacks in the pocket.”

you blink. there’s definitely a mini kitkat.

group project hell

you're paired with vi and caitlyn for a major class presentation. caitlyn shows up to the study session fifteen minutes early, laptop open, and her notes already in bullet points—bolded and categorized.

vi swaggers in thirty minutes late with two iced coffees and a greasy snack bag. “team bonding,” she says, kicking her feet onto the table.

caitlyn’s eye twitches. “you haven’t read the article, have you?”

vi grins. “nope. but i skimmed the graphs. besides,” she nudges your elbow, “as long as she’s talking, we’re getting an a.”

you look up, caught in their tug-of-war. caitlyn’s cheeks flush just faintly. vi’s fingers drum on the table, cocky and too close.

this group project might kill you.

school festival booth rivalry

the school’s buzzing for festival week. you wander past vi’s booth—a basketball challenge with prizes. she spots you, flips a ball in one hand, and calls out:

“five shots. win, and i owe you dinner.”

across the quad, caitlyn stands at her academic society booth, surrounded by puzzles and logic games. she adjusts her tie and calls across the crowd, “or test your mind instead—if you solve my challenge, you get an exclusive dinner with real conversation.”

vi squints. “did she just throw shade?”

“she always does,” caitlyn mutters under her breath.

now everyone’s watching you decide—and caitlyn and vi are both pretending they don’t care, while radiating pure, silent panic.

cafeteria jealousy

you sit down across from a guy from your econ class. it's harmless—you’re just being polite.

but vi sees you first. she appears with her tray and drops into the seat beside you, arm draped casually over the back of your chair.

“new lunch buddy, huh?” she says, grin sharp. “did he offer dessert? i brought better.”

caitlyn’s footsteps are soft but her presence commands attention. she slides into the seat on your other side, placing a hand-packed bento in front of you.

“i heard the cafeteria was low on nutrients today,” she says smoothly. “so i thought you might like something homemade.”

the guy excuses himself in under a minute. you’re now boxed in between the campus’s it girls—one smirking, one composed, both very obviously fighting over you without saying a word.

sleeping beauty in class

it’s a boring class. the professor’s droning, the lights are dim, and without meaning to—you doze off.

vi notices first, leans forward from two rows back, and smirks. she takes a photo. “damn, she’s even fine in rem sleep,” she mutters.

caitlyn, sitting beside you, gently reaches out to adjust your posture so your head doesn’t slam into the desk. she tucks her scarf into a makeshift pillow and slides it under your cheek.

later, you wake up to a post-it stuck to your notebook. it’s in caitlyn’s neat cursive: you missed nothing but formulas. i’ve got you covered.

below it, a messier scribble from vi: you drool in cursive. call me later.

accidental matching outfits

you show up wearing a navy sweater—simple, cozy, just something you threw on. didn’t think much of it.

then vi walks in ten minutes later, swaggering through the doors with her backpack half-zipped and the exact same navy sweater, except hers is slightly oversized and cropped. she spots you across the hall and grins like she just won the lottery.

“damn, we’re synced up today, huh?” she says, bumping your shoulder as she passes. “couple look? say less.”

you barely get a word out before caitlyn turns the corner, cool and poised as always—wearing a rich navy scarf that matches both your sweaters exactly. her eyes flicker between the two of you. she pauses. there’s the faintest twitch in her brow.

no one says anything. until a girl from your lecture stage-whispers: “wait, are they… matching on purpose?”

and that’s all it takes.

“she got hers first,” caitlyn states crisply, adjusting her scarf like it’s a medal of honor.

vi scoffs. “she told me navy was her color.”

caitlyn doesn’t even blink. “she told me i was her color.”

you look between them. vi's already inching closer, like she's about to throw an arm around you. caitlyn’s lips press into a tight smile, but her eyes are sharp—calculating.

you suddenly feel like the final prize in a silent war of style supremacy.

and honestly? you're kinda into it.

drunk confession (almost)

you’re at a house party, and vi’s one drink past “charming.” she leans into your ear, voice low, breath warm. “i think about you so much it’s getting embarrassing.”

caitlyn swoops in seconds later, gently tugging vi back by the wrist. “she doesn’t need this right now.”

vi grins lazily. “nah, what she needs is the truth.”

caitlyn glares, whispering sharply, “you’re drunk.”

“you’re in denial,” vi fires back, then stumbles into you again.

you laugh nervously. caitlyn’s face softens—but her stare still lingers far too long. like she’s thinking every confession vi spills, and just doesn’t dare say it aloud.

sick day sos

you miss school for the first time. when your phone buzzes, it’s caitlyn.

“i’ve compiled your notes and alerted your professors. i’ll deliver them by 5.”

minutes later, someone’s banging on your door. it’s vi, hoodie up, bag in hand.

“i brought soup. and gatorade. and movies. move over.”

caitlyn arrives shortly after, disapproving. “you kicked the door open?”

vi shrugs. “girl’s dying. i panicked.”

they bicker for ten minutes. you fall asleep again with one tucked on either side of your bed, both pretending not to notice the other is also softly brushing hair from your face.

late-night study rescue

it’s past midnight. you’re stranded at the library, dead phone, missed the last bus. you’re about to curl up in a beanbag when headlights flash.

vi pulls up on her bike, tossing you a helmet. “knew you’d get stuck. hop on.”

then caitlyn’s car slides up behind her. she steps out, expression pinched. “i was already en route.”

vi scowls. “she needs a ride. not a damn chauffeur.”

caitlyn lifts a brow. “and you think risking her on your back is safer?”

now you’re standing between a girl on a motorcycle and one holding open her car door—both of them staring like this is a life-or-death decision.

the almost confession

you sit under the cherry blossoms, exhausted after midterms. caitlyn walks up, notebook in hand, and carefully sits beside you.

“i admire your discipline,” she says softly. “and your laugh. and… well. all of you.”

you look up, surprised.

vi’s voice cuts in from behind: “cait finally catching feelings out loud, huh?”

caitlyn flushes. “i was not finished.”

vi flops down beside you. “i’ll save us all time. i’m into you. period.”

caitlyn glares. “you ruin everything.”

you laugh—and their bickering halts.

in that moment, both of them look at you like the world just glitched. like maybe this whole mess is worth it.

#vi x reader #violet x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitvi x reader #arcane

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blitzyn · 1 year ago

Text

a different method final pt

teacher!zhongli x m!reader

request: drop by to ask will there ever be a chance for part 3 with teacher zhongli? i dont know man. him and reader are so cute together. maybe i am crazy??? wanna see reader actually tries his best and gets his reward-

part one | part two

a/n -> oh my god i need francis mosses and wriothesley to fuck me right this INSTANT

wc -> 4k

cw -> praise, anal fingering, anal sex, mating press, desk sex, semi-public sex, teacher zhongli, student reader, not beta read

You were nervous. Jitters ran along the length of your spine and pooled in your chest, leaving a deep cavity that filled with anxiety. Why were you so anxious in the first place? It’s just a test. You’ve taken plenty of them during the course of your life.

You tried to play it cool, masking your face with a facade of nonchalance, hoping no one could see how clammy your hands were getting or your heartbeat, or the sweat rolling down—oh god was someone looking at you? Could they see through you? What if they could read your mind? Did they know that you were secretly trying to get your teacher to fuck you again?

You forced to stop yourself from physically deflating in relief when they looked away. Seemed like they were just looking around the room in an attempt to search for a hint or an answer to the question they were on. Right. The test. You’d finished it not too long ago, and now you were in the overthinking stage, wondering if you could’ve worded something better or if a different answer was right, but you forced yourself to calm the fuck down. You studied for this (surprisingly) and you were sure that at least half of your answers were correct. Hopefully.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard your teacher speak, notifying the class that there was five minutes left, and you could see a few write faster as they tried to finish on time. Those five minutes felt like an eternity, watching the agonizingly slow ticking of the clock above the door leisurely make its way to four, then three, then two, one… thirty seconds, and…

Finally!

You took your time packing up, watching your classmates rush out of the door, eager to leave the boring room. It wasn’t until the last person made their way out did you walk up to your teacher’s desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“May I help you?” He questioned, offering you a brief glance as he reached over to grab the pile of test papers. It was frustrating how he could just ignore your past… ordeals like they were nothing, but you were determined to claim your keep.

“Can you, uh, grade my paper? Now, I mean,” you requested, trying to fight off your growing eagerness, but it seemed that it didn’t matter when he quirked an eyebrow. He gave you an unconvinced look, leaning back on his chair to properly look at you, searching your eyes for something. “Please,” you hastily added, hoping it’d be enough to convince him.

“Why not wait until next week?” He seemed to have found what he was looking for as he relaxed his expression, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is there something urgent?”

“No, it’s just…” you trailed off, pursing your lips. You weren’t sure how to explain without sound too eager, but you were almost ninety percent sure he knew why you wanted him to grade it now. “I wanna see how I did. ‘Cause… I studied this time. So…”

An intrigued glint shone in his golden eyes, and his head bobbed in a slow, understanding nod. He returned to the stack and scanned through the list of names until he found yours, pulling out the answer sheet to look over. It was silent for a while, save for the occasional scratch of his pen and the obnoxious tick-tock of the clock. You crossed your arms across your chest and examined the room absentmindedly, finding it too weird to watch him grade in this silence.

“You’ve done well,” he suddenly spoke, the richness of his voice gently guiding you out of your thoughts. “Congratulations.”

You saw that he rotated the paper to you, letting you look at the numbers that adorned the white page. 47/50, it read, marking this your highest grade yet.

“That’s good,” you hummed, risking a glance up at him, only to find him already watching you expectantly.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” He questioned, and you could’ve sworn that he had the faintest of smirks. It was gone as quick as you saw it, but you were sure it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you. You paused, feeling the uncomfortable weight of embarrassment creeping in your mind, stopping the words on the tip of your tongue. What were you so nervous about? You did good and everyone knew he didn’t go back on his word.

“You said you’d reward me if I did good,” you reminded, leaning forward a touch too eagerly.

“Did I?” He replied, his expression unchanging even when it was clear what you wanted. “The reward was the knowledge and understanding of this unit. Are you not satisfied?”

Fuck.

“Oh. Uh,” you were mortified—how could you not be? Technically, he didn’t specify what the prize would be. You just assumed it’d include him fucking you like the last two times. You stared at him, pursing your lips, not really bothering to hide the obvious displeasure in your face. “If I say no, will I get something else?”

The corners of his lips raised in a smug smile as he intertwined his fingers together, resting them atop the smooth wood of his desk. You noticed the familiar glint of amusement in his eyes and groaned softly. He was just messing with you.

“I suppose so,” he said, beckoning you closer to him with a refined hand. He flattened it along the curve of your hip, gently guiding you to the edge of his desk as he stood up to press himself against you. “You’ve done well today. You must’ve been very determined to get what you wanted, hm?”

You nodded slightly, almost shyly, shuddering at the feeling of his hand sliding down your pelvis to palm at your crotch. He was (not so) surprised to have felt you already hardening under his touch, but he didn’t comment on it, instead giving your cock an experimental squeeze. Your knees nearly buckled, grateful to have the desk supporting your weight as he stroked and explored your body.

“You’re more sensitive than the previous times we’ve done this,” he noted, leaning back to slot his thigh between your own and tilt your bashful head up. His grip was firm, unrelenting, raising goosebumps along your arms at his—frankly strange—strength. You hardly paid it any heed, of course. It just added to his appeal. “Have you been anticipating this moment since then?”

He refused to let you look away, tightening his grip on your chin to make you meet his golden eyes. You hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard before steeling your nerves. He said you could have this, so you were going take it.

“Yeah,” you replied, rolling your hips into the palm of his hand needily. You bit your lip at the jolt of electricity that traveled up your spine, sending your senses into overdrive. You could smell his cologne—it was rich and smooth, subtle and fitting for a man like him. He was all you could feel, hear, and see as his hand made its way to the front of your pants, deftly undoing the button to tug them down.

“My, I can’t imagine how pent up you must be to be this aroused already,” he teased, his cheeks raised in a minuscule smirk. He swiftly pulled his gloves off and ran his hands ran over the curve of your thighs this time, sliding along the underside to lift you onto the desk. You tensed when the cold surface met your heated skin, but it was soon forgotten when you watched him slide your boxers off, breath hitching as he wrapped his hand around your cock.

He pressed his thumb onto the sensitive head, giving it a quick rub before lifting it, noticing the thin string of precum connecting his finger to you. He tightened his hold again to start jerking you off, listening intently to the slick noises and your breathy moans. He could feel his own dick beginning to harden, straining against the fabric of his slacks, but he ignored it for the sake of pleasuring you.

His touch was addicting. Hypnotizing. Entrancing. Anything and everything under the sun because you couldn’t get enough of how damn good he was. He knew just how tight to squeeze, the right pace, what made you shudder and squirm. The build-up was slow and delicious, clouding over your mind until your thoughts were hardly coherent enough to speak out.

“Damn—you’re… you’re good,” you shakily panted, eyes darting between his warm, strong hand and his own irises. Your cock throbbed, twitching at the sound of his low, amused chuckle. You clutched at the edge of the desk hard enough to make your hands shake, thighs flexing as you writhed. Though, you were careful enough not to accidentally kick him.

“I’m flattered you think so,” he responded, moving himself so that his hip pressed one of your thighs wider. He felt you hook your leg around his waist and tighten when he moved his hand away to prod his fingertips against your lips, wordlessly demanding entry. Eagerly, you complied, opening your mouth to let him press onto your tongue and gather your saliva.

You hummed at the feeling before closing your lips around them, gently sucking on them as you gauged his reaction. You couldn’t catch his overall expression shifting, but you did see his eyebrow raise the slightest bit and feel his cock throb against your ass. He let out a breath when he felt the suction alongside your tongue swirling around his skin, coating his fingers in your saliva. He pushed them further down, resulting in a soft gag from you. He held them there for a moment longer before pulling away, watching you break the thin trail that connected you to him with a swift swipe of your tongue over your slick lower lip.

Without missing a beat, he reached down, and you were fully expecting to feel him prod at your hole, but his hand targeted the handle of one of his drawers. You huffed impatiently and rolled your eyes when he pulled out a bottle of lube, listening to the sound of the cap being flipped open.

“Was the whole finger thing really necessary?” You grumbled, gasping slightly when he tugged your hips forward just enough so your ass hung off of the edge. You gave him a weak glare when he poured some of it on your asshole directly, tensing and shuddering at the sudden temperature drop.

“No,” he replied smoothly, easing his fingers into you. “But surely you didn’t expect to be the only one enjoying himself?” He questioned rhetorically, pumping them in and out slow enough so that the wet squelching was the only thing you could hear. “I also had no intention of using my saliva this time.”

“Could’ve started by now,” you said under your breath, mildly bitter that he had you gagging on his fingers just ‘cause he felt like it.

“Have patience,” he murmured, jabbing his slender fingers into your prostate in response to your vulgar words. He jerked you off with his free hand, paying close attention to each of your reactions, down to the minuscule twitch. “I know you can do that. If you can pass a simple test, how much more is waiting to you?”

You remained silent, swallowing the impending retort. You huffed through your nose, watching his hands expertly working your body better than you’d ever have. Your hips jerked and your cock pulsed rhythmically whenever he curled his slender fingers into that one spot that had you seeing stars. It was hard to keep quiet, and you were sure he was making this as difficult as he possibly could for you.

The heat in your belly intensified with every second—with every jab to your sensitive prostate and stroke along your painfully hard dick. Your labored breaths came out in quick pants, hitching when he teased the leaking tip. You were fully expecting him to take his time, to feel the gradual buildup, so when he suddenly speeds up, you accidentally let out a loud moan.

He gave you a sharp look, reminding you that you couldn’t afford to be loud despite not letting up. You swiftly clamped a hand over your mouth, weakly glaring at him for the sudden onslaught of stimulation, but you could hardly keep up the attitude for long. You squeezed your eyes shut and squirmed, nostrils flaring at the effort as your hips jerked every so often.

“F–Fuck, sir,” you panted, your eyebrows furrowing when you looked up at him pleadingly. “I’m gonna… m’gonna cum.”

“Go ahead,” Zhongli murmured, watching you intently. And, like his rich, smooth voice was a trigger, you did. You bit down on your lip so hard you nearly punctured it, unable to completely muffle your moans as the sounds slipped past your hand. He didn’t scold you for it, instead deciding to continue to move his hands, milking out as much cum out of your cock as he could before you started to whine at the budding overstimulation.

He let you take a moment to gather yourself, shifting to grab a tissue and wipe his fingers clean. He turned back to look at you when you sighed, leaning back to place most of your weight on your palms.

“Do you need a break?” He questioned, placing his hands back on your bare thighs. He was in no rush despite having his painfully hard dick straining against his pants, and you were internally impressed with his self control.

“No,” you replied without missing a beat, hooking your knee around his waist to tug him closer, but he hardly budged. “Fuck me. Now. I’ll be fine,” you urged. It seemed that demands were your strong suit this time around.

“Learning to have patience will benefit you greatly,” he said, and you watched the way he took a deep breath in a manner you knew meant that he was about to go on a long tangent of life lessons or something along the line. You gave him a pleading look, to which he acknowledged with yet another subtle, smug smirk. Good lord, when he wasn’t in a serious setting or teaching, he could be a pain in the ass. Literally and figuratively.

“Stop doing that,” you huffed, but you could hardly maintain that (already weak) sense of annoyance when he moved to undo his pants, eyes quickly and instinctively making their way towards his cock. You could see the tip of it beading with precum and the way it flushed an angry red.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow what you’re trying to imply,” he responded, all of his amusement fizzling away to make room for the faux ignorance. He reached over to grab the bottle of lube to pour a generous amount onto his palm and rub it along his dick, creating quiet squelching sounds that, now that you thought about it, made you cringe.

“So you just casually have lube laying around?” You questioned, looking back up at him curiously like you weren’t about to have sex. You had a strange relationship, honestly.

“I got it recently. Based on your reaction towards our last session together, it was easy to assume that you’d make a genuine effort,” he said, wiping most of the lube off his hand with a tissue before hefting your thighs up his broad shoulders. “You’re quite predictable.”

You didn’t bother to refute this time, wincing slightly at the tension to your lower back. “Ow—careful,” you hissed, shifting to get comfortable when you paused suddenly, feeling the head of his cock press against your asshole.

“You’ll be fine,” he gently assured, resting his free hand beside your head. “Bear with it.”

He pushed forward—gently this time, unlike the way he so roughly shoved himself inside you like the first time. You tensed regardless, mildly uncomfortable with the burn that came with his entry.

“Relax,” he murmured, rubbing a hand on your thigh in a comforting manner, coaxing your relaxation forth. He sank in slowly, breathing in deeply as he fought the urge to shove himself in one go. It felt better this way, he realized, taking his time instead of rushing it out of the sake of irritation. “You’re doing well. Just breathe.”

You nodded sheepishly, resting your head back against his desk. Your chest fell and rose rhythmically, making yourself relax to make things easier for both you and him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip and grunted when he finally buried himself all the way inside you, listening to him grunt in satisfaction.

“Fuck… is it me, or did you literally get bigger?” Your voice was strained, breathy and shaky. Your legs tightened slightly around his shoulders, staring at him needily.

“No, nothing about me has changed,” he chuckled softly, finding your state humorous. “But you have. You’ve improved your character within this room and proved that you’re more than capable of passing my class. You’ve made me proud, [L.Name].”

“Oh. Haha. Really?” You laughed awkwardly, turning your head to the side bashfully. Butterflies fluttered within your stomach at the praise, feeling a sudden rush of giddiness that you were hardly able to hide. “I guess I am doing better, huh?”

He nodded in response, his golden eyes softening. “I will begin now.”

You gasped, instinctively looking down to watch him pull out a bit and softly push back inside. You shuddered at the drag of his cock against your prostate, biting your lip once again to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your throat.

He moved rhythmically, his gaze locked on your blissful expression. His cock throbbed as he slid in and out, again and again, targeting your prostate with pinpoint precision. “You’re taking me so well,” he muttered, grunting softly, your soft moans mixing in with the wet, gentle slaps that filled the room.

“Shit—don’t say stuff like that,” you stubbornly said, slapping a hand over your mouth when he jabbed his dick up against your prostate with a sharp thrust.

“No? But is it—” He groaned, his eyebrows furrowing when he felt you squeeze tighter around him, letting out a strained, labored breath. He tightened his fingers into fists that had his knuckles turning white, pressing his hips against your ass firmly for a moment before resuming. “But is it not the truth?”

You rolled your eyes, using your lack of momentum to kick his back with the heel of your foot. “You talk too much…”

“Is that so?” He retorted, a faint smirk gracing his features as he bent down lower, brushing his lips against your ear, and ignored the strained grunt you let out at the added tension to your back. “Then what would you like me to do?”

You hesitated, shivering pleasantly as his breath ghosted the shell of your ear. “Harder. Go harder.” The two of you remained silent for a beat, and you quickly realized he was expecting something else. “Please.”

“Good boy. Just because I’m doing this for you doesn’t mean you simply forget your manners,” he scolded lightheartedly.

And, like clockwork, your jaw snapped open to argue, but he wouldn’t allow it this time. He rammed his cock so hard in you stars danced through your vision, your body tensing and clenching down tighter around his cock. His breaths came out shallow and labored, focused on churning your insides to mush while you tried your damn best to keep yourself from getting too loud.

“Fuck—oh my God, sir, please—” you choked out, hands scrambling for purchase. You covered your mouth with one and buried your fingers in his hair with the other, inadvertently tugging on the strands and messing up his ponytail. “Wait…!”

“Is this not what you wanted?” He rhetorically questioned, his voice low, not needing to raise his volume over your surprised and needy moans. “A shame,” he continued, finding no desire to let up any time soon. He panted harshly into your neck, letting his eyes squeeze shut as he savored the feeling of your tight hole fluttering and pulsing around him. This closeness was unwarranted and wrong, he of all people knew that. But as you whimpered and whined into his ear, he also found that he didn’t mind it.

All that could be heard were the resounding slaps and your poorly concealed noises. The desk creaked slightly, straining under your combined weight as he kept you pinned down with his body, ignoring the quiet rustle of paper as a few fluttered off the desk.

“Fuck, m’so close, sir,” came your muffled words, eyes rolling in ecstasy as you dragged your hand down to clutch tightly at his back, fingers desperately curling into his clothes. “G-Gonna cum—don’t stop!”

“Quiet,” he shushed you, giving one of your thighs a brief pinch before he grabbed hold of your weeping cock to stroke it in time with his movements. Slick sounds emanated from you as he jerked you off with dexterity, stoking the raging heat in your belly. “I know you can lower your voice. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”

You meekly shook your head, letting go of his back to place both hands over your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling yourself jolt up and down as he rammed himself into your ass rhythmically. Your legs tightened slightly around his neck, searching for something to cling to. You were so close and you knew he was aware of it. He refused to let up, pushing you higher and higher, groaning when you tightened around him reflexively.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your hands hardly able to catch your voice as you came hard, body shuddering and convulsing. He squeezed your dick, slowing down considerably to help you through your orgasm, sweat rolling down his temple at the shared body heat and the effort to please you.

He pulled out with a grunt, letting one of your legs fall off his shoulder as he reached down to quickly jerk himself off, sighing in satisfaction when he finally came. You shivered, resting an arm over your eyes in exhaustion as the two of you basked in the afterglow, chest heaving up and down as you panted hard.

“You’ve done well,” he murmured, cleaning his hands off with a tissue to massage your trembling thighs, giving you a moment to recompose yourself. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks…” you replied, taking your arm off your face to look at him. He was disheveled--the most unkempt you've ever seen him. You sighed gratefully when he moved your remaining leg down to grab another tissue and wipe off his and your cum that landed on your stomach.

"Here, take this." He handed you a bottle of water, fixing himself as soon as you accepted it. "It'll do you well to rehydrate yourself, especially after an intensive session such as this."

You drank a generous amount, wiping your mouth after you put the bottle down to retrieve your pants and underwear when he handed them to you. "Thanks. Again."

"Of course." He nodded, giving you more space to put your clothes back on, watching you with a soft expression. "It's getting late. Would you like me to escort you home?"

"I'm okay. I live, like, what, ten minutes away by foot?" You shook your head, wincing slightly at the ache in your back. You stood up and stretched, yawning, as you made your way away from the desk. You noticed a piece of paper on the floor and bent down to grab it, flipping it over to place atop the surface, realizing that it was your test that fell. Staring at the red numbers for a moment longer, you were overcome with a sense of embarrassment.

Man, the things you'd do for dick.

"Don't expect any leniency from me, [L.Name]," he said, walking over towards the window to open it, letting a fresh breeze carry the smell of sex outside. "My demands still remain."

"I know," you sighed, feigning dejection before you grabbed your stuff, walking towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you then."

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