#spider man x vigilante reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fushitoru · 1 month ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

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

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

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

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

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

that is, until gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what can i get you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you said to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i really can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“as you wish.”

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

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

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

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

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

alright, pause over. back to now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let me get that for you.”

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

gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

that day at starbucks, though.

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

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

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

what was it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“how is it complicated?”

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

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

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

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

“well, when you put it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“rough night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you should do that more,” he said.

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

“laugh.”

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

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

“is that right?”

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

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“gojo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you trust me, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and yet, you’re still here.”

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

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your breath catches. “satoru…”

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

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

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

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

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

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

that’s when he freezes.

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

your heart drops into your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

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

satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

nestled right against his morning wood.

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

oh, say can you see—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

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

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

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

@creamflix

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

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rottenfyre · 8 days ago

Text

⸻ ꜱ ᴘ ɪ ᴅ ᴇ ʀ ɢ ɪ ʀ ʟ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Batfam x Fem Reader

Headcanon: How is your relationship with batfam in general?

Notes: Reader is a pervert. Reader have the same abilities as spiderman. Again another silly fic that should not be taken seriously. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

At 22, you were a far cry from the scrappy little thief Bruce and Dick had caught all those years ago. Sure, you were still crass, still brutally honest, and still had a penchant for letting your intrusive thoughts win, but now? Now you were hot.

Like, objectively hot. Your tight black spider suit left very little to the imagination, clinging to every curve and muscle as you swung through the city. And you loved every second of it. The attention? Oh, the attention was your lifeblood. You basked in it like a lizard in the sun.

Dick was still wearing those tight pants, wasn’t he? You couldn’t help but stare. I mean, seriously, the guy had a killer ass. You were supposed to be on a mission, but all you could think about was how the suit hugged his figure in ways that made you forget everything except your growing thoughts. You even compared your ass to his when he wasn’t looking—just to make sure you were still in the running for the Best Butt in Gotham.

“Hey, Grayson,” you called out, voice dripping with amusement. He turned his head slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Nice ass.” You grinned, winking.

He blinked. “What?” He stopped walking and spun around, completely thrown off by your bluntness.

“Oh, nothing, just admiring the view,” you shrugged, taking a step forward and pretending to actually pay attention to the mission. His cheeks turned red, but you didn’t care. You were busy eyeing his backside like it was a prize you were about to claim.

You convinced Dick to teach you yoga, but it wasn’t for flexibility—it was so you could watch him stretch.

“Wow, Dick,” you said, laying on the mat and pretending to follow his moves. “You’re really… bendy.”

He flushed. “It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not,” you teased, snapping a quick photo of him in a compromising pose. “This one’s going on the Batfam group chat.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare!”

You were bleeding out. Your side was burning, your vision blurry, and yet you were having the time of your life. Why? Because Jason Todd—walking sex god and part-time vigilante—was carrying you in his arms like you were a damsel in distress.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, sprinting through an alley as explosions sounded in the distance. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

You stared up at him, dazed but grinning. “You’re so pretty.”

“Y/N, stay awake,” Jason barked.

“I’m awake my angel,” you slurred. Your eyes drifted downward to his broad chest, the tight shirt doing little to hide the muscle underneath. You reached out, resting a hand on his pec. “You got...man boobs.”

Jason groaned. “You're hallucinating, stay awake please.”

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, leaning closer. And then—because you were you—you bit him.

Jason skidded to a stop, staring at you in disbelief. “Did you just—”

“I couldn’t help it,” you said, grinning despite the blood trickling down your chin. “They’re so biteable.”

You discovered Jason was ticklish purely by accident, and you never let him live it down. Anytime he annoyed you, you’d jab him in the ribs or poke his sides until he squirmed.

“Stop it, Y/N!” he growled, swatting at your hands.

“You wish,” you said, chasing him around the room.

The rest of the Batfam watched in stunned silence as Jason “Red Hood” Todd ran from you like a child.

You declared the Batcave chair yours one day and refused to let anyone else sit in it.

“It’s my throne,” you said, lounging dramatically as the others stood around, glaring.

“Get up,” Jason said, crossing his arms.

“Make me,” you replied, sticking your tongue out.

He grabbed you, but instead of throwing you out, you ended up on his lap, smirking. “Guess this works too.”

Anytime you were in the middle of a Dick and Jason argument, you somehow always ended up physically between them. And, oh, you weren’t complaining.

“Move, Dickhead,” Jason growled, pushing into your right shoulder, his broad chest pressing into the side of your face.

“Not a chance, Hood,” Dick snapped, leaning in on your other side, his own muscular frame trapping you against Jason.

You? You just stood there, smiling like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Ooh, I love this. It’s like being sandwiched between two very attractive brick walls.”

“What?!” they shouted in unison.

Jason shot Dick a death glare. “See what you did? You’re giving her ideas.”

“Me? You’re the one pressing into her like some kind of Neanderthal!”

You just smirked, leaning back into the tension. “Don’t mind me, boys. Please, continue. This is very entertaining.”

Dick was your favorite pillow, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime you were hanging out in the Batcave, you’d just casually rest your head on his shoulder or lean against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he asked, chuckling softly.

“Very,” you replied, closing your eyes.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around you. “Good.”

You peeked up at him, grinning. “You know, you make a great pillow. Very firm, but also soft in the right places.”

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” you said, smirking.

Dick’s ass was basically your personal stress ball at this point. It didn’t matter if you were on a mission, in the Batcave, or just walking through Gotham—if the opportunity presented itself, you’d take it.

SMACK!

“Jesus, Y/N!” Dick would jump, spinning around, his cheeks flushed.

“What?” you’d say innocently, shrugging. “It’s just so perfect. You work hard for that, right? I’m just appreciating the effort.”

He’d sigh, rubbing his neck, but you knew he secretly loved it.

Jason’s chest was another favorite of yours, especially when he was shirtless (which, let’s face it, happened a lot). You’d walk up to him, your fingers twitching, and—pinch!

“Damn it, Y/N!” Jason would glare at you, rubbing the spot where you’d gotten him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you’d say with a cheeky grin. “Just checking if these are real.”

He’d groan, shaking his head, but you’d catch the tiny smirk he tried to hide.

You loved teasing, and nothing was off-limits. During a mission, your suit "mysteriously" ripped—right in front of Jason and Dick.

“Oh no,” you said innocently, looking over your shoulder at the tear just below your back. “Guess I’ll have to fix this later.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Y/N, stop.”

Dick looked away, flustered. “Maybe cover it up or something?”

“Why? You guys can’t handle a little skin?” You smirked, adjusting your suit to make it worse.

Jason grumbled, “I’m about to shoot that suit off you if you don’t stop playing.”

You had zero shame. Once, during a stakeout with Dick, you leaned over and kissed him right in the middle of his report to Bruce.

“Nightwing, report—” Bruce’s voice came over the comms, but you cut Dick off with your lips, pulling him into a deep kiss.

“Y/N!” he protested, his face red as he tried to pull away. “Bruce can hear us!”

“So?” you replied, shrugging as you went in for another kiss.

The first time you met Superman, you were not prepared.

“Y/N, this is Clark Kent,” Bruce said, his tone clipped as ever. “He’s Superman.”

You blinked up at the man of steel, all 6’4” of farm-boy perfection, and immediately zeroed in on one thing: the bulge.

You weren’t subtle about it either. Your eyes widened slightly as you stared, your head tilting to the side like you were trying to calculate something.

Clark, oblivious, smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Bruce has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still staring. “Damn, you’re packing. Your wife must be so lucky.”

The room went silent. Bruce closed his eyes, looking like he was about to have an aneurysm. Clark cleared his throat, cheeks turning bright red.

“What—what does that mean?” Superman asked, clearly flustered.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, shrugging. “Just making an observation. By the way, you ever need help with Lois, let me know. I’m excellent at teamwork.”

Bruce groaned audibly in the background.

“Anyway,” he stammered, shifting awkwardly, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Damian and Jon.”

You didn’t hear a word he said.

Poor Tim. Sweet, awkward Tim. He didn’t deserve you, and yet you tormented him at every opportunity.

You were taller than him, which you used to your advantage constantly. One day, after a successful mission, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tight hug. Your boobs pressed against the back of his head, and you could feel him stiffen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Good boy,”

“Y/N,” he croaked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hmm?”

“Let go.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“LET GO!”

Tim was your little puppy, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime he looked stressed (which was, like, always), you’d grab him by the shoulders and pull him down onto your lap.

“Shhh,” you’d coo, stroking his hair while he sat there stiff as a board. “You’re working too hard, Timmy. Just relax.”

He’d blush furiously, stammering out a protest, but you’d silence him with a kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy,” you’d whisper, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re doing great.”

Poor Tim would be a mess, his face redder than Jason’s helmet, but you didn’t care. It was adorable.

Jason walked in once and nearly gagged. “This is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”

When you first met Damian, you were charmed. Not by his skill, or his intellect, or his reputation as the Demon’s Son. No, you were charmed because he looked like an angry little bird.

He’d just finished beating the crap out of Tim in the training room when you walked in.

“Who is this?” Damian demanded, glaring at you.

You clasped your hands together, grinning. “Aww, you’re so cute!”

Damian bristled. “I am not cute! I am an assassin!”

You squealed, bouncing on your heels. “Look at him! He’s like a tiny murder pigeon!”

Tim, still lying on the mat, muttered, “Please kill me.”

“So adorable,” you said, holding your hands together in a “squee” motion, jumping up and down like a fangirl. “I didn’t know you were so mad! Look at you, little angry pookie!”

Damian, of course, was not impressed. “Shut up, woman.”

But you? You couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re, like, a pocket-sized villain. So cute.”

Since then, you’d taken to treating Damian like a literal baby. You’d sit him on your lap, spoon-feed him during meals, and ruffle his hair at every opportunity.

Damian was your baby, no matter how much he tried to argue otherwise. You gave him the most attention—whether it was ruffling his hair, pinching his cheeks, or straight-up kissing him on the forehead during missions.

“Y/N, cease this nonsense!” he’d shout, trying to push you away.

“Aw, but you’re so cute,” you’d tease, holding his face in your hands.

Damian would glare, but the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him. You knew he secretly loved it, especially when you called him your “adorable angry bird.”

Jon Kent adored you. But when he let it slip in front of Damian?

“Y/N is… well, she’s amazing,” Jon had said shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Damian froze, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

“Uh, nothing!” Jon backpedaled, but Damian was already chasing him across the Batcave, sword in hand.

“YOU THINK YOU HAVE A CHANCE?!” Damian yelled as Jon flew for his life.

Bruce wasn’t immune to your antics either. You’d long since dropped the “old man” or “Bruce” in favor of something much more fun: “Daddy.”

“Good work tonight, Y/N,” Bruce said one evening, his tone professional.

You leaned against the Batcomputer, smirking. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Bruce froze, his eye twitching slightly.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You always been my suger daddy, it's only make sense if I call you daddy.”

He walked away without another word.

You made it your life mission to annoy Bruce whenever possible. During one of his infamous brooding sessions in the Batcave, you casually walked up to him, poked his nose, and said, “Boop.”

He froze, slowly turning to glare at you. “Don’t.”

“Boop,” you repeated, doing it again.

Dick and Tim were in hysterics in the background, and Jason muttered, “She’s got a death wish.”

Bruce, exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised?”

It started as a joke. You stole one of Bruce’s button-up shirts and wore it around the Manor. Now it was a regular occurrence, much to Bruce’s annoyance.

“That’s mine,” he’d say.

“Yup, and it’s comfy,” you’d reply, lounging on the couch.

Once, during a mission debrief, you leaned on the table and purred, “What’s the plan, Daddy?”

Jason choked on his drink, Dick coughed awkwardly, and Tim turned bright red.

Bruce didn’t even look up. “I will ground you.”

“Kinky,” you replied with a grin.

You had a thing for flirting with dangerous villains, and the Batfam hated it.

“I could totally take Deathstroke,” you said once after a fight.

“He tried to kill you!” Jason snapped.

“Yeah, but did you see the way he looked at me? Sparks, I tell you. Also who said I was talking about fighting?”

“She’s insane,” Damian muttered, but you just shrugged.

During a fight with the Joker, you’d stopped mid-battle to tilt your head and give him an appraising look.

“Y’know,” you said, webbing one of his henchmen to the wall. “You’d be kinda hot if you didn’t look like a corpse. Ever thought about skincare?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Dick had yelled, dodging a swing from Harley Quinn.

“SHUT UP!” you shot back. “I CAN FIX HIM!”

Despite all the chaos and teasing, there’s a hidden, vulnerable side to you that craves attention—not just the kind that’s lustful, but the caring kind.

After a long night of missions, you’ll often crash in the Batcave. The family can be in the middle of an intense discussion or debriefing, but you’ll barge in, throw yourself onto Tim, and use his lap as a pillow.

Jason will grumble and say something about you “acting like a child,” but then you'll casually climb onto his back, burrowing your face into his shoulder as you cling to him.

Of course, Bruce just looks away like he’s done with all of you, but deep down, he knows that if he even tried to stop it, the whole family would turn on him. You're the glue holding them all together.

Main Headcanon

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

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0-n-1-x · 4 months ago

Note

Hey hey hey! I just read your Damian x photographer reader post (love btw) and instantly became infatuated with the idea of Reader who takes pictures of Gotham vigilantes for the news. Kinda like Peter Parker taking pictures of Spider-Man? (Not a 1 to 1 comparison but you get where it coming from) Basically they’re close with Damian but they don’t know Damian’s Robin. Cue secret identity shenanigans!

Damian Wayne x Hero Photographer!reader

link to my masterlist <33

As a talented photographer, you’ve made a name for yourself by capturing the best shots of Gotham’s vigilantes in action. Your photos of Batman, Robin, and the rest of the Bat-Family often end up on the front pages of Gotham’s newspapers, earning you both praise and a bit of notoriety in the city’s media circles. You and Damian have been friends for a while, bonding over your shared love of art and your similar work ethics. He admires your dedication to photography, though he’s secretly amused by the fact that you’re unknowingly photographing him in his Robin persona.

You and Damian have been friends for a while, bonding over your shared love of art and your similar work ethics. He admires your dedication to photography, though he’s secretly amused by the fact that you’re unknowingly photographing him in his Robin persona. Despite being so close to Damian, you have no idea that he’s actually Robin. He’s careful to keep his vigilante life separate from your friendship, though he occasionally drops hints that go right over your head.

There have been multiple instances where you’ve almost caught Damian in his Robin gear. Whether it’s seeing a flash of green and red out of the corner of your eye or noticing how familiar Robin’s fighting style seems, you start to get the feeling that there’s something more to Damian than meets the eye.

One day, you capture an exceptionally clear photo of Robin, and you can’t help but notice something oddly familiar about his eyes. You brush it off at first, but the thought nags at you. Damian, of course, is aware that you took the photo and goes out of his way to ensure you don’t connect the dots.

Whenever you talk to Damian about your latest photos, he can’t help but tease you a little. He’ll ask about your “favorite vigilante” or make subtle comments that hint at his dual identity. You laugh it off, thinking he’s just poking fun at your obsession with Gotham’s heroes. (i like to think that your favorite wouldn't be him, and he'd be slightly offended and try to explain why he's robin's better than his brothers other vigilantes)

There are times when Damian has to abruptly leave your hangouts to attend to Robin duties. He always comes up with an excuse—whether it’s a sudden family emergency or needing to take care of something important. You find it a bit odd but don’t press him on it, chalking it up to Damian’s sometimes mysterious nature.

One night, while you’re out trying to get some action shots of the infamous Gotham Vigilante Group, you get caught in the middle of a dangerous situation.

As you leaned over the ledge to get a better angle, you suddenly heard the sound of gunfire echoing through the alleyways. Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t move, focusing your lens instead. Sure enough, you spotted Batman and Robin making their move on a group of heavily armed thugs. You quickly snapped a few shots, your heart racing with the thrill of the moment.

But then, something went wrong. One of the thugs spotted you—your lens reflecting just enough light to catch his attention. Without thinking, he pointed his gun upwards and fired.

The bullet whizzed past your head, shattering the brick near where you crouched. Panic surged through you as you scrambled back, nearly dropping your camera. Before you could react, you saw a flash of red and green—Robin was suddenly there, pulling you out of harm’s way.

He shielded you with his body, guiding you towards a safer spot on the rooftop. His gloved hand was firm but gentle as he held onto your arm, his other hand reaching for a grappling hook.

“Stay close to me,” he ordered, his voice low and urgent.

You barely had time to process what was happening before Robin swung the two of you off the rooftop, carrying you safely to a nearby building. Your heart pounded in your chest, both from the fear of what just happened and from the adrenaline of being in such close proximity to the vigilante.

When your feet finally touched solid ground, you stumbled slightly, still reeling from the close call. Robin’s arm was still around your waist, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but notice how strong and warm he felt, even through his suit.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with concern.

You nodded, but your mind was spinning. There was something about his voice, the way he held you—something that felt so familiar.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you managed to reply, your breath hitching slightly as you looked up at him. Your eyes locked with his, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The green mask, the intense gaze, the way he said your name earlier—it was Damian. It had to be.

“Damian?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Robin stiffened, his grip on you tightening for a split second before he quickly let go, stepping back. His expression was hidden behind the mask, but you could see the conflict in his eyes. He hesitated, clearly torn between continuing the charade and telling you the truth.

“I—” he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

“Damian, it’s you, isn’t it?” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re Robin.”

#dc x you #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne headcannons #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x gender neutral reader

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c0kitty · 11 months ago

Text

NOW PLAYING ... NOBODY KNOWS ft. spider-women!ellie x reader

“…BUT NOBODY KNOWS MY LITTLE SECRET.”

(⭑) summary: r/reddit, when’s the best time to tell your girlfriend of three months, (who you are so desperately in love with) you are that "crazy" vigilante on the news, fighting crime in a spider-suit, and that you now shoot fucking webs out of your wrist. (⭑) content: wc 1.2k+ nerd!ellie. confessions. making out. comfort. spider-man!ellie. established relationship. suggestive. insecure!ellie. HEAVILY inspired from the roof-top scene in tasm bcs im obsessed. cursing.

you guys find yourself on the roof-top of dina’s-friend’s apartment, for a random party, celebrating god-knows what. it's slightly chilly, you stand next to ellie with her oversized jacket on you; despite ellie telling you numerous times it was going to be cold, she was not one to refuse you.

ellie wished she had her camera right now; outside’s a pretty scene with the many buildings scattered, the sky, gradually transitioning into yellow and pink hues, night unfolding, and you, looked so pretty by her side.

the city below though remains bustling with constant movement, and ellie's mind is no different. because today was going to be the day —

ellie’s hazel-green eyes shift towards you, observing your soft expression, her heart ached with uncertainty as she wondered if you would hate her — hate her for lying, hate her for not being normal, hate her for having so much baggage. hate her for being spider-women.

“you think dina and jesse are shagging?” you ask, randomly, breaking the comfortable silence. your hands moves to the railing, casually pushing yourself backwards on it.

“saw dina sneakin’ out at 1 am, like she was a teenager. so, yeah, definitely.”

also due to ellie’s super-senses, she had heard so many “private,” conversations with him and dina she wished to unhear.

you nod your head, turning your attention towards ellie. “so, why do you seem so te—”

“i need to say something,”

you guys both interrupt each other, it elicits a small giggle from you. “okay... is this about before? is that the reason you’ve been so pissy tonight?”

you were hinting about earlier. when someone had hit on you, even with you being on ellie's lap, her arms even wrapped at your waist. it irritated the hell out of ellie, leaving her to characteristically run her mouth at em'.

you almost had to drag her away to stop the growing commotion.

ellie sports a slight pout at her pink-lips. “it’s not my fault men can’t get fucking context clues, it’s a wonder they survive. and i haven’t been “pissy” i—” you raise your eyebrows in response, conveying a silent ‘you sure?’ ellie stops talking, only rolling her eyes.

“okay, whatever, maybe i was but, it's not about that,” ellie wasn’t sure how to start this conversation without sounding crazy or scaring you.

“...i was bitten,” ellie says, bushy brows slightly furrowing.

your head tilts, “that’s a little ominous.” ellie rethinks; maybe that wasn’t a good way to start.

“nevermind. you know, when i was sick. that whole two weeks, couple months back.” you nod your head, “yeah, you said you were sick. projectile vomit and shit. couldn’t lift a finger because it was so bad.” damn, ellie forgot she said all that.

“yeah, um sorry. i lied about that.” before you could say anything, lips pulled into a frown, ellie blurts: “i’m spider-man,” finally with a breath. you’re staring at her, but she can’t decipher your expression. unconsciously, ellie bites at her bottom lip.

silence fills the moment, and ellie finds it unbearable; suddenly, in just a second, your face relaxes. “oh, wait. you’re fucking with me. els thought you were serious for a second.”

ellie was regretting playing pranks on you so much, “i’m not fucking with you,” ellie’s arm cross, unconsciously flexing in the process, but you only a grow smile on your lips, like this was some ongoing joke. “jesus, stop smiling — it’s not a joke y/n,”

“i’ve known you all my life ellie — i think i would know if you were fighting crimes with iron-man,” you ignore her, releasing the bar. “wait just w—”

“lets go els, please. it’s getting cold and i’m tired,” you say, making your move toward the door; but in a quick reaction, ellie’s translucent webs shoots out her wrist, spinning you around til’ you're close, her hands, now holding at your waist.

you’re staring at her, eyes widened comically, and your mouth parted, seemingly trying to process what just happened. ellie's attention was drawn to something else though; light in the distance, drunken footsteps heading their way.

“you just fucking — shot webs out your hands, ellie! you’re sp—”

ellie didn’t have much time to think it through, because as soon as the drunkards stumble in, ellie's lips, soft and sweet, press into yours. “..shh,” ellie whispers, faint to your lips — trying to calm you down.

a small gasp leaves your mouth. but after a second, hearing the commotion behind you; you get the message, relaxing yourself into the kiss.

ellie's kisses are usually greedy, but tender, her hands would rummage your body confidently, possessively pulling you in. but this kiss, its … different. it’s tentative, hesitant, like she was afraid to push.

at that, you try to make her feel comfortable with a subtle touch beneath her loose black-shirt. your lips, coated in strawberry gloss, glides seamlessly over hers, giving her a little push; and it works.

ellie tongue pushes in hastily, its smooth tracing from your lips to your tongue. her moppy-brown hair tickling your chin as she eases in the kiss, embracing the subtle buzzing in her chest.

you hear the people leave, and it’s silent now, besides the busy cars. “ellie… t–”

“one more second,” she grumbles, you wanted to keep going, but you still had a lot to say — questions cycling. so you pull away, with a gentle smack of the lips.

she lets out a small groan in response; her cheeks dusted in pink and round eyes flutter open, looking at you in a wistful gaze.

“so… you’re spider-man. well, spider-woman,” you finally say, exhaling. ellie’s eyes shift to the floor. her hands drop from you, and instead, runs through her hair anxiously. “yeah. i know it’s fucked up, and weird. i should’ve told you, warned you, but i—”

you interrupt her depressive rambles, “no, ellie i mean it’s cool, you’re cool. it’s just, fuck.” you take a breath, throwing your hands up. “i was just surprised because you’re, like, nerdy and cute, and then … spiderman, you know?”

ellie’s eyes lifted to meet yours, “relieved” couldn’t fully capture how she felt, but all she could managed to say was: “oh, okay. that’s great, yeah.”

a silence falls between you two in response to ellie’s awkwardness, exchanging glances; both of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“i feel like i should feel offended though, ‘nerdy?’” you playfully nudge at her feet, “you know what i mean. passionate about space, introverted, so obsessed with your grades. it’s like a text-book definition,” ellie couldn’t really deny that, so she just playful rolls her eyes instead.

“...but you know what’s crazy, i had a small tiny crush on spider–man, well you, before we officially dated.”

ellie’s lips curve into a smile, “so now you get the best of both worlds, huh.” ellie comes closer to you, hands finding their place to your body. "i bet you dreamed of both of us fighting over you, hm?”

in the quietness that follows, your eyes drift away from ellie, intentionally avoiding her gaze. ellie could tell there was more story to your silence, “wait — did you have a wet dream about spider-man and m—” she begins, but you swiftly cover her mouth.

“...shut it,” you say beyond flustered, which only intensifies ellie's curiosity.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #tlou #ellie x reader #tlou x reader #ellie williams x poc reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou

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xan-izme · 6 months ago

Text

Double Life 10 (ATSV x reader x Batfam)

Summary: When will you learn to trust?

Part 9, Part 11

TW: attempted assault, violence, slight angst, cursing

Loud music blasted in your headphones as you were landing multiple hits against the punching bag.

Flashes of everything that frustrated you. Miguel. Jason. Your own feelings that went against being Spiderwoman.

Your breathing increased as you hit harder and harder. Focusing all of your anger and frustrations on the poor punching bag.

You had to stop before you break the punching bag with your super strength. You took a seat on a bench and began to drink some of your water. Still stuck in your own thoughts. Ignoring everything and everyone in the gym. You sighed as you leaned your head against the wall behind you. The music playing from the gym speakers calmed you a bit.

The music being calmer than your intense hateful playlist.

You've gone back to hitting the gym. You had a lot of time to yourself. A lot of grieving. You needed to get yourself together. Even if you didn't have the mentality to do so.

After lifting a few weights for a few more hours. You head out the gym. A little reluctant to do so, but it was getting dark, and you don't really want to get a lecture from Alfred like last time.

He went on about you being a young lady, and how it was far too dangerous for you to be out at night, especially in Gotham. Which you understand. His concern for you is nice. You appreciate it greatly, but you just don't have the patients tonight.

As you walked past a diner. You could smell the food. You stopped and sighed. Trying to resist the urge. There was dinner at home.

Of course. You gave in and went into the diner. Ordering a meal and taking a seat in a booth.

You happily ate. Finally seeming to cool down. The anger you had washed away. Now you were just sad. You sighed when you finished eating. Giving your waiter a sweet smile after you paid the cheek.

You silently sat brooding to yourself. wondering of the future. Of the past. Possibilities. What will your downfall be? when will your downfall be?

will you die alone? under that mask you hid under for years?

or surrounded by family. By loved ones.

You decided it was probably time to get up and get back to the manner. You left the Diner and walked down the almost empty street. Police sirens from different directions could be heard

Suddenly. You felt your spider seances spike up. Thats when you heard a scream come from an alleyway down the street.

You wasted no time and sprinted down to the alleyway. You immediately spot about 7 men trying to assault a woman. You grab a trash bag that was filled and hit one of the men.

You were quick. Punching one of the men who had a bat and ripping it out from his hand. You get punched in the gut. And in the face. Causing you to stumble back.

Before you could do anything else. A flash of black was seen. And someone stood in front of you. Tall. Dressed in black with. . . a cape?

You noticed the men all freeze. Staring at the figure in front of you with absolute terror. You slowly look up to the figure. And you felt your heart drop to your ass.

"Batman. . ." You mumbled at you stare up at the vigilante with wide eyes. The Batman stared down at you. Just. Stared down at you. Before you could do anything else, Batman rushed to knock down all five men. You tried to search for the woman from before. But she was already running.

Your spider senses spike up again. You duck down from a punch thrown by one of the men. You turn to deliver a hard punch back. But was beaten to hit.

Another man in a suit his colors noticeable. Nightwing, grabs the man and throws him against a wall.

You backed away as you watched The Nightwing take care of two other men who came at him with ease.

You were wondering if you should run. You turn around and attempted to leave. But you were stopped.

"Hold it kiddo." A firm grip was on your shoulder. You turn around and see Nightwing. Batman close behind. Both men staring down at you. You got really nervous.

"Hey, your safe now." Nightwing pats your head reassuringly. It was. Oddly familiar.

"We're taking you to the police station." Batman suddenly spoke. You got nervous again. You greatly respected Batman. But you were scared.

And you know they could see it. You frowned deeply and took two steps back.

"Thanks, but I'm good." You gave them a cold look. You turn to walk away. But Batman was suddenly in front of you

"Shit-!" You took a step back. Batman frowns. "Language. I wasn't asking. We will take you to the police station." He suddenly grabbed you and lifted you off the ground.

"Whoa! Hey, let go of me!" You shouted as you were thrown over his shoulder.

"Hey, um. Maybe you should put her down I don't think she's comfortable with that-" Nightwing gets cut off by Batman's glare.

"Neverminded. . . I'll just shut up." Nightwing looks down to his feet to avoid Batman's glare.

You were taken to the Police station unwillingly and had to wait for an unhappy Alfred and Jason who was mocking you for getting in trouble. Which you responded with a middle finger.

"Imagine getting arrested?"

"I wasn't arrested jackass."

"Alfred she just cursed at me!"

"Did I stutter? Or are you going deaf. From that chunk of grey hair you got, hearing loss got to be one of the many stages of getting old."

"Excuse me?"

"Your excused."

You and Jason continued to bicker in the back of the limo. Alfred reached his limit with the two of you when you two kept cursing at each other.

"If you both do not stop bickering, I will report you both to Master Bruce, am I understood?"

You and Jason were quick to quite yourselves down.

Bruce stormed around the Batcave while taking off his mask.

"What was she thinking?" Bruce grumbled as he walked up to the controls and big screens.

"She was trying to help." Dick spoke as he leaned on a wall. Watching Bruce get onto the computers and get onto the surveillance cameras around Gotham. Replaying you leaving the gym. Then leaving the diner. And then running straight to the alleyway. Into danger.

Dick frowns slight. He does agree

"She could have gotten hurt. Those men could have had guns. They could have-" Bruce clenched his fist. Stopping himself as he switched the cameras to live surveillance of the manor

". . . She's safe now Bruce. Look." Dick pointed to the live surveillance of you entering the Mannor with Jason and Alfred.

Bruce let out a small breath of relief. You were safe. At home. Were you are protected. Where he can protect you.

The next morning, you were alone with Alfred. You were in your room in your bathroom. Seemingly working on a new invention in the bathtub while listening to music.

Crying a little while working on your wires. Letting out a frustration by crying a little helped a little bit.

While you were in your own little world. Bruse came up the stairs, your bedroom door was open as always. but you were not at your desk. He sees the bathroom light on and calls out for you. But you don't respond. So, he knocked on the bathroom door.

You still didn't hear him due to your headphones. You shocked yourself a bit, causing yourself to curse and drop your little gadget. In a hurry to catch it you hit your head against the shower glass causing the headphones to fall off and causing you to curse louder.

Bruce heard the commotion going on in the bathroom. He knocked a little harder and called your name again.

"Are you okay?" You can hear the worry in Bruce's voice.

"Um- Yeah! I'm okay. Just--shiiiii. . . ow." You grumbled.

Bruce awkwardly stood at the door. "I'll just. . . wait out here."

Bruce takes a seat on your bed and just waits for you to come out. He glanced around the room. He's happy you decorated the way you wanted it. Instead of leaving the walls and shelves bare.

You came out of the bathroom. Kind of looking like a mess yet smiling at him nonetheless.

There it is. You had that smile that said something was wrong.

"Hey. Sorry I just. Tripped."

As you rant on whatever excuse you had. Bruce watched your movements. Clenching your jaw as you spoke. Pacing around the room. Rambling. Looking anywhere but at him.

You're stressing about something. But what. You won't tell him. He could ask, like he's done before. But you always seem to create this wall after he asks you if you were okay. Or how you were feeling in any emotional way.

The wall always seems to be getting bigger and bigger.

"I wanted to talk to you about setting a curfew. And, laying down a few more rules." Bruce spoke as he stood up from your bed.

You paused. "Oh, okay."

Bruce sighed. "I just- You haven't told me about what happened last night." He was still upset with the attitude you gave Batman(him) that night. Completely different from how you are with him.

"Oh, I just thought since Alfred already told you. . ." You stuttered a little.

"Things like this. You were in serious danger. Why didn't you just call for Alfred to get you?"

"If I did that. What would have happened to that lady then?" Your tone firmer now. It seems you want to stand ground.

"You could have called the cops. Call out to other people to help. But you went in alone!" Bruce spoke with a deep frown as he took a step forward.

"Cops would be too slow. There were people around but they were doing nothing. Even after she screamed!" You didn't like how Bruce was scolding you. Scolding you just like how she used to.

"She was alone. Screaming for help. If I didn't do anything she would have been-"

"You could have been met with the same fate if those vigilantes didn't get there when they did!" His voice raising slightly. Silence fell upon the room as your jaw clenched, you avoid looking him in the eyes. You were getting angry.

". . . I had it handled."

"No you did not! It was you against a bunch of grown men. There was nothing you could have done to prevent what could have happened." Bruce was just worried. Frustrated. Angry.

You look back at him, your eyes narrowed as you took a step forward. Speaking before thinking. "And what do you know huh? You know nothing 'bout me! you know nothing! You think you can waltz in my damn life and take me away from all I know you can tell me what I'm capable of?" Your voice began to raise as your tone became more aggressive.

"You might got the papers to prove you my pops. But you're not, you're not! So, stop playing daddy and acting like you know every fucking solution to my life when you weren't even there!"

Silence

Absolutes silence

It took you seconds to realize you just lashed out. And so many things that should have been kept in.

"I- Im sorry I didn't mean it. . ."

Bruce lets out a small sigh as he turns around and spoke in a solomed tone "Your curfew is 9:00." He shut the door behind him.

". . . Fuck."

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

A/n: So, whoever wants to get tagged for this series than comment so I can tag u. Ik a lot of people have been asking and I'm sorry I'm late. I also got a question of the readers age, she's 16.

#x daughter!reader #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara #miles morales #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #damian wayne #batfam x reader #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #batman #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spidersona #batfam #tim drake #alfred pennyworth #dc universe #crossover

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eyesxxyou · 1 year ago

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My Hero

☆🕷️。・hobie brown x blackcat!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.3k

synopsis. you and Hobie have long been playing the game of cat and spider. you chase, you fight, you fuck, you fight again, and you two love your games. until you find your life in danger because you stole something you shouldn't have

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🐾warning: p in v sex, unprotected sex don't do that children, a bit of sub!hobie, riding, reverse cowgirl, oral (m receiving) a bit of anal play not much though, hobie being kinda whiny and needy.

You always had a way of coming back into Hobie’s life when he needed you to the very least. Just when he was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t head over heels obsessed with the Black Cat as he thought he was, that he’d be able to look at you one day and not have the irresistible urge to kiss you and take you wherever the two of you might be, whether you be allies or enemies that day. He’d think that smile of yours, filled with chaos and mischief, framed in the silver fangs of your piercings, was just like any other, and that he didn’t have every inch of your body committed to memory.

Then you’d pop back up from wherever you spent your down time and bring back with you all the emotions he thought he had discarded in the rubbish bin down the street as well as your usual additional bullshit that he always played his own part in. That’s how you ended up in his very own bed, his real bed, the one he sleeps in every night, in just a thong and a baby tee that says 'I love (the love is a heart) to make men cry' as your hair now black as the night sky.

He never told you where he lived. No one would have assumed that the vigilante Spider-Man would live on a canal boat. But you were smart, crafty. If anyone were to figure it out, it would have been you.

Hobie was just swinging back on to his docked boat when he felt the familiar tingle of his spidey-senses going off. The prickling of his hair standing as his body moved by its own fruition. He leapt out of the way just before one of your knives could catch him. It came from overhead, the top of his boat where you perched yourself. The knife lodged itself in the wooden deck between his booted feet and he looked up at you.

There it was. All those feelings. They disgusted him but he loved you. He loved your slightly violent ways of showing love that never leave him wounded for long. Your usually pure white hair now raven black in wild curls, bad luck and even worse intentions radiating off of you. The smallest twinkle of fondness in your eyes as you look at him with that grin of yours.

“You always gotta try ‘n kill me every time we meet?” Hobie asks you at you drop down from your perch in front of him with the agility of a cat and snatch up your knife from his deck. You’re in regular clothes with a duffle bag tossed over your shoulder and cat-ish makeup on your pretty face. “I never try to kill you, hon. Just testing your reflexes.” You tucked your knife away, Your hand coming to rest on his chest affectionately. “Miss me, Bee?”

Always. “‘Aven’ crossed ma min’, luv.” He spoke gruffly. You looked up at him with knowing eyes. “I missed you too.” You got up on your toes, your hand coming to the nape of his neck to pull him close and kiss him, a friendly hello to make up from your aggressive one. Hobie kissed you back immediately, didn’t even have to think about it, how body did all the work for him. He knew he should be asking questions. How the fuck did you figure out where he lived for one. But oh— it’s like you knew that kissing him would make him nice, malleable, agreeable, and dumb. Hobie’s not dumb. He’d wise up quick so you had to beat him to the punch.

“I need your help, Hobes.” You murmured against his lips before he kissed you once again in sloppy play fighting with your tongues. “I’m in trouble.”

“When are you no’?” He left out in a slight breathless chuckle, finally pulling away. Wised up. “Wha’cha do?”

You nipped softly at your bottom lip, containing a slight smile. But if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a bit of fear behind those eyes. “I stole something I shouldn’t have.”

“Those are the only thin’ worth stealin’.”

“Bad people are after me, Hobie, and I need a place to lay low for a little bit.” Your lips twitched a little. Yes, definitely fear. “I need help and I heard Spider-Man is in the business of helping people.” It was definitely a shot at your pride. You hated admitting you needed help, spent years drowning because you denied everyone's attempts to throw you a life raft. Hobie knew you’d rather stab yourself in the foot. And that meant this was serious.

"Come on, le's ge' inside."

And that's why you're here in his bed, because the fear of being suffocated in your sleep in your own home left you paranoid. Hobie settled down beside you in his narrow bed with his arm tossed behind his head, the action pulling his shirt up just enough to reveal his naval and that beautiful happy trail leading down his low-hanging sweatpants. "Wha'cha take?"

"Nosey much?" Yet, you cozied up right beside him in his rather cushy bed. You liked the way he smelled, like musk and sweat and the faint hint of faded body wash. Some days, depending on the activities, he smelt metallic, like blood, and you loved that even more. You love his sharp, stoic beauty. Loved his hair and the unmarked flesh of his neck that was usually either bruised or cut in some way. Sometimes done by your own hand.

Hobie's hand was on your thigh, the pads of his fingers messaging your flesh as he looked at your face, dimly lit by the waning moonlight reflecting off the broad ocean and glittering into your face. Your lips were wet, full, pouty. Your eyes sharp and piercing. He could see the pretty peaks of your nipples beneath your shirt. He wanted to run his thumb across them, call you his pretty girl. Mumble into your mouth incoherent words of ignorant admiration. "You came t'me, lovie. I feel I gotta righ' to know wha' kinda trouble you're in."

You two couldn't keep your grubby paws off of each other, always stealing touches, slight caresses like you two were fooling anyone. Every fluid movement between you two, always playing off each other's last, was done like something of a ritualistic dance. You take something from him, he takes it back, whether by hand or by web, you get up close and with both of your quick instincts you're fighting over the objects of your desire, seeing who's wit will prevail in the end. Your banter often followed the same routine.

"Well, I feel I have the right to reserve that info. Jus' do your job, pretty boy. Keep me safe so people don't come and ruin this pretty face you like so much." You pull him close and place a soft kiss on his slender cheek before dropping the matter all together. "But— I am very grateful for your kindness. My hero." You press your lips against the shell of his ear, peppering kisses against his skin.

You shuffled about in his bed, maneuvering between his legs with your hands against his sweatpants to pull them down. "I want to thank you."

Hobie let out a breathy chuckle as you worked to pull his cock out from his pants. "I don't need thanks, par' of ma job, but I won' refuse one." Not with lips like yours and a sharp tongue that could turn so, so soft when put to good use.

Your hands held his half-hard cock, twitching with the pumping blood that made him grow harder by the second, and you stroked him softly, gathering saliva to spit on his tip and spread down his length. Hobie shuttered under your touch, looking down at you through hooded lids as his tongue poked out to wet his lip then nip at it. "Go easy." He murmured, knowing he mercilessly beat his cock earlier to the thought of you, not knowing when he might see that pretty body of yours again.

You always start so slow, feigning a sort of innocence about the way you kiss his leaking tip and suckle on it as you look up at him through your long lashes. You'd keep going on like this forever if you had the choice but Hobie was impatient and restless. Grunting with pleasure and disapproval, he'd tuck his fingers in the curls of your hair and get a nice, firm grasp before pushing your head down further.

You'd relent, let your jaw slack so he could sink his cock further into your mouth, the sensitive tip of his dick dragging across the plain of your tongue. He'd let out something of a strangled, choking whimper before biting his lip. "Fuckin'-" He'd let out in a breathy moan as his head would fall back and he'd guide you head up and down the length of his cock.

It happened every time and this was no different other than the slight way from the waves rocking the boat. His fingers were in your hair, guiding your movements as his dick slid along your tongue against your throat. "Goo', kitty." He stroked your head and pulled your head away to stroke the tip of his cock against your saliva-coated lips.

You took him all the way to the hilt, let him settle down your throat before swallowing. It drove him crazy, made him shiver as he pressed your face to his pelvis and coaxed you to do it again. You swallowed and swallowed before pulling your head back and swirling your tongue against the head of his cock. You bobbed your head at a nice, steady pace, reveling in every hiss that escaped his dark, pretty lips.

He was losing himself to you, to that mouth, to that dark gaze of yours. Head like this made him fall in love. Made him completely mad for you. And oh, you were bad, so bad and he needed you. He needed to be inside you, needed you in top of him.

Hobie moaned softly. "Come'ere." He pulled you off his cock and pulled you up the length of his body.

You kissed him, hand stroking his length in gentle strokes while you sat on his thighs. His tongue found yours, your teeth nipped at his full lip. "You like to pretend you don't miss me but you gotta miss head like that."

"You have no idea, luv."

You climbed further on top of him, kneeling above him with your hands caressing the sides of his pretty face. "Just lay back and let me thank you, hmm? I'm not always so grateful." You pushed him back against his few pillows. Hobie lied with a hand behind his head, watching as you got up and turned around to give him a nice view of your ass from behind.

You pulled your thong to the side, that pretty pussy of yours on display for him, nice and wet. You reached back and took him into you hand to drag the thick of his cock between your pussy lips, stroking your aching clit with his tip. You got him nice and wet with the creamy juices of your cunt before lining him up against your wanting entrance.

He slid in so nicely, the tip stretched your nether lips apart. Your back arched subtly as you pushed your ass back more and let him sink deeper within you. Hobie pulled a single hand from behind his head and grabbed a handful of your ass to get a better view,

That pussy of yours could make a grown man weep. So wet, so tight, so mind-numbingly soft. You knew how to move your hips in just the right fashion to make him want to cum inside every single time. Just the sight of your lips hugging his cock was enough to make him crumble in ways no other could make him. He’s whimpered for you for fucks sake and one rested in his throat right at this very moment.

You sat in his lap with his member sitting snugly in you. You rocked your hips nice and slow, circling in a way that left you shuddering. Hobie squeezed your ass then smacked it with a sharp swing of his palm. “Don’ start teasin’ now, kitty. Show me.” He pressed his hand against your lower back just enough to get a nice view of his cock inside of you. His thumb rubbed circles against your asshole and earned him something of a whimper.

You placed your hands on his thighs as leverage and raised your hips, moaning at the feeling of his thick cock dragging against your sensitive walls. You went until only the tip remained before sitting back down and taking him in once more.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!" The last one was long and drawn out as you felt him nuzzle against your cervix and press against that soft place in your walls that made you grip his thighs tight and need him a little more.

Hobie cupped your ass with his hand, this thumb still tentatively rubbing circles against your tight rim of muscles as you took him over against and again. That pretty pussy of yours so idyllic it looked more like a fleshlight than anything. It gripped him like a vice, like a sin, oh you were such a sin and you felt so good.

"Shit, luv– fuck. Treatin' me good f'once aren'cha?"

You rose until your pussy let him go with a nice, wet pop and swiftly turned around to straddle him as you were before. "I can treat you so much better, Hobes." You reached back, let him take your cunt again and watched his face as his brows furrowed and his mouth fell open with the beginnings of a moan.

Your eyes rolled back as he entered you fully, lids fluttering. You stroked his head and rutted your hips against his own, your clit stroking against his pelvis. You moaned softly, looking down at his pretty face looking equally as fucked out.

Hobie's hands grappled at your hips, thighs, and ass, unsure of where he wanted his hands the most. "Keep fuckin' me like tha'." His hands finally settled on your waist, forced you up and down on his cock like his personal sextoy. His hands were under that little baby tee you were wearing, squeezing handfuls and fondling your breasts.

Hobie's head rolled back, his eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure of it all. With a pussy like this, if you asked him to give up being Spider-Man, he would. With a pussy like this, you could ask him anything and he'd agree with you. So nice and tight and wet. He could feel that slick of yours dribbling down his length, rolling in clear pearls over his balls.

You grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at you. "Keep those eyes on me, Bee. Pretty eyes like those, I wanna see'em." Those eyes that look at you in a hooded daze, not a thought in that brain of his just you, you, you. His hands stroked the sides of your body, cupped your tits, grappled at your hips, forced you to fuck him harder.

He reached between your legs and stroked your swollen clit with his digits. He needed you to cum for him, before him, you had conditioned him like Pavlov. He can't cum unless he knows you've cum first. He needs to see that expression of absolute euphoria across your face to finally know relief himself.

"Please cum f'me, luv. Please, please, I need i'. Y'know I do. Please." Hobie panted and begged. And oh the way your pussy squeezed him in segments, pulsing and quivering with the beginnings of an orgasm.

You squeezed his jaw harder, looked him in the eyes with your forehead pressed against his. The tips of your noses touches, the heat of your breath met the others and you felt the desperation in his breath.

He pinched and rolled your clit between his fingers, watched you lose your breath and ride a little harder. "Come on, luv. 'm good fo' i'. Jus' cum f'me." He kept murmuring, watching your expression, playing with the clit he knew from top to bottom. Your pussy was beginning to make a nice, creamy squelch around his cock, your cunt quivering with your climax.

Your hips bucked as you sat in his lap and pulsed around his cock. "Fuck, Hobes. Shit, oh my- fuckin' God." He stroked your clit through your orgasm, your rocking hips milking his dick, a womb begging for his load. You were left shuddering uncontrollably with eyes barely able to stay open. Oh you were high on it, dick like this doesn't come by often and you were intent on enjoying it as you always do.

You fucked him hard, left a creamy ring around the base of his cock, fucked him because you needed him to cum because that was the whole point of this. You liked the face he made when he came. The slight smile, a daze in his gaze, the complete loss of control of every extremity.

He submitted himself entirely to you, let you spit in his mouth, slap his cheek, do whatever you wanted to him because he can feel nothing but the way your pussy milks him for all he's worth.

"My hero," you cooed. Stroking his cock as he came in nice, thick ropes inside you. His large hands squeezed your ass, your thighs, your waist, grappled at you as the very breath got knocked out of him. His lips sought out yours as they always eventually do with a wanton moan. He kissed you like he was in love, all tongue and teeth, all consuming. A kiss that says 'don't leave just yet, let's just sit here'.

You know for certain that he's in love with you and you find it adorable. You could say you reciprocated it, could say you wanted a nice, quiet life with him. But you both knew you weren't built for that, not when your allyship was so unstable and one moment you could be working together for a greater cause and the next you have a knife to his throat and intend on taking a little more than just a little blood. It's never hard feelings, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do to get ahead under the oppressive eye of fascist government.

Hobie half wondered if you were just here to get the drop on him, make him let his guard down to attack him. There could never be trust between the two of you, not complete trust anyway.

"You know we can't, Bee." You pulled away from him, pulled off of his softening cock and laid down beside him with your thong settling back into place. "As much as I'd love to, you know we're not compatible."

Hobie scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I beg to diffa. We're compatible, we're fuckin' soulmates. I jus' can' figure out if we're sworn to be lovers or enemies." You look up at him, at his distant eyes that don't look back at you but instead out of a narrow window at the silver sea.

"What do you think's gonna happen while I'm here?"

Hobie finally looked down at you, his lips slowly pulling into something of a lopsided smile. "We're gonna fuck a lo', eventually hate each otha a lil' more, still fuck while we hate each otha. You'll probably try t'kill me at some poin' 'n 'm okay wit' i'. But at the end o' the day, I ain' gotta Scooby Doo, mate."

You sit up, lean in, and kiss him. In another universe, you could love him without hindrance. You've tried to love different versions of him but none compare to your Hobie, not even the Prowler Hobie you stumbled upon and made yours for a little while.

No one could compare to your hero.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x blackcat!reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie x reader #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse

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reverieblondie · 1 year ago

Text

Rehearsing

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Spider-woman!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Smut and Fluff, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), Riding, Pining, Dumification, Overstimulation, Aftercare.

Summary: Miguel isn't good when it comes to feelings...especially when it comes to you...

A/N: I just really like the idea of Miguel having a crush on reader and not knowing how to navigate it. This went through so many rewrites so I hope you enjoy. its pretty Fluffy and cheesy, but I'm a hopeless romantic so I enjoyed it.

Word Count: 5,547

“Tsk, why did she have to say that…”

Miguel can't help but feverishly type at his holo screens, with each passing second his irritation spreads.

It started a couple of months ago when you got recruited, at first it was just a simple attraction but the more you graced him with your presents the more he couldn't resist his growing feelings.

The problem is for one having a crush is ridiculous. He's not some teenager, he's a grown-ass man, leader of the spider society he can't just go having crushes on the people who work under him. Even if he got over that part of it there is another problem however plaguing his….situation, he can hardly even speak to you.

Before he was Spider-Man he was quite suave and if he didn't want to converse with someone he could at least manage it. Nowadays, he seems to only be talking in gruff commands, short sentences, or just downright mean. Closing himself off from personal things. He blames the whole masked vigilante thing for his lack of practice in conversing.

It's not like he hasn’t tried though, he's come close to having normal conversation with you numerous times but when you look at him with those eyes something in him seems to short-circuit and he's a mess of a man before you. Shocking ridiculous…

Finally, Miguel couldn't take it anymore; he had to get closer to you. The plan was simple: he arranged for you and him to go on a mission together. It was the perfect way to get closer to you, You and him alone, out of the society walls away from prying eyes, he could finally open up to you.

Unfortunately, the beautiful plan he had so painstakingly rehearsed over and over again in his mind, came to a screeching halt when the day of you walked into his office with Gwen and Hobie in tow. Of course, something was going to derail his plans. It couldn't ever be simple

Miguel could easily say no to Gwen and Hobie asking to tag along, but those two were clever. They had you ask for them and of course, you did. Miguel knew that the inclusion of them would wreck his plan but he just couldn't resist you, he would do anything for you…anything…you just had to ask.

Now with his whole plan derailed he was sulking in an isolated corner of the rooftop building as the rest of you all surveyed the city for anomalies.

“This is pretty dull…” Hobie comments

Well no shit, Miguel thinks to himself. This was supposed to be an easy mission so he could get closer to y/n. It wasn't supposed to be stressful, it was supposed to be easy. In his plan, he and y/n were supposed to already be enthralled in conversation. He had of course looked up conversation starters to use, it would have been perfect…

Miguel can only groan at Hobie, just looking at him makes his blood boil. Needing to calm his sudden irritation, his eyes fall on you. Looking so vigilantly to the city, taking the mission so seriously. He could do this forever, just watching you, he would gladly just be a piece of furniture in your life if you let him. There for you to use when you needed him. He would sit so patiently as he just watched you live. Just basking in the warm radiance of you.

Miguel can’t help but stare at you, mind racing with thoughts. So when you finally turn he is quick to move his gaze, pretending to not have been staring, tapping again at his watch.

He thought for sure he had been slick but when he looked up again to gaze at you he saw Hobie with a wide smirk on his face. Almost like Hobie has been reading his mind. Hobie huffs a chuckle to himself before he looks at you then back to Miguel, Then that damn question rang out from his smug mouth.

“How about some team bonding huh?” All eyes fall on Hobie and before anyone can even respond he's continuing “I’ll ask the first question, what does everyone fancy?”

Going to voice his protest about how that is not imperative knowledge to know about a teammate Gwen is chiming in “Oh! I love a guy with witty humor, even if it's not particularly funny, if he's clever I will like it.”

Hobie nods “Very nice gwendy, personally, I have a thing for hands”

This caused a laugh from y/n and Gwen and Miguel just couldn't help the irritated look on his face.

“Miguel how abou-”

“No” Miguel quickly cuts off the question.

“Fine, Y/n what about you?”

Now Miguel didn't care about the teen's answers, but yours, this could be his chance to find out what you like. He was hopeful it would be something similar to him or something that he has. Watching with bated breath, your face contorts into deep thought, and then your answer rings through making his breath still.

“I like smiles”

A smile…of course, you would say a smile…

You couldn’t say, tall or muscular, or stern, you couldn’t have just pointed to Miguel you had to say smiles…something that he never does

Pulling himself back to the present Miguel stops typing away at his holo screen shutting them off. It had been a couple of days since the mission and he was still agonizing over the revelation. Smiles…Staring ahead towards one of his monitors he studies his face through the reflective surface, his ever stern face showing no sign of emotion.

Miguel then practices a smile and quickly stops with a frown, sighing irritatedly as his foot begins to tap, what is he doing? Looking forward again, He braces his large hands on his desk then smiles again, this time showing his teeth, large fangs on display from the grin. He keeps the smile placed there and turns his head from left to right smiling a bit wider. He then stops whipping his hands down his face.

This is ridiculous…he should be working not practicing how to smile but, you like smiles…maybe if you thought he had a nice smile…

Miguel feels his face slightly flush and the tips of his ears warm. Looking back to the reflective surface he takes a deep breath to ready himself. Sure this is pathetic, but it's for you, he would do anything for you and if you want a smile he was going to make sure to practice to give you the best smile he could muster. Training, it's just like simple training…

“Hey, how are you today y/n?” -smiles-

“Oh, are you eating lunch? Can I join you?” -smile-

“What? You like my fangs? Well thank you y/n” -smile-

“You look gorgeous today.” -smile-

Miguel breaks the last rehearsed smile and rubs his hands on his face once more, an exasperated sigh leaving him again.

“this so stupid…that wouldn’t work…”Practicing how to smile for her. Pathetic.

The sound of his office door opening breaks his pouting. Miguel quickly puts his screens back up making him seem busy with work. Then the sweet sound of your voice rings through his blushed ears, turning, he thinks it can't be true, but there you are. Staring up at him with those shining eyes.

Just give me a chance, you won't regret it; he thinks to himself.

“Hello Miguel, we caught the anomaly in dimension 0798, Peter had a mayday emergency come up so he asked me to deliver the reports.”

You type away at your watch screen sending the completed report his way.

“I also wanted to see if you had anything else for me before I take my leave,”

Miguel opens up the report you sent his way, it's pristine and thorough, you always wrote the best reports…god could you be sexier…

Scanning over it quickly before putting it away his eyes return to you. Unable to help himself he stares at your beautiful form for a bit too long, face still in that stern look, no smile to greet you. Studying you for a moment wanting to confess his desire for you, wanting to tell you what you make him feel. But the words don't meet his lips, just a curt grunt.

“Nothing else, you can leave”

Giving a small nod you turn on your heels to leave, As you are walking towards the exit Miguel can't help himself and calls out your name. Whipping around quickly you face him once more with curious eyes.

Shit, he didn't think that through. Examining you he takes you in again. lovely eyes, glossy lips, those hips…he could stare at you forever. Clearing his throat averting his eyes to calm himself before he speaks.

“I hope you have a pleasant evening.'' He says not looking at you, then he forces himself to slide his scarlet eyes to you, then quickly balling his clammy hands into first he gives his best shot at a smile. It's more of a smirk and he's worried his fangs might be popping out too much. Sure, he's going to have to practice to do better, but this is what he's got for you now. He feels intense eyes not matching the smile but he keeps it on hoping this is enough for you; he feels like an idiot.

You look surprised for a minute before your lips widen to that additive smile of yours. God how you make his chest warm from your small actions, do you even know what you do to him? Breath catching in his throat he just watches how the simple act of your smile lightens up his dingy office.

“You too Miguel, thank you.” Turning back you exit the office, completely oblivious that you have completely melted him.

Watching you leave the smile turns more natural, softening his rigid features slightly.

“Well, that seemed to go well, practicing is starting to pay off huh?” Layla beams floating around Miguel's head, his face instantly falling back to his ever-iconic frown.

“Could you just, not?” the voice irritated but the slight flush of his ears gave away how on the inside he's beaming.

-----

Miguel couldn't help himself, after your brief interaction in his office a few days ago, he just couldn't resist the urge to see you again. But instead of just finding and talking to you (like a normal person) he settled on watching you through the cameras of HQ.

Yes, Kinda creepy, but when you are near he clams up so this was the alternative. You were training in the strength and conditioning room, sparring with Gwen to improve your combat skills. Miguel appreciated how seriously you were taking your training, sweat and fatigue in your eyes showing how you were instant to push yourself. Movements so graceful chest heaving as you wore out over time. Seeing your sweaty body a familiar rush spreads through him reaching his crotch, you're going to be the death of him…

Finally, the training wrapped up, Miguel watched as you stretched out your neck rubbing your sore shoulders. The training session wore you out. Always pushing yourself towards improvement, Miguel admired that about you.

“Si, baby so sore,” Miguel whispers as he watches you. If you gave him the chance he would rub all your soreness from you, he would make it his mission just to make you feel good.

Getting closer to the screen he thinks of what it would be like to just touch you, to hold you, just once. That's all he needed one touch and this crush would disappear.

Watching intently he sees that smile, like the one you had given him spread to your lips when Gwen handed you a bottle of water. Eagerly opening the water you press the bottle to your lips and start drinking in haste, the water running down your mouth to your neck. His heart skips a beat and his pants get tighter, of course, one touch wouldn't satisfy him. If he had you he could never let you go, his plight would only worsen.

Zooming on to your face he studies every curve, every feature.

“Just one chance, give me one chance…”

“One chance what?”

Peter's voice breaks Miguel's daze and causes him to quickly hide the monitor with his hands. It's too late however Peter is right next to him and has heard what Miguel said. Peter's face is confused at first but when he looks at Miguel's eager hands trying to hide something he leans in further, and then a sliver of your face shows through. Realization hits him and an excited smile spreads to his face. Peter watches as Miguel's face slightly flushes and contours to irritation.

“Miguel, wait, do you-”

“No, ¡Cállate!”

------

After a long conversation of Miguel telling Peter to shut up while he guesses his crush correctly, he's boasting about how he figured Miguel was interested in y/n and how he was going to help Miguel out. Miguel was reluctant, but he wanted to get closer to you desperately, so if Peter was going to help to make that happen he would just have to grit and bear it, for you, anything for you. Peter assures Miguel he knows how to help him but he first has to go pick up some supplies….

Peter returns to Miguel’s office with a bag. Miguel knew he was about to regret this.

“So I figured because you have a hard time talking to y/n the best thing to do is rehearse what you are going to say. When I asked out MJ I practiced this whole speech for her, very romantic. She loved it.” As Peter talks he opens the bag to reveal a wig that is very raminist to your hair. Peter flips the wig on his head and faces Miguel.

Miguel just shakes his head disapprovingly

“No, Absolutely not.”

“Come on Miguel we are just going to practice what you're going to say” Peter tries to reassure with a smile.

“Is the wig really necessary?” Miguel groans as he watches Peter flick the hair from his face and adjust the wig.

Peter holds his hand to his chest in mock offense “It helps me get in character”

“I'm not doing this” Miguel turns to leave to go back to working on his platform before Peter quickly protests.

“Okay, okay, I'm just trying to help ease the tension, but let's do this, practice what you are going to say.”

Miguel huffs, he really must be desperate to be getting Peter's help like this. “How do I even approach her?”

“You could start with a hi, you know like a normal person?”

Miguel groans “Okay…” Peter turns away from Miguel. Miguel takes a moment to think of his approach before he walks closer to Peter.

“Hello, Y/n do you have a second to talk?”

Peter whips around in a perky dementor, “Oh hi Miguel, of course, I have a second just for you” Peter says in a mockingly sweet tone and shoots Miguel a wink that has his skin crawling

“She wouldn't do that”

“You don't know, plus I'm playing y/n so I am putting my creative twist to it, now continue”

Miguel rolls his eyes before continuing.

“I enjoyed reading your last mission report, very thorough as usual”

Peter groans breaking character “Miguel, that’s boring, don’t talk about work. You're trying to ask her out not give her a promotion”

Miguel thinks “Well that’s a thought…”

Peter snaps his fingers “Look you like her you need to get personal share your feelings; share your passion.”

Miguel scoffs rolling his eyes, sharing his passion. He couldn't get that personal so quickly. Peter can read his distrust and is quick to convince him.

“No, trust me, I landed MJ I know how to talk to women, now try again but with more passion and fire!”

Peter goes back to where he was standing before. Miguel turns and thinks of Y/n. Passion? Fire?

His thoughts go back to when he first saw her, he thought she glowed in a breathtaking radiance, and he couldn't remember when he saw someone so beautiful. Then once she started talking she was so positive, but never naive, she just always wanted to bring people up and make them feel better. She was also a hard worker, always picking up the slack for others and always wanting to improve herself, not everyone was like that, they would just be content with how things were but not her. Then there was how she always made a room warmer from just being there, things were just a little bit better when you were around. Miguel saw qualities in her that he wished he had, or that he wished a partner would have. So since he met her, she was stuck in his mind.

Finally, he thinks he has it,

“Y/n” Miguel breathes.

Peter turns around slowly “Why yes…” Before he can finish his words Miguel’s large frame is looming over him, hands quickly squeezing his arms to his sides staring intensely.

“I think you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. You are so warm to me and I would destroy anything or anyone who would ever think of harming you. Just give me the word, give me a chance and I will…for you…anything for you…”

Peter looks terrified from the intensity of the confession and a coughing nose makes them break the intense eye contact.

They see Jess and Ben staring at the two of them Jess is the first to speak up

“Should we come back later? Or…”

Miguel and Peter quickly break apart.

“Look that wasn't towards me Miguel has a thing for Y/n”

Right as Peter voices your name Miguel's hands on his throat to strangle him. Jess and Ben all let out a long ‘oh’ as Miguel proceeded to shake Peter by his neck.

“It’s actually been quite sweet” a voice calls “I mean we all should have guessed considering he stares at her like a love-sick dog.”

This causes Miguel to stop his assault on Peter and look around confused. Dropping down he sees Hobie with that smug look on his face.

“Your kinda obvious mate.”

Miguel shakes his head, irritation and embarrassment starting to take him over.

“What are you doing here?” Miguel growls

“Look mate I just came to catch a nap, didn't expect to catch a show instead.”

Great, Peter knows, Jess knows, Ben knows and now shocking Hobie knows, this can't get any worse.

“So, when are you going to confess?” Ben asks curiously

“We were shooting for next week” Peter, now back to life, places his hand on Miguel's shoulder.

Hobie sucks air between his teeth and this causes everyone to turn to look at him confused.

“I wouldn’t wait that long if I were you, apparently she has a crush she's going to confess too soon.”

Miguel's eyes glow red, it just got worse- “She likes someone? Who!” He barks out to get an answer

Hobie holds his hands up in mock surrender “I ain’t got scooby doo mate, just what I heard”

“Well that could just be a rumor,” Jess says trying to calm Miguel's sudden rage

“It was from a reliable source” Hobie counters with a smirk.

------

What is he doing, What is he doing?

Miguel's mind races as he swings through y/n’s dimension. It was just a rumor he tried to assure himself, but that small voice in his mind counters, what if it wasn’t? What if it was true and he missed his chance, no, even if you reject him he needs to tell you how he feels. All his nervousness seems to flow away as he gets closer to your apartment.

Your apartment in view he takes a deep breath and swings over, gripping the wall with his talons to catch himself. Climbing with a fever he reaches your window which was left open by a crack, the curtains of your room hiding the inside. He didn't even know if you were home, and just going in would be an invasion of your privacy but Miguel can't resist he needs to talk to you tonight!

Slowly opening the window more he first smells it, then your whimpering moan confirms it. Miguel swallows trying to soothe his suddenly dry throat. With slow movements, he carefully opens the window and peaks through the curtains.

There you are, back arched, hair messy, bouncing on a large dildo. It was the image he had fantasized about and now it's happening right in front of him. Completely hypnotized by the sight and urged by the tightening of his suit's crotch area. He moves his head in more, pushing up on the window to open it slowly wider to lean himself in.

“Ah!~ ah!~”

Eyes widening Miguel thinks he's dreaming, the throbbing of his cock is killing him and as he moves his hand from the window to palm his sudden ache. But with no warning the window slid shut abruptly, landing hard on his head and making a loud thump. The sudden noise startles you to scream, quickly unsheathing the dildo from your wet pussy and fumbling to cover yourself with the ruined sheets of your bed.

“Miguel? What are you doing here?” you ask in a panic.

Face flushed Miguel crawls through your window landing clumsily on the floor. He's too embarrassed to answer your question.

“What's wrong with your window?” -smooth, avoid the question.

“It's broken, it only stays open a crack” you ramble in confusion, then you furrow your eyes back to him “wait, don’t avoid the question, why are you here?”

Miguel stumbles off of the floor now towering at his full height. Looking down at you he can't help the desire flooding down to his cock. The sweat makes your skin glow, your hair a disheveled mess from fucking yourself too fast, nude body wrapped in your thin white sheets that as your arousal completely drenches it making it appear slightly see-through on your body. Great, he thought confessing to you would be hard before, but now it seems downright impossible.

Miguel sees you shuffling uncomfortably so he turns around before he speaks, the tips of his ears red from blushing.

“I wanted to speak with you.”

“Uh, You couldn't call?”

Miguel's shoulders slumped slightly, this was not going well…

“No, it's not a work matter”

“Then what-”

“Personal” Miguel quickly whips around looking at your eyes before turning back around. He starts tapping his foot feeling nervous.

“You see y/n, I'm not exactly the best when it comes to talking..about…personal things. I usually focus on work, especially since founding the society that honestly takes up my entire life-” Miguel feels himself starting to ramble, great he's talking now but not saying what he needs to. “Well lately there has been something else occupying my mind, and it involves you.”

Miguel hears you shuffling around and his nerves are threatening to get the better of him. How can he face anomalies, and lead a whole superhuman society but he can't just tell someone he likes them? Taking a deep breath he steadies himself once more. He just needs to do it, confess, come on it's just like ripping off a bandaid.

“Do you remember what Hobie asked us?…”

Miguel winces and scratches the back of his head, Why is he bringing this up now? Great; This confession is already crap…

“Um…Yeah?” shit, you sound so creeped out. Well, how could you not be right now? Just need to keep going.

“Well, the thing is, it's you…the thing I like, well you're not a thing. The person I like..is you. But I guess Hobie was talking about characteristics…you have actually a lot of characteristics that I am fond of…like your eyes for one…but it's not just your appearance, shit…¿Qué demonios estoy diciendo? (what the hell am I saying).”

As Miguel rubs his hand on his forehead feeling stupid for doing this, his words are cut off by the sensation of a hand touching the middle of his back gently. The hand rubs up and down slowly, causing a shiver to roll down Miguel's spine.

“I like you too,” Your voice rings in his ears, the thumping of his heart stilling for a moment as his breath stops. Miguel turns around to face you. You're looking up at him still wrapped up in your sheets, arms wrapping around his waist. That smile that lights up his mind, how your touch warms his body. He's addicted to how you make him feel.

“I’m not good at this…there was this whole speech I rehearsed..”

“Yeah, you might need some more practice on your romantic speeches”

Looking down you look like an angel wrapped in your white sheets looking up at him with such tenderness. Not wanting to waste this moment he leads down towards your face.

“I think I'm more of a man of action, rather than words”

Feeling your soft hand touch his face he sees how to lift your toes to get closer to his face fanning your breath over his lips.

“Isn’t the saying? Actions speak louder than words?”

With that he swiftly lifts you from the back of your thighs, instinctively you wrap your legs around him, and then your arms wrap around his neck while your fingers play with his dark hair. Seating himself down on your bed with you straddling him. Miguel's crimson eyes just keep to your face, taking in how your face changes with every movement he makes.

Tenderly you place your hands to the sides of his face, leaning in you carefully catch his lips into a kiss. He reveled in how your glossy lips formed to his, his tongue gently pushing through your lips. He has to open his eyes and close them again just to make sure this is real and not one of his daydreams.

The kiss becomes more heated, you taste better than he could have imagined. Slowly he rubs his gloves hands over you causing your thin sheet to slip off you pooling to the floor.

Miguel breaks the kiss and looks down at your nude body. A low groan vibrates through his chest as he pushes your body closer to him, then roughly grabs your ass. The sudden touch has you jumping forward with a whimper. Taking the opportunity, he is quick to latch his plush lips to your perked bud. Tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his talons threaten to pierce the skin of your ass.

He's lost in the moans of you losing yourself to the pleasure. Tugging and pinching your sensitive skin as he licks the valley of your breast. Getting drunk off your moans he swears he could continue to taste your skin forever but, the feeling of your wet cunt rubbing against his erection tips him off to how needy you are becoming, your rutting into him like you're in heat, and he's quick to make it worse by grinding into you latching onto your breast once more.

“Miguel, please…”

That's right, beg…Miguel releases your nipple with a pop.

“Please what my angel?” he grabs your neck and licks a stripe up to your ear that causes you to shake.

“I want you, Please.”

Miguel smiles and deactivates his suit, his strained erection quickly popping forward to slap your puff folds, moans escaping from your lips. Grabbing a hold of his cock he slips it through your folds coating it your slick. Practically coming undo then he feels how your nails scratch his skin, the teasing is making you desperate. Miguel can't help himself; he slaps his cock on your swollen clit just to hear you whimper.

“Ride it, angel.”

Grabbing his cock he holds it still as you breathlessly line yourself up to the pebbling tip of his cock. Tight grip on his shoulders you slowly sink yourself down. Inch by inch slowly splitting yourself open on him.

“It’s ah, big…”

You're already clenching and you're only halfway down. Miguel is quick to rub soft circles on your hip gently guiding you while cooing praises to your ear.

“Shh, I know but you're almost there, just relax.”

Finally, you have pressed him in, the delicious stretch making your head roll over your bare shoulders. Taking a moment to adjust to his size Miguel presses delicate kisses to your chest and collarbone. His hands hold your hips as you adjust to his length.

“Look at you, you're taking me so well”

Glazed-over eyes meet his praise and your glossy lips stretch to a smile. He thinks he could cum just at the sight, but he knows you need more, and he's not going to disappoint you. Quickly he's lifting your hips up and down fucking you slowly down on him. All you can do is moan and grab his shoulders tighter and his pace builds from slow and tender to more vigorous.

Subtle grunts of ‘Mine’, and ‘sweet’ escape his lips as he practically uses you as a human fleshlight. To Miguel's surprise though you're pushing his chest to lay his back onto the bed. Once he's down you start bouncing faster on him.

Bouncing, up and down the squelch of your wet pussy clenching on him, you are mewling in pleasure as your face contours to that of a silent scream. Body glistening from the sweat fucking yourself hard on his cock, back arching as you chase your orgasm. Miguel can help but throw his head back moaning, his mouth hanging open fangs stretched out. He never thought his sweet angel could be so relentless, it has his cock throbbing.

“That's it, baby, fuck yourself dumb on my cock”

Miguel starts rubbing and flicking your clit that has your eyes pricking with tears. He watches as you pant, your velvet walls clenching down on him as you continue to ride him approaching orgasm. Sweat rolls down your flushed skin and you continue. Taking his hand he gently grabs your chin and makes you look down at him, he wants to etch the fucked out expression to his mind forever. His sweet angel mouth in that perfect ‘o’ and her hooded eyes pool with tears from the intense pleasure.

Biting his lip he slams his hip up nudging into your cervix that has you throwing your head back screaming, your nails digging into his chest as you finally squirt on his cock.

“Cumming, I'm cumming miggy~ ah, ah ah!”

“That’s it, cum on my cock, such a good girl, squirting all over me.”

Fucking you through your orgasm he stops your bouncing and grabs your hips guiding you to rock back a forth on his length. Squirming and wailing in overstimulation he knows that the pain and pleasure are swirling together making your brain split, your cunt gets wetter as it tightens to try and accommodate to the rapture you are feeling.

“Just hang on for me angel, ah please…”

Thoroughly fucked dumb you're only able to blabber incoherently and nod through half-lidded eyes as Miguel's throbbing cock chases his orgasm. With your blissed-out agreeance, he Grabs the globs of your ass and fucks into your faster.

“Ah, I'm going to fill you up, you want that? Be filled with cum?”

You can only release a stream of ‘uh-huh’ as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten again. It's not until you muster a sweet coo of “fill me” that has him rutting harder shooting his hot cum inside you with one final thrust. Whimpering as he fills you, you sit still on his cock till you’ve practically milked him dry. The intense throbbing of his cock and the sudden rush of heat bursting inside you has your coil snapping as you cum on him a second time

Gently rubbing your sides he coaxes you down slowly to his chest. Curling his arm around you he softly kisses your spent body. Staying like that for awhile, it's you who finally rolls off his chest and disappears out of the room. Miguel hears what sounds like a bath, leaning up he looks up to see your nude body leaning in the doorway smiling at him, it's so infectious that he can't help but smile back.

----

Miguel's head is pressed to your chest as you gently massage the conditioner through his scalp. A smile pressed to his lips as he just relaxes with you in the warm bath. His large hand rubs tender circles on your knee as he just listens to your sweet hums as you tenderly wash him. The steam from the bath rises to create the perfect haze in the room, it feels so natural to be doing this,to be with you in such an intimate way. Kisses get pressed to his face as you hug him tightly, the smile on his face only growing wider.

“Miguel”

“Mhmm?” He lazily looks up at you to see your sweet smile. Carefully he brings his hand to brush your hair behind your ear.

“Nothing, I just really like your smile”

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randomsuggesteduseername · 1 month ago

Text

SPIDER’S SECRET I

🕸️ SERIES MASTERLIST

‧₊˚ when new york’s famous vigilante helps you out of a mugging, an arrangement is quick to turn into a friendship….and perhaps more. after all, his charisma needs no face to work its magic on you ‧₊˚

spidey!steve x fem!reader

wc: 4k

description of wounds and violence, fluff, slight pining, smoking

Three knocks stronger than the rhythmic pitter patter of the rain have your attention shifting towards the window. Had you not been welcoming him in your room for the past few weeks you would’ve jumped right out of your bed out of fear. But this was becoming a regular thing, it’s now a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.

Pushing your biology course books out of your lap, your mind on him rather than the endocrine system you’re supposed to be studying. As you briefly wonder the gravity of his wounds, you remember to close and safely lock your door to avoid interruptions, aware it would be worrying for your mom to find you patching up Spider-man, the boy in a tight, red suit who always makes it on the news. Some say he’s a necessary vigilante for the troublesome city, others state he’s just a dumb kid playing superhero.

Although he always refuses to tell you anything about his identity or his life, you’re pretty sure he’s certainly not just playing around, countless bruises and cuts can attest to that.

The sound of the rain gets louder as you open the window, droplets smacking against the emergency metal staircase climbing up the side of the building. Poking your head out of your room carefully, you look to the left, met with a dark figure sitting on the stairs, leaning back against the brick wall, chest still heaving, shoulders sagged yet tight with pain.

“C’mon Bug-boy…” Urging him inside, you step back from the window, letting him come inside, droplets of water sliding down onto your carpet from his suit. He’s limping, you notice as much, his usual flexible self being rendered to a few pained movements. You briefly wonder how he managed to make it here.

The moment he’s inside your room, he plops down to the floor, resting back against the foot of your bed while his body seems to finally relax a bit, assuming he knows he’s safe with you and you’ll take care of him. Silently bending down, you reach under the bed and pull out the hidden first aid kit you bought a week ago, having realised that some small bandages and a disinfectant won’t do anymore.

Shutting the window, you take the precaution to pull the curtains shut, aware how paranoid he gets sometimes. Kneeling next to him, you tuck some hair behind your ears and speak. “Where, and how bad?” Hoping he’s not actually too injured, hating to see him like this, he pulls his mask up to his neck, showing a cut on his jaw, and as you gaze down, you asses another injury on his waist.

You’ve never seen his face. He’s kept his mask firmly in place, and has instructed you to do the same even if he passes out. You’re not sure what would be so bad about seeing his face, but you stopped questioning it after a while, now staring at the sharp jawline, biting your lip as some wet, brown and blond-ish strands of hair stick to the side of his neck.

Forcing yourself from building him a face you think would fit him based on what you’ve seen already, you rummage through the kit and furrow your brows as you fish the cleaning cloth, dampening it with disinfectant before you announce that it’s going to hurt.

He knows that, of course he does, he’s been through this with you before. But it does feel reassuring to acknowledge his pain. Focusing on the bloody split on his jaw, glad it’s not too deep, you don’t bother to ask what weapon did this as you know he never answers. The pain you cause him is evident from the way his fists stay curled tightly, pressed against his thighs.

Wiping the blood away from his skin and ignoring his groan, you grab a bandage big enough to fit his wound and place it over, making sure it sticks to his skin. However, the cut on his waist is more concerning. His suit is damaged, cut just like his skin is beneath it, though luckily it has stopped oozing blood for a while now, saving the mess it would have made on your floor and carpet.

Scared to approach it, you stare at it and watch as he pushes himself up a bit, having slumped against the foot of your bed due to the pain. “Thought you were about to become a doctor…you’re going to leave me out to die?” His tone, despite trying to sound amused, still has that pained tinge to it. The absurdity of his statement has your eyes rolling, huffing while a bloody cotton ball falls onto the floor. He’s here, laying on your floor after being beaten up, yet he still has the audacity to humour you.

“First of all, you are not going to die from two superficial cuts.” You can see his lips curling up, showing his white teeth as they split into a grin. Lips so pink, you stop to admire for a moment before remembering the point you were trying to make. “And second of all, I haven’t even started my residency yet! I’m purely working on you with the theoretical knowledge I have.”

He stifles his laugh, teeth biting into his lip before he quickly chokes up a gasp, grasping at his side. Pursing your lips, you let him calm down before shaking your head and murmuring about him being a dummy, regaining your confidence to approach his wound, you try not to think about it too much before you use a pair of scissors to cut more of his suit in order to gain access to his cut. Letting him know you’re ready, he breaches for the pain and you work through the mess of dried up blood, brows pulling together and eyes squinting while you carefully sanitise the wound, wrapping it up before you lean back, plopping on your butt with a soft thump before you gaze at him, his head now propped against the wooden pillar, taking calming breaths through his mouth.

“You’ll be fine, it didn’t look too bad.” Silently appreciating your assuring words, he moves to stand up. He never lingers, this sort of agreement you two have never went beyond you cleaning and patching him up, moments later to have him jump right back out of your window and disappear into the night, swinging from building to building.

It didn’t bother you at first, but now you’d like him to at least acknowledge you a bit more. It’s selfish, you think. You can’t demand something like that from him, so you keep your mouth shut and watch as he pads to the window, his steps as light as a cat’s.

“See you soon, doc.” The last thing you see is another stretch of his pretty lips before he tugs his mask down in place and opens your window, leaving you with a shudder as a wave of cold air enters your room, watching as he confidently jumps down from the rail.

Shaking your head and sighing, you close the window, lingering by it for a few moments before you pack up the first aid kit and throw away the bloody cotton balls.

—

THREE WEEKS AGO

Chilly weather always has you adding another layer beneath your jacket in hopes of maintaining a healthy body temperature. But as much as you want it to work, you always end up shaking, legs not able to carry you as fast as you’d wish. This late at night the streets are mostly empty, as was the uni’s library in which you spend your whole evening, revising one last time for your exam.

And just a ten minute walk is all it takes to get back home, so without hesitating, you walk with freezing hands shoved in your pockets. You’re not aware of the man taking an interest in you until it’s too late, his voice, gruff and raspy, calls out for you, and you make your first mistake. Stopping in your tracks to turn around.

He’s about the same height as you, a black beanie and hood covering his features, shielding him from the streetlight’s golden cast. He holds a knife, you can tell by the handle of it, the blade hidden behind his thigh as he speaks again. “Give me your bag.” He demands, his voice wavering as if he’s scared, paranoically looking back over his shoulder.

“I said give me the fucking bag!” He shouts, getting a bit more frantic now as he reaches his left hand for the strap of your bag, fist curling around the leather, but before he can even think of tugging on it he’s blinded by a web covering his eyes. You gasp, stepping back as his grip falls from your bag and instead scratching his covered eyes to free them, another ‘woosh’ sound echoes, another web collides with the man, this time glueing his hand to his chest.

A figure slowly comes down, hanging upside down, feet pressed to the thin string that’s connecting him to the street lamp while he keeps hold of it. You notice him wearing a costume, covering his whole body, a spider shape etched onto his chest. He drops down on the pavement, easily tripping the mugger as he tries to run away. You stand there and gasp as you hear the loud thud as the man falls onto the concrete.

“You, my dear sir, need to be taught a lesson.” The man…boy? in the spider costume tuts and crosses his arms over his chest in disappointment, pretending to care though he’s clearly mocking him. “This young lady didn’t do anything wrong. It’s always the undeserving ones who experience the worst things because of assholes like you.” His words seem to hold a sort of personal value to him, you don’t dare speak.

After the police picks up the thief, you continue making your way back, an uneasy feeling still lingering at the back of your mind. “So…” You yelp as the boy swings in front of you, landing on the side of the building a bit higher up and sticking to it effortlessly as if his limbs are made out of glue. “Why’re you walking alone? You didn’t get dumped, did you?” He tries his luck, jumping to the next building by crawling on the side of it to keep up with your walking pace.

“Um…no.” Keeping your hands tucked in your jacket, not daring to look at him, he jumps down from the building, and surprisingly enough he starts walking backwards in front of you, hands locked behind his back as he effortlessly side steps over a puddle of muddy water. “Just coming back from uni.” You’ve heard of him before, the one in the spider suit doing good deeds expecting nothing in return, but a few blurry images couldn’t really convince you of his integrity, so as he walks in front of you, you’re not sure what he wants from you.

Maybe he’s just another creep, playing the good guy role to gain the trust of others— “Hello, earth to pretty girl.” He waves a covered hand in front of you, making you snap out of your pretty ridiculous train of thought. “Relax, m’just walking you home to make sure you’re fine.” He flicks his hand, trying to bat away your obvious worries. “So, what are you studying?”

His question catches you off guard, eyes widening for a moment before he clarifies. “You said you were coming back from university, right?”

“Oh…” The sound is breathy, feeling a bit embarrassed as you respond. “Medicine, general surgery.” The slight saunter in his walk doesn’t fade, head cocking curiously to the side as he gives you an approving nod.

Stopping in front of your building, you bite your lip, eyes drifting away from the mask, trailing to his arm where you’re quick to notice the cut on his bicep, blood reddening the material of his suit. Stepping closer instinctively, you look at the damage before you frown. “You’re hurt.” He curiously lifts his arm a bit before he notices his cut.

“Hm, didn’t notice…must’ve cut myself while i was swinging.” By the way his words come out you’re assuming whoever is behind the mask is frowning.

“I could help.” Out of the blue, surprising yourself too, you offer to patch him up. You’re not sure if he can be trusted, but the way he helped you out of a street mugging, you feel like you at least owe him a bit of help back. “I’m on the third floor, room on the corner…there.” You point to the window and he takes a mental note. “Be quiet, my parents can’t know.”

After patching him up, he climbs out your window, and then once again, something in your mind has you speaking up. “If you ever need help…with wounds and stuff— you can always come by.” You fiddle with your hands and watch the curve of his back, head turning to the side to gaze back over his shoulder, at least you assume so since his eyes are covered by the mask.

“Will do, thanks doc!” You gasp as he flings himself over the edge, free falling for a few seconds before he shoots out webs, catching himself against the next building, watching him disappear into the night.

—

“The amazing Spider-man, infamous hero of New York City, has saved a family from a burning building. Earlier today, the masked vigilante made his presence known by pulling out a family of four from their top floor apartment as it went up in flames. Authorities showed up to the scene and from what we know so far, they detected a gas leak—“

Tuning out the news reporter, you sigh as you wonder if you’ll see him again. It’s been almost a week and truthfully you’re glad he hasn’t shown up at your window with another set of bruises and cuts on him, but you still feel somewhat empty. Maybe you’re expecting a sign? Something to let you know he’s alive and well, even though there’s plenty of news attesting to that already.

It’s absurd really, but spending your time sitting on your windowstill has become a habit, whether you’re studying or drinking a coffee, you look out into the night sky, hoping to see a dash passing by. Maybe it was for the best, maybe he’s found himself a licensed doctor to take care of him, not some second year student patching him up in her bedroom with shaky hands. Tracing your fingers over the spine of your book, the words jumble as your eyes pass over them, not making any sense of them in your brain. It’s your third time reading this page, but you pull your eyes away from it the moment a familiar voice rings through the room, your eyes finding the TV where he’s apparently giving an interview.

“Rest assured, New York, the Spider-man is here.” He gives a salute to the camera before he swings away, quickly disappearing from the screen. Great. Now he’s giving interviews.

Pushing yourself off the bed, socked feet dragging over the floor as you make your way to the kitchen, passing your dad in the living room. He’s watching some game, newspaper sprawled open on his lap. After grabbing some water, you return to your room, a cold breeze darting over you, eyes widening as you find the window opened. “What the…”

Stepping into the room to close it, your brows furrow as you turn around, a voice coming from above you. “Language, young lady.” You gasp, stumbling back against the bed, finding him sticking to the ceiling, hanging in the corner of your room. Clutching your heart, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” Shaking your head, you watch as he drops down onto his feet, moving to rest against the wall by the window, you’re wondering if he’s looking for a quick escape in case it’s needed,

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out,” He lifts his hands, as if surrendering, but you purse your lips, a brow cocking curiously. “You say that while you were just hanging off my ceiling.” That makes him think for a moment, letting out a soft chuckle before he brushes a hand over the back of his head.

“I guess you’ve got a point…” His smile is obvious in his tone, his body more relaxed than usual which has you wondering if he’s hurt, because that’s why he must be here in the first place. Standing up, you walk to him and give him a once over.

“Are you hurt?” Not being able to find any injuries which might need your attention, you breathe in and watch as he dismisses your words with a shake of his head, making the furrow between your brows deepen. He pushes himself off the wall, walking around your room as he seems to be looking around curiously, pictures hanging off the walls, decorations propped up on furniture.

“Nope, I’m fine. Thanks to this new suit…something about impenetrable nanofibers I think.” His hand reaches for a teddy bear, grabbing it as he turns around, propping it in front of his face before he speaks in a higher pitched, mocking voice. “Bad spider, scaring his trusted doctor like that.”

You must admit, he’s ridiculous, watching him do that makes you grin to yourself, rolling your eyes for good measure before you step closer, yanking the teddy away from him as you prop him back into his place. “Hands off, bug boy.”

“Bug boy— really? I’m- I’m not some ladybug, or stink bug. I’m a spider, I shoot webs. I’m cool.” Defending his case, he makes a few “phew” sounds as he pretends to shoot webs all over your room, but you cross your arms, standing still before he stops, leaving silence to settle in for a moment. “Okay, that was ridiculous, not cool at all.” Laughing softly, you bite your lip, taking a look at him.

“Why are you here? Since you’re not hurt…impenetrable nanofibres and all.” Waving a hand jokingly to dismiss the words as he had done earlier, he simply shrugs, moving to pull the curtains shut as a last minute safety measure.

“I guess I just wanted to check in on you, you know? I don’t think I’ll be needing any patchwork done anytime soon.” Ah. So that’s it, he’s come to tell you you’re useless to him now. You toy with your fingers and nod, assuming this is the last time you’ll get to talk to him like this.

“That’s okay. So that means you won’t have any reason to come here anymore.” That seems to make him silent for a few moments, this time it’s awkward, not carrying that comedic effect like before.

“I can still come and see you, you know? We could hang out…as friends.” Your eyes widen. He wants to keep coming to see you. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. Your mouth opens, no words coming out, instead you settle for a small smile and a nod.

This could be good, at least it seems to be that way.

—

Carefully stepping out of your room, holding onto the railing, you sit down on the metal platform, knees pulling up to your chest as you hug the sweater tighter over your body, not letting the cool breeze beat you.

You’re not sure when you picked up smoking as part of your regular routine, all you know is that you’re out in the cold now, trying to take your nicotine fill. Red knuckled hand grasping the lighter in your hand, thumb flicking over the spark wheel a few times until a flame bursts out, burning the tip of the cigarette, taking a drag before stuffing the lighter in the pocket of your sweats.

Watching the cloud of smoke flow up into the air, the back of your head pressed against the brick wall, the cold not being such a bother anymore. “Didn’t anyone tell you those are bad for you?” A familiar voice pulls you out of your own head, he’s crouching on the railing, maintaining his equilibrium perfectly.

Taking another drag as if to humour his words, you sigh. “You’ve got to stop doing that. One day I’ll have a heart attack.” He jumps from the railing, settling down in front of you, legs outstretched as they cage you in, feet pressing to the wall on each side of your body.

Though he’s not touching you at all, the position feels somewhat cosy, offering you a sense of protection. Blowing another lungful of smoke, you hold your hand out to him, offering him a drag. The way his head tilts lets you know he’s thinking about it before his hand reaches for the cigarette, his other tugging his mask up over his lips, exposing his lower face once again.

How is it that just his lips have you in a trance, trying your hardest to build him a portrait in your mind? You’ve never asked to see his real face, though you doubt it he’d actually show it to you. A so-called friend of Spider-man’s.

He puffs out the smoke in a similar manner to you, eyes following the way his tongue wets his slightly chapped lips, trying not to let certain thoughts encompass you. “So how was your night? Any bad guys?” Deflecting with the start of a conversation, you watch as he ashes the cigarette over the railing, passing it back to you.

“Pretty boring, but it’s gotten better.” Fighting the smile his natural charm tries to put on your face, you sigh and knock your foot into the inside of his knee lightly. “Funny…” Your word falls flat, followed by the slightest smile as you give him the last puff, letting him throw it away too.

“You know, for someone who is all about the law, you’re pretty ignorant of littering.” Quirking your brow as if to scold him, you notice him grinning, his mask still pulled up. “My apologies.”

Stargazing and small conversations ensued, he’d switched to resting against the wall right next to you halfway through talking about the moon’s colour tonight, shoulders and arms pressing together, you don’t feel like moving away, more so, wishing to drift closer even if by accident.

Tearing your gaze away from his jaw, you tell yourself how wrong this is, to want to reach out and pull his mask the rest of the way up, wanting to reveal his face. Something about the mystery of it has you yearning for more of him, though that would be insane since you don’t even know his name. All he gave to you was a few hours of his company from time to time.

“No, clearly you’re colour blind.” He feigns shock at your statement, hand pressing over his heart before he tuts with a disappointed look on his face. “Oh baby, don’t talk to me like that..”

He’s joking, of course he is, though the pet name, uttered so softly from his lips, makes you warm up, especially in the cheeks. Nudging your forehead to the side of his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle, yet still somewhat comforting, deciding to leave your head there, not uttering a word as he seems to accept the change in position, tilting your head back to gaze at his side profile.

You hate the way the moon lights up his angles perfectly, how the urge to reach a hand up to his face bubbles up inside of you and how everything is just nearly attainable but still out of reach due to your own self restraint. That doesn’t stop the words from coming out though. “Would you show me your face? I feel like we’ve known each other for a month already and all I’ve seen is that mask of yours.”

You feel dejected as he seems to tense next to you, his plush lips thinner now as they purse together. A beat passes where nothing is said, your head pulling back from his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly before he clears his throat, shaking his head with a small smile on his lips.

“I would, but that’s part of the trick, isn’t it? The whole—y’know, faceless act.” Looking down at your lap, you nod, feeling like he’s reducing you to the random passersby who might see his face while he swings from building to building. Trying to not let the disappointment show on your face, you force your attention back to the moon still high onto the sky, uttering softly.

“Yeah…I get it.”

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